#task: age diversity

[elysiansparadise]

In a world where everything seems superficial, they seek to get to the truth and know the essence behind everything.

Sagittarius Rising: The Wanderer

There is an air of mystery in their relaxed and contemplative appearance. Natives with a strong physique, gifted with the charisma and wisdom of Jupiter, these natives tend to look older when they are young and younger when older. A charming enigma, they can go from being hilarious, witty and jovial, to being rational, analytical and observant. An insatiable thirst to see beyond appearances, seemingly perfect systems and the masks people seem to wear. Strong will and mind, endowed with courage and bravery, no obstacle seems greater if they take a look at everything that forged them. They are people devoted to the beliefs they have and, no matter how open-minded, making them change their minds is not an easy task. Adventurous and curious when something catches their attention, rooted when making a decision. An inquisitive mind with idealistic overtones, a strong need for independence and a character with ambivert tendencies.

When we see Capricorn in their 2nd house, we can define that they firmly believe in the value of hard work and effort. From a very early age they learned that the best things in life or the most valuable things require work, sometimes giving up things that, although deep-rooted, only cause pain. They are willing to make sacrifices and work intensely long hours to achieve their goals. They do not usually take unnecessary risks and prefer safe and stable investments, both economic and time and energy. They have a strong ambition to achieve success and feel proud of themselves. They set high goals for themselves and are willing to work hard and persevere to achieve them. These natives are the clear representation of valuing quality over quantity, and can be considered picky by other people. Their self-esteem and self-worth are often linked to their achievements of all kinds, leading them to feel that sense of security when they have achieved their goals. They think long term and plan their future with vision and strategy. Their focus is on building a solid foundation that will provide them with lasting security and prosperity. It is likely that they grew up feeling that many things were missing in their lives, materially, emotionally or even spiritually.

Since they have Aquarius in the 3rd house, these natives are very open to new and different ideas, a trait that is often constantly associated with this rising. They enjoy discussing and debating theories and concepts on many diverse topics, from the simplest to the most profound. They have the quality of adapting well to different communication styles and are able to speak with people of diverse backgrounds and perspectives, ironically, they hardly feel that other people understand their way of thinking. Sometimes they may even feel judged for the way they communicate and think. They value mental independence and prefer to think for themselves rather than blindly following what others say. Their thinking is free and they do not easily conform to traditional opinions, nor are they afraid to question them. They have strong intellectual intuition and can reach conclusions quickly through intuitive perceptions. They are not afraid to question or debate regardless of the person they are dealing with. They are prone to feeling creative during short trips and can be inspired by things that to others may be very mundane or simple. Their rational nature helps them find ingenious solutions to complex problems. They have an insatiable intellectual curiosity and love to learn about a wide range of topics. There are chances of being only children, having some kind of distance from their siblings, or feeling very different from them. They can treat friends fraternally.

There is a lot of depth in the overlay of Pisces in the 4th house, as it is a part of the natives that others do not have a notion of so easily. In their childhood they could have been sensitive children, with that curiosity about the world around them, to understand how things worked, the people around them and, even at their young age, how life worked. There may have been that feeling of being lost, of not finding your place and a longing for that security that is associated with the word 'home'. For these natives, it is an important refuge for them, a place where they can retreat and recharge their energies, and I clarify, this does not necessarily have to be the one in which they were born, but rather the one they create. They dream of a quiet home, in which they can lower the volume of the outside chaos. Many of these natives need a serene space to maintain their emotional balance. They can find comfort in movies, books, music or even in the art they create, whatever it may be. This placement sometimes suggests someone who from an early age had to take care of someone else, whether it was a sibling, an older relative, or even their own parents. They are very perceptive people of the emotions of others, especially those that are deeper, those that others seek to hide. They can also be very intuitive with the emotional needs of their family members. They like to create a welcoming and hospitable environment in their home, as they enjoy making others feel welcome and comfortable in their space. They need a space where they can escape the demands of the outside world and find solace. They look for an atmosphere of peace and tranquillity at home.

With Aries in the 5th house, these natives tend to have a passionate approach to romances. Romance with them feels like an awakening, the awakening of excitement, intrigue, and a desire to explore new things with them. An emotion that drives you in your daily life, that motivates you and drives you to live the day as if it were your last. They greatly value their independence but once they know that you are what they want, they jump in with enthusiasm and can be very direct and honest in expressing their feelings. They like certainty and indecision in a person may seem unattractive to them. There are no grey tones, half-hearted feelings or unfinished ideas, they are looking for a lover as willing, daring and passionate as they are. Love makes them feel alive, fills them with enthusiasm and the desire to go after what they want. It is very likely that once they find love they will feel more ambitious, creative and confident. They value their independence and freedom in love, so they will not tolerate any type of relationship that restricts them or makes them feel limited or incapable of being themselves. They will always focus on motivating their partner and encouraging them to do what they are passionate about, they will never limit them in any way. These natives attract a lot of attention and stand out for their attractiveness, confidence, and sexy and independent aura. Many of them enjoy playful competitiveness. Their self-expression is direct and unfiltered. They are not afraid to be themselves and express their opinions and desires clearly and forcefully. If they decide to have children, they will be active, expressive, playful and very authentic. They can be parents who prioritise that their children have a strong sense of self-acceptance, that they are not afraid of anything and that they feel empowered.

Something that these natives will prioritise a lot no matter what their well-being is, from physical, to emotional and mental, which we attribute to Taurus in the 6th house. When they see that something is not positive in their lives, they do not hesitate to keep it away from them, because they are in constant search to keep what gives them pleasure and comfort close, distancing themselves from what sinks them and prevents them from growing. They can be very selective about what they make part of their day to day, and this includes the people they surround themselves with. They are people who will make part of their routine things that they find pleasant or comfortable, so they may have problems doing chores or things that they find boring or repetitive, postponing them and falling into procrastination tendencies. Taking care of their body and emotional tranquillity is something of great importance to them, so it is common for natives with this placement to exercise, do or have skincare routines, read constantly, meditate or practise similar activities. Many of them have this need to stay active, to be constantly doing things and even if they stay busy, they may have that feeling that they are not using properly most of their time or that they could be doing even more productive things. This placement tells us about the importance of comfort for them when choosing a job, without forgetting that it can also indicate earning a lot of money doing something that they really like and gives satisfaction. In their work they can enjoy not only a good reputation, but lasting bonds and courtesy with others. Taurus being here shows us natives who can be very devoted and constant with any task they have to do, investing a lot of time in it. A good work ethic is possible and a calm and relaxed way of working, as they dislike putting themselves under constant stress.

They highly value their independence, it is difficult to get their attention, and it is even more difficult to awaken in them that desire to have a long-term relationship, and it is not because of fear of commitment, but on the contrary, they think deeply and are very clear about what they want in a relationship and a partner for the long run. This rational and analytical, but above all precise approach is thanks to Gemini in the 7th house, as it means that Mercury is ruling this house. These natives do not have a long list of requirements that you have to meet to be their life partner, but they know perfectly well what things they do not want to deal with. Their discernment makes them realise this easily, and their blunt personality makes them not hesitate to make it clear. They want a partner who makes them look twice, who awakens their curiosity, interest and that has a magnetism that attracts them. They are fascinated by people who always have something to say, those with a clever and agile mind that fills them with excitement and makes them discover sides of themselves that they didn't even know they had. Someone that speaks their mind, that turns daily and boring into exciting and pleasant. They have a fear of deception and sudden distancing from their special person, so they will look for a partner who seeks to be present without the native asking for it. They are people who think a lot when it comes to being with another person. They want to find someone who will erase their doubts with actions and words, a person who will constantly let them know their intentions, feelings and thoughts, someone who will surprise them, not necessarily with seemingly big and outlandish things but by showing that they are not the same as the rest of the people that the natives to found throughout their lives. Good communication is something of utmost importance when thinking about a potential long-term partner, much more than other aspects even. For them it is crucial that this person can talk to them about anything regardless of the weight of the situation. Their future spouse is a person with great intelligence, good social skills and a person who uses his resources and knowledge astutely, someone who is difficult to catch off guard, open-minded and often a fascinating communicator. They will enjoy a marriage with adventures, fun and many learnings. Both the natives and their partners will feel intrigued and strongly attracted to each other, they will be intellectually stimulated and may even feel that they are both friends and partners.

One of the aspects of their personality that is less talked about but that is very determining in them is Cancer in the 8th house. These natives experience their emotions in a very intense and deep way. Their emotional world is rich and complex, and they can be very sensitive to the energies and emotions of others. Although they are protectors and caregivers, they can hide their own emotional vulnerability. Many of them, due to their experiences, are often afraid of showing their weaknesses and tend to build a protective shell around their emotions. They have an innate capacity for emotional healing, both for themselves and for others, transforming themselves and those around them internally. They can be excellent counselors, therapists, or emotional healers. They are firm protectors of what they consider family [whether biological or not], they will keep those they love safe and will not hesitate to attack to defend them if necessary. Their approach to sexuality is deeply tied to their emotions as it is crucial for them to feel a strong emotional connection to fully enjoy their sex life. They may have deep fears of abandonment or betrayal in their intimate relationships. They need to feel a deep emotional and spiritual connection with their partners and can be very protective and nurturing in their intimate relationships, being attentive to their partner's needs. They love the idea of ​​having a relationship where both can be vulnerable with the other and where both fiercely defend the other, giving themselves body and soul to the other.

These natives usually have Leo in the 9th house, which tells us that their pride lies in their intelligence, talents and abilities. They are excellent and fierce debaters who will always seek to speak their truth without filters and without trying to win the good side of others. Strongly tied to their convictions, they give great importance to justice and will always act according to what they consider optimal and most correct in certain situations. Since I mention their strong and fixed opinions, it is worth mentioning that it is difficult to change their minds. If the native is not grounded enough, they are likely to believe that they have the absolute truth and refuse to listen to other people. Their intelligence and ability to create is great and they can bring many interesting and successful projects to life. They will have a lot of happiness traveling or connecting with other cultures, as well as a source of ideas and the ability to create warm memories in places far from home. They may feel very different from people from whatever group they belong to, from school, or even from the stereotypes of their countries. They have a strong passion for knowledge and education, as they love to learn and may have a great interest in philosophical, spiritual or cultural topics. They can communicate their ideas passionately and effectively, motivating others to learn and explore. They have academic ambition and in some cases this placement leads them to seek high achievements in their education. 

With Virgo in the 10th house, these natives are seen as reliable and responsible people in their professional field, coupled with their serious and committed approach to their work, earning them the respect of their colleagues and superiors. Their integrity and work ethic are fundamental to them, and they do everything they can to avoid mistakes or failures. For them it is always crucial to charge and show that they act based on their principles, seeking to do things correctly. They stand out for being adaptable and able to adjust to the changing demands not only of the professional environment, but of what they experience throughout their lives. They are extremely dedicated to their work. They have a strong and admirable work ethic and are diligent and meticulous in everything they do. Always seeking to improve and achieve high quality standards. They can be very critical of themselves and others, especially those who boast of being superior in role or morals. They can be excellent in roles that involve analysis, administration, or any type of detailed work. They may choose jobs in which they maintain order, have control of a specific area or a specific group of people, that are related to analysis and research, or something that involves supporting or helping others. They do not seek recognition or glory, but are satisfied with doing their job well. They are not interested in pleasing others or meeting other people's expectations, rather they constantly strive to meet the expectations of a single person, themselves.

Natives with Libra in the 11th house are selective with friends, thinking a lot before giving that title to someone; Despite their initial wariness, they remain cordial enough. As friends these natives can be very supportive and caring, giving not only sympathy and affection, but also bringing realism to the lives of their friends and colleagues. This placement gives them the tendency to be popular and/or recognized either in their environment or on the internet. They value their friendships very much and will always focus on them being fair relationships in which they get the same as they give to others. They can create very strong ties with friends and vice versa, in some cases it can be expressed in friends being very attached to the native and relying on them, although there may be a risk of dependence on either party. They are very good at working as a team and can count on diplomacy. They are the kind of people who seek social justice, can defend others from injustice and prevent them from getting hurt. They hate injustice and discrimination, because they believe in equality regardless of gender, age, race or beliefs. They are skilled at mediating and resolving conflicts within their social groups. Their natural diplomacy allows them to find fair and balanced solutions to disagreements. They have the ability to positively influence the groups to which they belong. Their ability to see both sides of a situation allows them to provide balanced and fair perspectives. This house is also related to earnings through their work, with Venus ruling this house we can also determine that they can have many economic benefits in a job that they genuinely like.

What lies within you, love? How does Scorpio in the 12th house play a role? When someone sees you they immediately perceive your strength, they sense your impetus and courage, many even tremble at the power that you naturally emanate, but only those who dare to look directly into your intense and sharp gaze, realize the pain that has forged your shell and attitude. You are secretive with many aspects of your life, you deeply bury the gray and overwhelming tints that life has poured on you. You don't let anyone know for fear that it will be used against you. You have learned to watch you back, that trust is not something that is given to just anyone. From betrayals, disappointments, people's cruelty and prejudices... you have been through a lot and yet you remain firm, because you know that you yourself are your most faithful companion and your strength. Fear of betrayal, revealing too much of yourself and being judged or ignored, fear of loving someone who doesn't love you with the same depth. You have a fascinating mind, a fervent desire to get to the bottom of things, and the ambition that allows you to achieve it. It is difficult to hide things from you, because your keen intuition accompanied by your need to discover the truth are your most lethal weapon. You feel things deeply, many times more than you would like, and for you there is no middle ground. You are decisive and do not hesitate, things may be black or white, yes or no, all or nothing… Unlike other people, you find refuge in the spaces where you are on your own. At the end of the day it is better than the masked crowds, those who smile in front of you and conspire behind your back. You have the ability to sense when someone is not what they seem, you can detect people who have shady intentions for miles, a gift that experience has given you. All of these traits protect your noble and loyal heart, the one that makes you capable of completely surrendering to something or someone that makes you feel safe and comfortable. It's never too much for you when it comes to someone you love or something you're passionate about.

[fatehbaz]

A team of Indigenous Yucuna women in the Colombian Amazon are rescuing and documenting the remaining oral knowledge on bees and their roles in the ecosystem, along with the traditional classification system of diverse bee species. With the help of nine elders, they are documenting and sketching tales and songs to gather bee names, characteristics, behaviors, roles in their crop fields and the places where bees build beehives. [...]

Je’chu [...]. “He is [...] our grandfather,” narrates Carmenza Yucuna Rivas, leader of the Miriti-Parana Indigenous Reserve in Colombia, located in the Amazon Rainforest. [...] “Beehives [...] give us the opportunity to create chakras [food gardens typically using an agroforestry model with divers plant species] [...]. They let us have something to cultivate [...] in the first place.”

To rescue and document the remaining oral knowledge of the origin of bees in their culture and their importance to their ecosystems and territory, Carmenza is leading research about these species with 36 women from the 12 communities part of the Indigenous reserve. [...]

---

Since the second half of 2020, Carmenza and her colleagues have been going to each of the communities and speaking to elders to gather information, such as tales and songs that talk of the origin of the bees. They also draw [...]. Each of them has taken the task of sketching the stories on paper to describe the insects.

Their aim is to classify the bees according to the cultural system of the Yucuna-Matapí, Tanimuca-Letuama, and Tuyuca-Macuna peoples, including their names, characteristics, and the places where they build the beehives.

---

Carmenza describes one by one the most relevant bees in the territory. The munumunú are the Melipona, that is, the bees that produce honey; the mapa or mapachara are the ones that produce the wax that is used for healing and rituals; the mapakayuna are small and live next to the crops to guarantee their productivity; and the jiñuna “are a great species,” says Carmenza. They live in the Yavarí coconut trees on the river shore where they build huge yellow beehives. [...] Carmenza says that even with the research process and its results, the findings and daily learnings keep surprising them. [...]

---

“We’ll take all this knowledge to schools so that teachers can share it with the kids and show them the tales, the drawings, and the classifications and talk about the value of bees in culture. But also, so that they know that bees aren’t beings without importance,” says Carmenza. “They care for us without realizing it. They, through the pollination of trees and flora, help the world breathe.”

---

Headline, images, captions, and all text published by: Astrid Arellano, as translated by Maria Angeles Salazar. “Indigenous women record age-old knowledge of bees in Colombia’s Amazon.” Mongabay. 8 February 2023. [Originally published by Arellano as “El origen de las abejas: la importancia del conocimiento ancestral indígena para salvarlas en Colombia” at Mongabay’s Latam site on 12 August 2022.]

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.7  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.9????

p.8

AN: small toji x you in this one. isn't smutty just small fluffy. some comfort. well pick up with our normal story soon. I was gonna write in the next part but I needed to make this small enough to chew. I keep debating whether I want this to end quickly, or get drawn out. leaning towards drawn out just for my peace of mind but...I've got other shit I wanna write too. And I'm not entirely sure if it'll be worth it haha.

warnings: this story may cover sensitive and uncomfortable topics. please read at your own risk, violence, lashings, blood, mental breakdowns, yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside your moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

Big Dick Energy

The house was quieter than you’d expected, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you and refused to let go.

You busied yourself with routines—cooking meals, tidying up, bingeing your favorite TV shows—but none of it could fill the hollow ache that lingered. Every task felt aimless, every distraction fleeting.

Toji dropped by occasionally, his teasing remarks and sharp smirks offering brief diversions, but even he couldn’t fill the void that seemed to stretch through every corner of the house.

Too often, your gaze would wander to Megumi’s closed door, only to be met with the same cold, unyielding stillness. You hadn’t expected to miss his presence this much, not after the way he’d ignored you in those last three months.

Yet now, with him gone, his absence cut deeper than you cared to admit.

His words lingered in your mind, a confession boarding on something less than platonic. You could only hope it wouldn’t be so painfully awkward when he returned next summer.

But more than that, a creeping fear had begun to take root.

He was likely throwing himself into missions now, facing dangers you didn’t even want to imagine. The thought of him out there, the prospect of death always a step away, gnawed at you. You tried desperately not to let it get to you.

So you cleaned.

You ate.

You slept.

And then you did it all again the next day.

And the next.

And the next...

Until the day came when you couldn’t put it off any longer. You had to visit your former clan house.

The walk through the grand gates and pristine courtyards felt suffocating, each step heavy with memories you’d tried desperately to leave behind. You were led, wordlessly, to one of the estate’s least popular tea rooms, the chill in the air colder than you remembered. Megumi's birthday would be coming up again, soon.

In the tea room, waiting was the clan head in all his big dicked glory, draped in his full traditional garb. The look was doing little to soften the venom in his eyes. Two servants lingered just outside the room, their presence silent but always watching. Listening.

The man across from you wasn’t terrifying because of his cursed energy—it wasn’t the strongest.

What made him so off-putting were the memories you had attached with him, the sheer weight of the past pressing down on your chest. His disdain for you was palpable, radiating off him like heat as he launched into his usual tirade.

“Incompetent,” he spat, his voice cold and very much arrogant, each word sharper than the last. “The information you've been bringing is worthless. A disgrace. Is that the best you can do? I thought that maybe, even someone like you would have some shred of capability.”

The gardens outside the shoji doors were undeniably beautiful—a cruel contrast to the scene inside. Birds chirped softly, butterflies flitted through the air, the scent of flowers wafting in—CRACK.

A sharp, stinging slap across your cheek snapped you out of your thoughts. Your head whipped to the side from the force, and pain bloomed across your skin like fire.

You froze for a moment, your hand instinctively rising to your cheek as you bit back the sting of humiliation. You vaguely remember how he always used to do shit like this. The taste of iron lingered on your tongue, but you didn’t dare make a sound.

Schooling your expression quickly, you forced yourself to meet his piercing gaze, his eyes as cold and unyielding as ever. This son of a—

“Don’t get distracted now,” he hissed, his tone venomous, his hand still hovering near you as though daring you to flinch. Always ready for a second one. “Is that really all you’ve got? You really are a useless girl. Why we ever kept you in the clan, it'll never know. ”

He hadn't even needed to slap you again. Each word landed like another blow, slicing through the fragile composure you clung to. He leaned forward slightly, his shadow looming over you, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“Do I need to remind you what happens when you fail this family?” his voice dropping into a quieter, almost mocking calm that sent a chill down your spine. His tone was unmistakable. You always were able to tell when he was about to do something drastic.

The gardens outside remained serene, as though mocking your situation. You swallowed hard, the bitterness in your throat impossible to ignore, and shook your head. No. You don't need a reminder. You remember well.

The man across the table hadn’t been happy, and you knew without a doubt that punishment was inevitable. Being a Fushiguro now meant nothing here. You still very much belonged to this family.

His piercing, cold eyes drilled into you, his disdain a tangible weight pressing in on you. He looked ready to throttle you. Your head lowered down, as you fix your gaze on a spot on the table. And just as you’d been taught, you thought of things that might be useful for him. The sting of his slap lingered on your cheek, the imprint of his hand no doubt burning into your skin.

You already knew this visit would be a bad one.

“His son went off to school,” you started, your voice steady despite the tremble building. “He’s now enrolled at Jujutsu Tech—”

“Yes, we already know that,” he interrupted coldly, waving his hand dismissively. “No thanks to you. And what of Toji Fushiguro? Have you seen any...suspicious activity recently?”

You didn’t hesitate, desperate to give him what he wanted, even if it was crumbs. “He’s been out of the house for four days this week.”

“That the best you can do?” His eyes narrowed as he stared you down. Obviously, to him, this was no where near enough.

He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, trailing around the table, his presence loomed heavier with every step until he was behind you. Your eyes don't dare follow him. Your breath hitched as you felt his hand settle on the back of your neck, the weight of it cold and commanding.

You stiffened, your body slightly trembling under his grip as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Useless,” he spat, his fingers tightening just slightly. “How many times do I have to remind you what happens when you waste my time?”

The walls seemed to close in, the silence suffocating as the air around you grew heavier. You clenched your fists in your lap, willing yourself not to react. Not to cry. Not to give him the satisfaction.

The grip on your neck tightened painfully, and before you could brace yourself, he yanked you upright with a brutal force that left you stumbling.

Your feet, barely catching your balance as he dragged you toward the courtyard. His actions—ruthless, uncaring, as though you were nothing more than a disobedient dog being hauled to its kennel.

No one dared to intervene. They never had before. The well-kept greenery, the polished stone pathways, the fragrant blossoms swaying in the breeze. Serene, if it weren't for the hand clutched around your throat.

"Five lashes," he barked to the nearby servants, his voice sharp and devoid of hesitation. They hesitated only for a fraction of a second before scrambling into motion, their eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding yours. Just how you were taught.

Your stomach twisted violently. Five.

It wasn’t the worst you’d endured, but it was more than enough to leave a lasting mark. Harsher than usual, and you didn’t have to wonder why. Your reports had been sparse, vague, deliberately lacking the substance they demanded. A small, quiet rebellion on your part. And this was the price.

You barely had time to brace yourself before you were hauled forward and thrown to the pristine stone courtyard. The sharp scent of iron reached your nose, and it was only then that you realized your palms were scraped raw, streaks of crimson painting the stone beneath you.

Up close, the stone wasn’t as flawless as you thought—tiny imperfections, cracks, and now smears of your blood, stark and vivid against the pale surface. 

The bile in your throat was hard to swallow. Your body knew what was coming, as it trembled. You tried to steady yourself, tried to push back the rising tide of panic.

They’d brought a wooden stick, one you knew all too well—thin, long, and biting.

Another servant stepped forward, pulling at the back of your kimono with practiced ease, baring your skin to the biting air. How many times have they ran through this same routine?

You shivered violently, clutching the front of your garment in a futile attempt to preserve some shred of modesty.

"You should know better than to bring me shit like that." he spat, his voice heavy with disdain. His measured footsteps echoed behind you, circling like a predator toying with its prey. "Sparse, irrelevant, unusable. Is this the standard you think is acceptable? Do you enjoy putting this family to shame?"

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You knew what was coming. And words would only make it worse. He wasn’t looking for excuses. Silence was safer. Silence was survival.

His pacing stopped abruptly, his shadow looming behind you. "You’ve grown rebellious," he continued. "Perhaps your time away from the clan house has done more harm than good."

Your heart raced, dread pooling in your stomach. You pleaded silently, begging him not to order the dissolution of your marriage. The only positive outcome from this would be his decision to let you stay.

"It’s a shame, really," he mused, almost lazily, "We need to keep you there for now. But let this serve as a warning."

The first lash came without warning, the whip cutting through the air with a sharp crack before it struck your back.

The pain was blinding, immediate, forcing a gasp from your lips despite your best efforts to stay silent. The second followed quickly, and your body jerked against the force, the rough stone scraping your knees further.

By the third, your breathing was shallow, labored, your skin burning with a fire that seeped into your bones. You could feel the blood pooling beneath your clothes, soaking into the fabric and staining the once-pristine courtyard. If there had been more lashes, perhaps the pain would have numbed, but there was no such mercy.

The world around you felt distant, your focus narrowing to the searing pain and the sound of his voice. He was talking but you didn't catch all of it. Each strike felt personal, a reminder of your place, your failure, your rebellion. 

You bit down hard, swallowing the sound threatening to escape as the fourth lash tore across your back, and your vision blurred as you bit down hard on your lip to stifle a cry. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth, grounding you in the moment as the final strike landed with brutal precision.

“You should be grateful I’m not ordering more,” he said, his voice deceivingly calm. “Consider this mercy.”

Mercy. The word felt hollow, meaningless, as you pressed your forehead against the cool stone, your breaths shallow and labored. This wasn’t mercy. This was power trip. A reminder of the leash around your neck that he had no intention of loosening.

When it was over, the courtyard fell silent, save for your ragged breathing. You remained on the ground, trembling, trying to summon the strength to move past the pain and the humiliation that burned hotter than the lashes on your back.

"Clean her up," he said dismissively, his voice devoid of any human emotion. Without so much as a glance in your direction, he turned and strode away, his fancy pants robes swishing behind him with an air of finality.

To him, you were nothing more than an inconvenience—a speck of dirt sullying the pristine courtyard.

You stayed motionless, your breathing labored, waiting for the echo of his footsteps to fade and for his looming shadow to vanish from sight.

The gardens outside remained serene. Cicadas buzzing, birds chirping cheerfully, the flowers swayed in the gentle cooler breeze, and the sweet, heady scent of blooms filled the air. Damn, September was your favorite time of year.

But the blood staining the immaculate stones beneath you was a fucking wake up call—reminding you of just what it cost to defy him, even in the smallest of ways.

Thankfully, your clan visits were few and far between. The trip home that day had been nothing short of brutal. Your clan head’s disregard for how you might explain the aftermath to your husband lingered in your mind like a bitter aftertaste.

Toji hadn’t been surprised when you walked through the door, battered and silent. He took one look at you and seemed to understand everything without a word. Never pressing for details. Without hesitation, he led you to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit on his way. The usual Toji—sharp-tongued and teasing—was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was quiet. Unusually quiet. Unusually helpful.

His hands steady but his expression unreadable. There was no lecture, no pity, just a resigned understanding that somehow made the whole ordeal feel even worse.

Your chest tightened, the weight of everything pressing down until the words broke free in a cracked whisper. "Toji, I can’t do this anymore."

He froze mid-motion, the damp cloth in his hand still hovering near a particularly nasty gash on your back. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. The smirk that so often danced on his lips was conspicuously absent, replaced by a hard, distant look as his eyes flicked to meet yours in the mirror.

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze colder than you’d expected, and then let out a small, almost weary sigh. "I know, doll," he said, his voice low and measured. "I know."

Your eyes misted as his words washed over you, the weight of his acknowledgment settling deep in your chest. It wasn’t just the words themselves—it was the way he said them, low and measured, carrying an understanding that made your heart ache even more. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to say those words, to acknowledge the heaviness you carried.

His hand moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until his fingers ruffled your hair in a rare, soothing gesture. Toji wasn’t one for overt displays of comfort. This was as close as he got. And yet, the tenderness in that small act unraveled something inside you. The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, silent but unrelenting.

You lowered your head, letting his hand linger, unsure if you wanted to cry harder or lean into the comfort. He didn’t say anything, didn’t pull away. Toji wasn’t the type to offer empty platitudes or promises he couldn’t keep, but his presence was steady and grounding.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice quieter now, softer. "You don’t have to say anything, doll. Just…take a minute."

You nodded, barely able to find your voice. "I just…" You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I’m tired of fighting. Of pretending it doesn’t hurt."

His hand slid down from your hair to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but not overbearing. "I know," he said again, his tone carrying a strange mixture of understanding and regret. "You’ve been through more than most. But you don’t have to keep doing it alone. Youve got me here. And Megumi." A hollow promise, but still...

"Megumi hates me right now, Toji. He's been avoiding me for weeks. And youll come to hate me too."

His hand stayed firm on your shoulder, a steadying weight as his eyes flickered with something unspoken—frustration, understanding, maybe even guilt.

"Megumi doesn’t hate you," he said after a moment, his voice low and deliberate, as though he were willing you to believe it. "He’s a kid, doll. He’s got a lot going on in that head of his, more than he lets on. But hate? Nah. That’s not it."

You shook your head, the words spilling out before you could stop them. "He’s been avoiding me for weeks, Toji. Barely looks at me, barely talks to me. And the way he left—" Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard. Your insecurity getting the best of you. "It’s like he couldn’t get away fast enough. I—I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t even know where we stand anymore."

Toji let out a slow breath, his hand dropping away as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His dark eyes held yours, unflinching. "Megumi’s not avoiding you because he hates you," he said, his tone sharper now, cutting through the self-doubt you’d been drowning in. "He’s avoiding you because he’s figuring his own shit out. And yeah, maybe he doesn’t know how to handle it, but that’s on him. Not you."

You turned away, staring at your reflection in the mirror, your own expression a mixture of pain and uncertainty. Pathetic.

"What if I make everything worse, Toji?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "What if he’s right to pull away? What if you’re right to pull away? You’ll come to hate me too—both of you. My clan…they’ll kill me at this rate. I can’t—I don’t want to do this anymore."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You felt the tears welling up again, blurring the already fragile image of yourself in the mirror. Then Toji moved. He didn’t say anything—he just turned you around, his large hands firm but gentle on your shoulders, and pulled you into him. Avoiding your wounds so carefully.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, his warmth a surprising comfort. "I’ve got you," he murmured into your hair, his voice low and steady. "I’ve got you, doll. Let it out."

And you did. The first sob broke free, sharp and uncontrollable, quickly followed by another, and another. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, your fingers curling into his shirt as you cried. The tears came in waves, each one more overwhelming than the last, the dam breaking under the weight of everything you’d been holding back.

Time became meaningless as you cried. It could have been minutes or hours. You didn’t know. All you knew was that you couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back the flood of emotions spilling out of you.

And Toji stayed silent. Holding onto you gently as you cried. His arms stayed carefully positioned, mindful of the deep wounds covering your back.

Thank God you only had to go to the clan house every so often.

p.1

p.9

come home

AN: To be continued soon. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! and please give a follow, and reblog if you want to stay updated - or follow along on my ao3

I will also be posting updates here:

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

come home

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to write genius level characters? :(

One of the most reliable measures of intelligence today is the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale—currently in its 5th edition, with an upcoming edition in the works.

Using the tool/scale, scores are converted into nominal categories designated by certain cutoff boundaries for quick reference:

Measured IQ Range — Category

145-160: Very gifted or highly advanced

130–144: Gifted or very advanced

120–129: Superior

110–119: High average

90–109: Average

80–89: Low average

70–79: Borderline impaired or delayed

55–69: Mildly impaired or delayed

40–54: Moderately impaired or delayed

To write your "genius" character, you may want them within the Gifted to Very Gifted categories.

Note: With reference to this list, Roid (2003) cautioned that “the important concern is to describe the examinee’s skills and abilities in detail, going beyond the label itself”. The primary value of such labels is as a shorthand reference in some psychological reports.

These are the factors measured by the scale, and you ideally should aim for your "genius" character/s to exhibit high levels of:

Fluid Reasoning: Novel problem solving; understanding of relationships that are not culturally bound

Knowledge: Skills and knowledge acquired by formal and informal education

Quantitative Reasoning: Knowledge of mathematical thinking including number concepts, estimation, problem solving, and measurement

Visual-Spatial Processing: Ability to see patterns and relationships and spatial orientation as well as the gestalt among diverse visual stimuli

Working Memory: Cognitive process of temporarily storing and then transforming or sorting information in memory

Or maybe your character doesn't excel in all of these areas but in a specific one, or just a few of these. Maybe they perform within the average or high average in some, but are highly gifted in other areas.

The following may also guide you in writing your genius character, based on research compiled by Dr. J. Renzulli, which can be found in the Mensa Gifted Youth Handbook:

Characteristics of Giftedness

LEARNING CHARACTERISTICS

Has unusually advanced vocabulary for age or grade level

Has quick mastery and recall of factual information

Wants to know what makes things or people tick

Usually sees more or gets more out of a story, film, etc., than others

Reads a great deal on his or her own; usually prefers adult-level books; does not avoid difficult materials

Reasons things out for him- or herself

MOTIVATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS

Becomes easily absorbed with and truly involved in certain topics or problems

Is easily bored with routine tasks

Needs little external motivation to follow through in work that initially excited him or her

Strives toward perfection; is self-critical; is not easily satisfied with his or her own speed and products

Prefers to work independently; requires little direction from teachers

Is interested in many "adult" problems such as religion, politics, sex and race

Stubborn in his or her beliefs

Concerned with right and wrong, good and bad

CREATIVITY CHARACTERISTICS

Constantly asking questions about anything and everything

Often offers unusual, unique or clever responses

Is uninhibited in expressions of opinion

Is a high-risk taker; is adventurous and speculative

Is often concerned with adapting, improving and modifying institutions, objects and systems

Displays a keen sense of humor

Shows emotional sensitivity

Is sensitive to beauty

Is nonconforming; accepts disorder; is not interested in details; is individualistic; does not fear being different

Is unwilling to accept authoritarian pronouncements without critical examination

LEADERSHIP CHARACTERISTICS

Carries responsibility well

Is self-confident with children his or her own age as well as adults

Can express him- or herself well

Adapts readily to new situations

Is sociable and prefers not to be alone

Generally directs the activity in which he or she is involved

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

[arliganzey]

Pretend with me that strills have a genetic diversity similar to earth dogs.

In general, I think strills are komodo dragons with velvet pitbull fur and the wrinkles of a Sharpei over its body (less so around the face for eyesight). Lizard mammal hyena dogs, if you will.

Lord Mirdalan is your basic hunting strill: short fur, gliding skin flaps, can climb and swim and run. It is highly independent and intelligent while also being totally obedient to its owner.

What if there were also…

Guard strills: bigger than your typical strill with longer fur to block out the elements (cold, rain wind). They are bred to be independent but also extremely loyal to protect its flock/pack (livestock/Mando family). These strills guard the perimeter of a given area and will sound the alarm and brutally fight off any threats. They have longer, slightly more upright necks/shoulders so they can see into the distance and keep a look out. They aren’t nose to the ground hunters, they rely more on eyesight.

Herding strills: shorter and much faster (think corgi legs). These are stubborn strills bred to adamantly herd livestock (and kids sometimes!). They’re intelligent thinkers and can do problem solving tasks. Extremely fast and agile. Their claws aren’t as long as other breeds, they’re equipped more for running than climbing. Might have shorter snouts to help with maneuvering around livestock.

Companion strill: hear me out. There’s a very rare breed of strill that’s about half the size of a regular strill that’s been bred to be emotionally aware of its owners, a bit lazy, and loves attention and close contact. These are strills that thrive in big clans with age extremes (very young and very elderly) and provide support in tough times. They’re playful and love to learn tricks and play games. They can hunt pests and keep farms tidy of mice and things.

I like the idea of strills having different color coats too! Mird is gold, maybe there’s also black, brown, blue/gray, white… patterns, perhaps…? Not opposed to colors like purple or pink either!

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk ❤️

[d-targaryenshoe]

Timeless Affection - Benedict Bridgerton

Word Count: 946

Summary: One's love for another does not fade after time, it only gets stronger and speaks for itself, does it not?

The dawn broke softly over the Bridgerton estate, casting a golden hue across the sprawling gardens.

Inside, the house was already abuzz with a secret flurry of activity.

Your children had been planning for weeks.

Today was your seventh wedding anniversary, and they wanted to make it a day to remember.

Eldest among them was 8-year-old James, whose responsible nature and knack for organization made him the natural leader of their clandestine operation.

Then there was 6-year-old Ella, creative and quick-witted, always ready with an idea to add a personal touch.

Finally, there was little Henry, 4 years old, who, despite his age, was determined to contribute meaningfully to the celebration.

James had woken up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of his room to finalize the arrangements in the garden.

They had planned a surprise picnic lunch, complete with a string quartet and a replica of your favorite flower garden.

Ella had insisted on recreating the garden, knowing how much you cherished it.

As James instructed the staff and made sure everything was in place, Ella was inside the house, ensuring you both remained unaware.

Henry was tasked with creating distraction after distraction.

His mischievous grin betrayed his excitement as he plotted the morning’s diversions.

Their first challenge was getting you out of the house without arousing suspicion.

Ella and Henry had enlisted the help of their Bridgerton aunts and uncles, knowing that if anyone could provide a seamless distraction, it was them.

The Bridgerton siblings were experts at orchestrating family chaos when needed.

In the grand living room, you sat with a cup of tea, savoring the quiet moment before the day began in earnest.

Benedict was reading a newspaper beside you, a contented smile playing on his lips.

Your anniversary had always been a private affair, celebrated with close family and simple joys.

“Good morning, Mother! Good morning, Father!” Ella burst into the room, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Good morning, darling,” you replied, setting your cup down. “You seem very energetic today.”

“Well, it is a special day, after all,” Ella said, her smile widening. “Uncle Colin and Aunt Eloise are here, and they have something they want to show you in town.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, looking at you. “Colin and Eloise? Up to something? This should be interesting.”

You laughed. “They’re always up to something. It’s part of their charm.”

Within minutes, Colin and Eloise appeared, their enthusiasm barely contained.

“Happy anniversary!” Colin declared, enveloping you in a hug. “We have a little adventure planned for you both. No questions, just trust us.”

Eloise nodded in agreement. “Yes, it’s a beautiful day, and we thought you might enjoy a little outing.”

Benedict looked at you, curiosity piqued. “Shall we?”

“Let’s,” you agreed, your eyes twinkling with anticipation.

As you both left the house with Colin and Eloise, James breathed a sigh of relief. “Step one complete,” he muttered to himself, before heading back to the garden to oversee the final preparations.

Colin and Eloise led Benedict and you through the bustling streets of London, engaging you in lively conversation to keep your curiosity at bay.

You visited a quaint bookshop you loved, followed by a stroll through Hyde Park, and finally, a charming little café where you enjoyed a light brunch.

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, the Bridgerton children, along with their aunts and uncles, worked tirelessly.

Anthony, the eldest Bridgerton sibling, had taken charge of organizing the string quartet, ensuring they played the your favorite melodies.

Daphne and Francesca arranged the flowers, transforming the garden into a breathtaking oasis.

By midday, the preparations were complete.

The garden was a vision of elegance and beauty, with delicate floral arrangements, a picturesque picnic setup, and the string quartet ready to serenade you.

James, Ella, and Henry gathered in the foyer, waiting for the signal from their uncles.

The plan was to bring you both back home just in time for the surprise lunch.

James felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

He wanted everything to be perfect.

Finally, the sound of carriage wheels on gravel announced the return of Colin and Eloise, with Benedict and you in tow.

The children exchanged excited glances.

“Ready?” James asked his siblings.

“Ready!” Ella and Henry chorused.

As you entered the house, you were met with a curious silence.

The children led you through the hallways, which had been decorated with garlands of flowers, each step building anticipation.

When you stepped into the garden, you gasped. “Oh, my goodness…”

The sight before you was nothing short of magical.

The garden was transformed into a paradise of blooms, your favorite songs floating through the air.

A beautifully arranged picnic awaited for you, complete with all your favorite foods.

“Surprise!” the children shouted in unison, their faces beaming with pride.

Benedict looked around, taking in the sight of his siblings and children working together.

“This is incredible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve outdone yourselves.”

Your eyes glistened with tears of joy. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

As the family settled down to enjoy the picnic, Benedict and you marveled at the efforts your children and family had gone to.

The day was filled with laughter, stories, and the kind of warmth that only family could bring.

As the afternoon sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the garden, you leaned into Benedict.

“Seven years,” you said softly. “And it feels like just yesterday.”

He kissed your forehead. “Here’s to many more, my love.”

The string quartet played on, the flowers swayed gently in the breeze, and you celebrated not just an anniversary, but the enduring love and togetherness that defined you.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for system littles who do not like being infantilized!

System littles (or syskids) make up a diverse group of system members, and no two syskids are exactly alike. Many are calm, focused, and capable and do not like to be viewed or treated as actual children! These desires are worth respecting - every headmate deserves to be treated in ways that uplift and affirm them, even if others have difficulties understanding their individual needs. So here’s to all the syskids who don’t like being infantilized!

🐻 Shoutout to syskids with important jobs, who help their system by going to work, managing finances, driving, or doing other tasks normally performed by adults!

🚂 Shoutout to syskids with emotional maturity, who are effective at regulating and processing big, scary emotions!

⭐️ Shoutout to syskids who are hosts and handle much of their system’s day-to-day lives!

🎻 Shoutout to syskids who, despite being calm and collected, still love to play, goof around, and have fun!

💐 Shoutout to syskids who have lost their sense of childhood due to trauma, or who feel like an adult because of the trauma they hold on to!

🦄 Shoutout to syskids who do not like to be referred to as young, little, small, or a baby, child, or toddler!

☀️ Shoutout to syskids in committed relationships who are capable of consenting and being loving sexual and romantic partners!

🎈 Shoutout to syskids who hold important, often complex or taxing inside roles like gatekeeper, manager, and caretaker!

🐯 Shoutout to syskids who have adult-oriented desires, hobbies, and interests!

🎀 Shoutout to syskids who are age sliders, and feel more childlike in some moments than others!

Syskids and system littles, you are such a cherished, valued, and important part of both your system and the whole plural community! It’s okay if you don’t always feel like a kid, don’t want to be treated like a kid, do lots of things that kids normally can’t do, or don’t fit the mold of what syskids often look like! You are special and you matter just the way you are. Whether you don’t understand your experiences sometimes, or you look back on them with great clarity, your identity as a system little and a headmate in your own system is still valid!

We hope you can soon find some time to have fun, enjoy a treat, or get some rest. Remember that it’s important to try and meet your needs, too! And if you need to ask for help, please know that doing so does not make you any less capable - everyone, no matter how old they are, needs to ask for help from time to time! We hope you can have a wonderful day today filled with moments that bring you joy!

[toomanythoughts2]

Dethklok Agere HCs: Toki Edition

🐰🐝🎸🎮🤡🐱🍭✈️🛼🎹🖍️🍼🍺💉🎁🤠🏎️🔫👯‍♂️🪽🌈🤮

I originally was going to do all of the members together in one post, but I realized after Toki that it was going to be obnoxiously too long for all five. So, I'm splitting them up into each member. Obviously, I had to start with my main man, Toki 🧸!

Everything is below the Keep Reading tab.

Toki

(My son, my pookie bear, my darling, my sunshine, my sweetheart, my Swiss cheese, my BABY!)

🧸 First, I think his age range is pretty narrow but the ages he falls into are drastically different headspace wise. Meaning, I think he can fall between a 2 to a 4, but how he acts as a 2 year old is a lot different than a 4 year old, so it's important to figure out what his headspace is before doing something.

🧸 Toki is a hitter!!! He canonically hits people in the show for attention and even hits Pickles in AOTD in the church. Having Toki show signs of realistic trauma-based regression is just so important to me, it makes me crazy! The boy is not well but he is working on it.

🧸 Speaking of which, Toki requires the most support regressing than any of his bandmates. He needs constant support from either the band (Pickles) or Charles (Listen, he never left in my eyes. THOSE ARE HIS BOYS, HE COULDN'T JUST LEAVE THEM!) Whether this means just babysitting when he's regressed and chilling or actively helping him complete physical or emotional tasks. He needs a lot of support in his regression.

🧸 Out of all the members, Toki's regression is the most recognized as age regression by the general, uneducated public. It's very obvious age regression. I say this because I think some of the other members regression is not recognized as regression at first glance, especially by outsiders. (Of course, within the band, they all know each other well enough to spot the signs.)

🧸 He wants to put everything in his mouth. The remotes all have screws in them now where the batteries are located and Pickles is constantly holding Toki's hands to keep them from grabbing stuff.

🧸 He utilizes supplies in his regression the most out of everyone in Dethklok. I honestly believe that Toki can go anywhere between baby bottles to an open cup (supervised), so his supplies are diverse and plentiful. I personally see him utilizing stuffies, specific clothes for regression, (canon) ear muffs, pacifiers, child friendly cutlery, child friendly arts and crafts, sensory supplies, and so many other odds and ends.

🧸 From what we see in AOTD with Pickles carrying a large duffle bag (alluding that it's for Toki), I do think that Toki uses diapers. HEAR ME OUT! I don't think it's all of the time, but I do think that if Toki regresses far enough, it would become a necessary part for him. (Homie is traumatized.) Pickles just knows what's up and is ready to care and defend his Norwegian baby brother.

🧸 He needs attention ALL OF THE TIME! Even if he doesn't necessarily want someone to be in his space, he still needs to know that they are available for him 100% of the time. (Playing by himself but won't let you leave the room without crying.)

🧸 Oh, he is the biggest crier in Dethklok (Skwisgaar is the second). He will cry if he hurts himself, he'll cry if he just finished his last piece of dinner he liked, he'll cry if he doesn't want someone to stop cuddling him. But he also cries over a lot of things he doesn't understand, like being triggered by sounds or phrases. The sound of a whip and an actual whip are not allowed on Mordhaus because of how scared Toki gets when he sees/hears one. (Aslaug, when I catch you, Aslaug.)

🧸 He will utilize his big blue eyes for treats. Do not be fooled, he's already gone to everyone in the band for the same treat and got one from them already. (Charles won't budge but he's gotten close.)

🧸 Loves to cuddle. Loves to be held. I mean, is this really a HC anymore, of course Toki loves to cuddle and be held. He's cuddling while playing, he's cuddling watching TV, he's cuddling while sleeping, he's cuddling while eating. He'll cuddle on the toilet if you let him. Nathan is the person Toki goes to the most for these cuddles because he's large, soft, and has a low bass rumble in his chest when he speaks that puts Toki to sleep instantly.

🧸 He can only play independently but wants to play with others. He just doesn't know how to do that yet. Pickles and Murderface have tried to join in on play time but it stresses Toki out too much. I HC this because Toki had no control over his environment as a child, so playing is a way for him to have that control. By having someone join in, it's inviting the inevitable that they might take over his environment. That alone makes him stressed because play time was the only time as a child that Toki had any control in, so it's going to be hard letting people in when he's regressed.

🧸 He is the bubble bath connoisseur. When he's big, he is spending time looking for new bubble baths, bath bombs, toys, all kinds of shit. He loves bath time, it's his favorite part of the day when he is small. It depends if Toki needs supervision/the level of supervision for bath time when he's small. He can go from needing help every step of the way to only needing help filling the tub and getting in and out. I do think he would love to have his hair played with and washed. To me, this is a Skwisgaar or Charles job. Pickles has tried but he's almost bald with dreads and has no idea how to wash hair anymore.

🧸 The lore he has with his stuffies is long, complex, and gory. He will NOT explain it though, it's too much of a hassle.

🧸 Speaking of, Toki does have very disturbing tendencies while regressed due to his trauma. I like to think he draws and colors a lot of his abuse and shows them to the band. I also think, while regressed, he falls into old fears about being punished, so if he does something that was "breaking the rules" when he was actually a child, he will completely spiral and hurt himself somehow. He also won't say anything if he is hurt because his injuries used to never be a big deal or were "deserved". Same thing with eating and drinking, he won't do them if he feels like he did something bad. I also think he "punishes" himself by stripping himself of his shirt and pants and laying somewhere cold (under a fan or on bathroom tiles), to mimic the feeling of the "Punishment Hole". The band is closely working with Dr. Twinkletits to keep tabs on all of this.

🧸 On a happier note, he loves to follow Skwisgaar around when he's regressed, and Skwisgaar doesn't mind too much. (He loves being Toki's favorite and gloats about it all the time to the other members.)

🧸 Stares. He loves to just look at people. It scares the band sometimes until they realize they can stare back and make Toki laugh.

🧸 He's a thumb sucker. I know it in my heart that he's sucking away on his grimy little thumb and Pickles is always yelling at him to get it out of his mouth. This only works half of the time because Toki just loves his thumb too much.

🧸 When he's too little to talk, he makes a lot of huffs and puffs to get his point across. Gets progressively less coherent the sleepier he gets.

🧸 He gets nightmares. Just like when Toki isn't small, he is plagued by nightmares. But, I do believe that if he goes to bed regressed, the daily activities ease him enough that he doesn't get them nearly as much or as bad as when he's not regressed.

🧸 He uses a nightlight. It's in the shape of a kitty head and casts a kitty shadow on the wall. His name is Elin.

🧸 Toki loves arts and crafts and usually has to have someone supervise him when he's in creating mode. (He will eat the uncooked macaroni and then get upset when there's none left to make his pictures.) He is no longer allowed unsupervised access to glue as he keeps trying to eat it. Scissors, he has no problem with.

🧸 Toki is known for some pretty explosive tantrums, which Pickles and Nathan have tried very hard to work Toki through so he doesn't end up hurting himself or others. He is known to hit, kick, bite, spit, and swear when he's upset. But a lot of it is superficial. Toki isn't aiming to hurt anyone or himself, he's just expressing his frustration in a physical manner that can harm people. He gets more upset after the tantrum when he realizes what he's done. The band can't be but too mad at him, he isn't in complete control. They've learned to help Toki work through his tantrums the best they can.

🧸 The band is not allowed to ignore Toki when he's regressed because that has been identified as a trigger for a tantrum. However, Toki has and can be put in 10-minute increment time outs to calm down from a fit or if the band needs to address someone else first. (Like, if Toki punched Skwisgaar in the nose, Toki knows he's not suppose to do that, so he gets put in time out while Skwisgaar gets his nose checked out.)

🧸 Murderface loves to teach Toki when he's regressed because he will sit and listen to him about everything. EVERYTHING! Even the most boring war battle facts, he will sit and listen. Pickles is a little worried about this because Toki is even more impressionable when he's regressed. He doesn't think Murderface would take advantage of Toki like this, but he isn't a fool. (Murderface would but only small things, like picking dinner plans.)

🧸 Murderface is also the only one that can play with Toki one-on-one the longest before it stresses Toki out. Murderface's improv during play time is funnier and more creative than the other members, but when it becomes too much improv, that's when it stresses him out and they have to stop. But before that, Toki is having the time of his life.

🧸 Toki refers to Pickles and Nathan as Mamma and Pappa. I believe that Toki had to refer to his parents in Norwegian as Mor/Far (Mother/Father) all of the time, but in English he just calls them Mom/Dad because it's easier to say. But Mamma and Pappa are informal terms and mean a lot more to Toki role-wise. They're like badges of honor. They earned those names by being the caregivers they are, before and after AOTD.

🧸 He wants all of the kisses! Forehead kisses, cheek kisses, head kisses, bed time kisses, good bye kisses, good morning kisses, hello kisses. He craves physical affection. And every time he gets a kiss, he stims happily. I also think he rubs that part of himself that got kissed because it "tingles" and he has to touch it.

🧸 After discussing whether Toki would use a crate or not, I think I like the idea of him having a permanent pillow fort in the corner of his room for when he wants some alone time the most. Or to decompress. Or if he's tired and wants to nap. Though, I am still down with the dog crate idea. Or the little kiddy tent! I love them all, honestly!

🧸 They have a playground installed on Mordhaus just for Toki. He loves the swing and will swing (or be pushed) for hours if you let him. He has gone through multiple swings in a short amount of time because of how much he swings. (This is projection. I have broken 4 swings due to swinging so much.)

🧸 Skwisgaar has inside jokes with Toki when he's small and only in Swedish. Toki giggles so hard when he gets a chance to whisper one of them to Skwisgaar that he almost cant get them out.

🧸 Toki has a bed time routine that he has to follow when he's small (with the help of his bandmates) because it helps him regulate his emotions and builds structure. The routine is simple: brush teeth, brush hair, wash face, go potty, get changed, pick out a bed time story, climb into bed. Nathan is the official bed time reader, but the band is usually with him when he's falling asleep. He needs his goodnight kisses otherwise he will be upset.

🧸 Toki loves having sleep overs in the other guys rooms. He loves Nathan's rooms the most because of the aquariums (low sensory, calming, general interest), then it's Murderface's because of the different devices in his room (low simulation and attention, general interest), then it's Skwisgaar's room because he has the window so he can see all the stars at night, then it's Pickles room. However, Pickles room is the coziest in Toki's opinion because Pickles is there, and he loves Pickles very much. He knows on one is going to get him in Pickles room.

🧸 Skwisgaar knows very little on how to cook, but the times he does cook, he utilizes Toki as a taste tester for his dishes. They have similar pallets, so Toki can accurately depict the dishes intended taste. Skwisgaar always sets him on the table and spoon feeds him whatever he is cooking (usually soup or stew) and asks for his opinion. Toki loves it and always asks for Skwisgaar to feed Deaddy Bear too.

🧸 Toki's age regression is public knowledge. He is unable to control when he regresses, so he has public appearances where he is regressed. This unfortunately meant that Toki had to address it to the press, despite Toki feeling uneasy about answering questions. They all know that the press love to ask intimate and personal questions, even if it makes him uncomfortable. The band and Charles were off to the side supporting him through out the whole press conference. After the initial interview, Charles would be the only one answering questions about Toki's regression, so that 1) Toki wouldn't have to do it and 2) Charles can't be bullied into giving out too much private information on the matter, he's a professional. This was greeted with mixed results at first but gradually turned positive as more information was readily understood by the public.

🧸 The Dethmoms have wavering opinions about Toki. Anja does not acknowledge it, or at least tries very hard not to acknowledge it. Toki does become scared around her when he's little and she knows that. Stella thinks most of it is made up and he's just looking for attention, but she does not outright ridicule Toki to his face. She'll play along for the sake of keeping him quiet. Servetta does not have an opinion either way, but she does like to dote on him from time to time (head pats, petnames) when she's able to get him to do something for her. Molly does not like it one bit and will not play along. She has gotten mad at Toki before and has "called him out" for it, but only to be met with 0 back up (Stella understands enough that Toki isn't her child, so it's not her place to call him out, only Anja's.) Rose is the only one in the group that absolutely adores Toki. She's read every book, every blog post, every piece of literature to try and make herself a safe space for Toki. Toki in return looks forward to seeing Rose and will ignore everyone in favor of her. Rose gives him all of the sugary sweet lovings that the boys can't quite give him, so they let him be coddled and coo-ed at from her. (Nathan isn't jealous of this at all.)

🧸 Toki has been known to hang out with Charles while he works. Sometimes he's as quiet as can be, completely oblivious to whatever Charles is doing. However, Toki has sat in Charles lap before just wanting to cuddle while Charles is on a phone call or web meetings. He has made multiple appearances during zoom meetings of just cuddling Charles or sleeping on his shoulder. The other members of the meeting have taken a regressed Toki in a meeting as a "Good Luck Charm" for whatever future endeavors they are about to talk/negotiate/revise about. They've even moved meetings forward/backwards with future partners when Charles has Toki in his lap because they have so much faith in his "Good Luck Charm" ability.

🧸 Charles has a board in his office just for drawings that the band has made while regressed. 95% of them are Toki's drawings though.

🧸 Abigail is still a big part of Toki's life, both regressed and not. I believe after the Metalocalypse, Abigail and Nathan did have a serious conversation about everything where Nathan apologizes for his behavior. Abigail accepts and the group + Abigail form a friendship. But a lot of it is between Toki and Abigail, where Abigail is able to take care or calm Toki down much easier and much faster than any one of them. Toki will wake up from nightmares demanding to call her to make sure she's ok, which she always answers. She understands Toki very well, and most of their time spent together is in quiet tranquility. He mainly just wants to cuddle with her and rest, sometimes babbling about stuff but most of the time is quiet. He finds comfort in her and she will lend him something that smells like her to calm him down if need be.

🧸 It's common to leave baby's outside to nap in Scandinavian countries like Norway and Sweden. When Toki wants to nap, he will ask to go outside and sleep on a blanket, which the band allows. However, when he wants to do it during the winter where there is snow, the band argues back with him, except Skwisgaar. He has to tell them that this is completely normal for Scandinavian children. He buys Toki the appropriate wear clothes and sleeping bag, and lets Toki take a nap outside in the snow. Skwisgaar will either join him or be near by to calm the rest of the bands nerves, especially Pickles.

🧸 Very very very few klokateers are allowed to care for Toki in the place of the band or Charles. Out of all of the klokateers, these people have to go through an extensive and grueling interviewing processes to get the position. Toki knows exactly who these klokateers are and understand that if Charles allows them to care for him, then they can be trusted. These klokateers also have the most amount of pressure on them. While their position won't kill them like other positions, if they betray the trust of Charles by hurting Toki, they are signing themselves up for a world of pain unlike they have ever known. Death would be too kind for those who hurt Toki when he is small.

🧸 Toki is also a biter. He likes to bite and nibble on people for attention. It doesn't hurt unless he uses his canines.

🐰🐝🎸🎮🤡🐱🍭✈️🛼🎹🖍️🍼🍺💉🎁🤠🏎️🔫👯‍♂️🪽🌈🤮

Ok, that's all for now! I hope you enjoyed these as much as I enjoyed putting them down. Obviously, my word isn't law so if you HC Toki differently than any of these, it's all good. In fact, I wanna read about them, lol! So yeah, thanks xxx

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

What Is and Isn't a Fish: an Essay and Guide by Fishyfishyfishtimes

A simplified list of the animals I discuss can be found here!

Hello folks! I created this post to have a kind of definitive essay/explanation of what is and isn't a "fish", starting with defining the term and going over animals that fit and don't fit the bill. As other fishblr artists, writers and educators must know too well, some people are confused about where this term begins and ends, mistaking other aquatic animals for fish. I have my fair share of arthropods and cnidarians as fish fact requests in my own askbox, heck, some years back a friend of mine asked me if clams were fish. The event that finally made me decide to write this was someone requesting that a fish-only account draw a crustacean, pondering to themselves if they count as fish.

I don't want to hold it against these people. It's impossible to know something when you've never been taught! So that's what I'm here to do, hopefully achieving a pretty correct and universal view ^^' If I make any mistakes please correct me. I'm learning all the same as everyone else is.

Definition of fish

Immediately, we run into a bit of a problem with the definition of fish. See, what the term "fish" means has fluctuated for centuries! For a long time, pretty much any animal that lived in water was a "fish" — I say "pretty much any" instead of "every" animal because for a long time sessile animals like sponges or corals were thought to be plants. This is why we have such remnants in our language like shellFISH, starFISH and jellyFISH, they lived in water so they were called such!

Occasionally these definitions would be changed for cultural convenience too. Many Christian churches take part in Lent, and in the Catholic church red and white meat is forbidden on Fridays and Ash Wednesday. In the Middle Ages, in my own country, Finland, this abstinence of red and white meat could last up to 140 days! To make fasting easier, many animals were labelled fish for convenience so they could be eaten as well. These newfound "fish" included seals, beavers and swans, pretty much just anything that was aquatic or semiaquatic in nature.

Nowadays just going off of looks or behaviour won't do, though. There has been much more of an effort to define fishes coherently based on their anatomy and phylogeny, which is great! Problem is, that's easier said than done: fishes are an extremely diverse group, and uh.. not really a single group, either. I'll show you:

As you can see from this heavily simplified phylogenic tree, fishes are not a singular group like, say, mammals are! The animals that we group under "fish" are actually a part of several distinct lineages of animals, some more closely related to us than each other. Heck, tetrapods, which include amphibians, reptiles*, and mammals, are fish themselves! Phylogenetically speaking. Our ancestors were lobe-finned fish, and, well, you never stop being the previous taxon even when you evolve into something else. If you try to exclude tetrapods, no such unified group as "fish" exists. Still, when discussing fish, we tend to want to avoid talking about every vertebrate ever and instead focus on the very specific aquatic ones we mean when we say "fish". This is why many definitions of the term "fish" still exclude tetrapods, even if we share a common fishy ancestor. "Fish" describes more of a lifeform than it does a clade, much like the term "worm"!

(*birds are reptiles! This could be a whole post in and of itself, but I'm not here to write about that. Someone else has most likely taken up the task!)

Hooray, it's definition time! As stated previously, fishes are an extremely diverse group of thousands of species, and what terms might apply to the Atlantic cod may not apply to the yellowfin tuna or giant mudskipper, let alone a Pacific lamprey! Encyclopedia.com defines a fish as "an ectothermic chordate that lives primarily in water and possesses a cranium*, gills that are useful virtually throughout life, and appendages (if present) in the form of fins". Encyclopedia Britannica notes that "the term fish is applied to a variety of vertebrates of several evolutionary lines", instead highlighting five classes. These five classes are left partly unspecified, but ones that are mentioned are jawless fish, cartilaginous fish and bony fish (which still includes tetrapods, however), and the two classes left can be assumed to be two classes of extinct fish. Wikipedia defines a fish as "an aquatic, craniate**, gill-bearing animal that lacks limbs with digits". Tim M. Berra, an academy professor and ichtyologist, defines fish as "poikilothermic***, aquatic chordate with appendages (when present) developed as fins, whose chief respiratory organs are gills and whose body is usually covered with scales".

(*cranium=upper part of the skull **craniate=an animal with a skull ***poikilothermic=an animal whose internal temperature varies considerably)

From these more or less detailed definitions we can gather many defining features for fish: a cranium-having chordate, primarily aquatic, gill-bearing and uses gills as their main respiratory organ, lacking any limbs with digits, instead having their limbs be in paired and unpaired fins when present. Most fish are also ectothermic, meaning their body temperature is determined by their environment, but some can heat up parts of their body or their entire body in the case of the opah. Most fish also have scales, but not all, just like how most fish are fully aquatic, but some like lungfish or mudskippers can spend considerable time out of the water. Such is the way of these magnificent and diverse animals!

Finally, with all this out of the way, we can get into...

What is a fish!

Here, I will be detailing animals that are fish! Well, at least the broadest strokes; there are more than 30 000 fish species and if I listed them all we'd be here all life. I shall instead go over the major classes and list, in short, some groups that belong in them.

Jawless fish (Superclass Cyclostomi)

Jawless fish are often a topic of debate, especially in matters of their relation to each other and to jawed vertebrates. Evidence seems to point to hagfish and lampreys being closest related to one another and to lampreys being more closely related to jawed vertebrates than to hagfish (which would make hagfish craniates but not vertebrates). In the phylogeny tree above I decided to portray hagfish and lampreys as a monophyletic group, as molecular studies and microRNA analysis seems to point to a monophylegic superclass. Please note that this could go either way, though.

Jawless fish is a group containing two extant fishes, hagfish (class Myxini) and lampreys (order Petromyzontiformes)! Jawless fish are more "primitive" than other groups, for example both lack true vertebrae and scales. Still, they both have craniums and gills and they are aquatic, and so they have earned their place among fish!

Cartilaginous fish (class Chondrichthyes)

Surprisingly, I've found that this group has a lot of confusion surrounding it. I have received many a request confirming if sharks are fish, or asking if I'd cover a shark "even if it's not a fish". So I'll say it now: good news, sharks are indeed fish! So are their cousins, rays, skates and chimaeras, also known as ghost sharks! All of these fish have a primarily cartilaginous skeleton, tooth-like dermal denticles and lack gill covers and a swim bladder. Out of all the sharks, I also want to highlight that the whale shark, despite its confusing name, is a shark and not a whale. So, it is a fish!

Ray-finned fish (class Actinopterygii)

Name any fish, and there's a 96% chance the species name you said belongs to a ray-finned fish. Unless, like, you really like sharks. But this isn't about them.

Ray-finned fish are the biggest group of fish and incredibly diverse! It has your seahorse, your pufferfish, your bass, your tuna, your anglerfish, your clownfish, your salmon, your sturgeon, your lanternfish, your perch, your oarfish, your gar, your sardine, your moray eel... and this is only a tiny, tiny fraction of the groups that belong to this class! Defining features of ray-finned fish are that they tend to have a swim bladder and a bony skeleton (some exceptions though. Sturgeons, for one, have evolved a cartilaginous skeleton but they're still ray-finned fish). The largest group of ray-fins, the teleosts, also have leptoid scales, which are thinner and more flexible and grow with growth rings.

I want to bring special attention to some members of the ray-finned fish which tend to have a lot of confusion surrounding them and their heritage: eels and seahorses. Many people think these two are not fish due to their strange anatomy, like lack of scales or (many) fins and their elongated bodies, and I wouldn't blame them! Seahorses belong to family Syngnathidae, which also includes seadragons and pipefish. Eels, meanwhile, make up the order Anguilliformes. All of these long friends of ours are fish!

Lobe-finned fish (clade Sarcopterygii)

I shall merely focus on the fishy fishy fish individuals of this class, which excludes tetrapods. Lobe-finned fish house the two extant species of coelacanths, and six extant species of lungfish! These fish are bony and their fins are placed at the tips of fleshy, lobelike stalks, resembling the limbs of tetrapods. It is thought that the common ancestor of coelacanths and lungfish and tetrapods had similar structures that then became the four limbs the members of our clade typically have. Coelacanths and lungfish are wonderful fishes and deserve a lot of love and respect, not only because they're our closest cousins but because they're unique and we have so much to learn about them!

So, these are the fishes! There are also extinct groups of fish, namely class Placodermi (armoured fish) and class Acanthodii (spiny "sharks"). I'm moreso an extant fish account however, and so I shall move onto...

What isn't a fish?

Now we get into the real meat of this post. Without further ado, here are some aquatic friends of ours that can be mixed up with fish very often!

Crustaceans (subphylum Crustacea)

Many of our hard-shelled many-legged friends belong here! Crabs, lobsters, crayfish, shrimp, krill, isopods, triops, barnacles, copepods, you name it! Even though many crustaceans are aquatic or semiaquatic and have gills, you'll find that they're invertebrates that lack an internal skeleton (so no cranium, not even vertebrae)! We still love them though!

Mollusks (phylum Mollusca)

Creatures both soft and hard-shelled! Cephalopods like octopuses, squid, nautilus and cuttlefish, bivalves like clams, mussels, oysters or scallops, gastropods like sea slugs and snails and chitons go here! These friends of ours are also aquatic and have gills, some even have the suffix -fish (cephalopods used to be called inkfish, even!), but their lack of an endoskeleton is even more obvious than the crustaceans'. They're invertebrates, and therefore not fish!

Chelicerates (subphylum Chelicerata)

This group has many animals that are very hard to mistake for fish, namely spiders and scorpions, but horseshoe crabs and sea spiders are two groups of extant marine chelicerates! Both groups are aquatic, and horseshoe crabs have gills. However, they're both invertebrates, lacking a cranium or vertebrae. Other aquatic chelicerates exist, but they're usually very small, like water mites.

Cnidarians (phylum Cnidaria)

This phylum has the sessile corals and sea anemones and the usually more mobile jellyfish and siphonophores (includes the infamous Portugese man o' war!). I imagine corals and sea anemones are mistaken for fish less due to their sessile nature, but they're good to bring up nevertheless. None of these animals have a backbone, or, any bones really. They lack gills, they lack fins, they even lack the bilateral shape of fish. Jellyfish, despite the name, are indeed not fish! Some people suggest the name sea jellies be used for them instead, and I think it's much cuter.

Echinoderms (phylum Echinodermata)

Animals like starfish, sea urchins, brittle stars, sand dollars, sea cucumbers and feather stars go here. It seems that this pesky "-fish" -suffix is hard to shake off, as now we have the starfish. Once again, all of these slow-moving bottom-dwelling friends of ours are invertebrates, as they lack vertebrae or a cranium. Interestingly though, they are among our closest invertebrate relatives! So we ought to give them some props for that. I also want to mention that starfish can also be called sea stars, which ought to lessen confusion about their being too.

Comb jellies (phylum Ctenophora)

Comb jellies look a lot like jellyfish, but they belong in their own unique phylum! They have the same deal going on; they are invertebrates, they lack gills, they lack a cranium, they are simply aquatic.

Lancelets (subphylum Cephalocordata) and tunicates (subphylum Tunicata)

A double feature, because I wanted to save space didn't want these guys to be all alone! Lancelets and Tunicates, like sea squirts and salps, are chordates, which you can find in the phylogenic tree I drew all the way in the definitions section. They share many a feature with vertebrates, like a bilateral bodyplan, a notochord at some stage of life and a post-anal tail, but I'm afraid they're still not fish. They lack a cranium and their notochord does not develop into a vertebral column! Sorry friends, you tried. We can still hang out at the chordate convention.

Annelids (phylum Annelida)

The infamous bobbit worm, bone-eating worms, sea mice, giant tube worms, feather duster worms, spoon worms, bristleworms in general, leeches... many, many worms go here! Pretty self-explanatory: they are invertebrates, even when they live in water. They're extremely cool invertebrates too! I suggest taking a look at some of them, there's many interesting species.

Flatworms (phylum Platyhelminthes)

Flatworms are another very diverse group of worms, having many species both terrestrial and aquatic, however mostly I want to put attention into the free-swimming marine flatworms. They may swim beautifully (and fence with grace), but they are nevertheless invertebrates! Flatworms can live a variety of different lifestyles, from predators to parasites.

Amphibians (class Amphibia)

We've made it into vertebrates now! Amphibians include frogs, salamanders, and caecilians. While they have limbs with digits in their adulthood*, they can be easily confused for fish in their larval stages! This is no surprise, as they use gills to breathe underwater and tadpoles lack any limbs at all for a while. Many amphibians later transition into a terrestrial or semiaquatic way of life and lose their gills, not to mention gain their digit-having limbs.

(*excluding caecilians)

...Well, many amphibians do this, but not all. It's important to mention there are also species of aquatic salamanders which can bear great resemblance to fish with their elongated bodies! Amphiumas, which are sometimes mistakenly called "conger eels" (which is an actual species of fish), are aquatic salamanders with small residual limbs and both working gills and lungs. Giant salamanders and mudpuppies/waterdogs have lungs and gills as well, and lead an aquatic lifestyle — olms are close relatives of mudpuppies. Sirens, meanwhile, lack hind limbs and only have small front limbs, along with retaining their gills in adulthood. Among aquatic salamanders I also want to bring up one most often talked about species: the axolotl! They remain in their larval form, have external gills and lead an aquatic lifestyle. It can be hard to tell with aquatic salamanders sometimes, but these friends of ours are amphibians and not fish, even if they've rejected the land life.

Caecilians are a bit less known overall, but they can also cause a lot of confusion due to their long, limbless body. While most caecilians live underground, some are aquatic in nature, and can therefore be mistaken for fish! However, caecilians breathe via the use of their lungs and through the skin and don't have any gills at all.

Reptiles (class Reptilia)

Most commonly mistaken for fish in this group are sea snakes, sea kraits and water snakes, sea turtles, turtles, penguins, and other (semi)aquatic birds. Sea snakes and water snakes bear a very strong resemblance to eels, but they are indeed just snakes adapted to an aquatic or a semiaquatic lifestyle! The same goes for sea turtles, turtles overall, and penguins. They all need to breathe air and they lack fins, even if their flippers, webbed feet and built-in paddles may look like fins! They also have wholly different types of scales (or feathers!!) than what fish have, even if they share the feature. I assume that other aquatic reptiles, like the marine iguana and crocodilians are better read as reptiles thanks to their limbs with digits, but I want to give them a reptile shoutout anyway. They’re aquatic or semiaquatic, but they are air-breathers and fin-lackers all the same!

I also want to mention one specific extinct group of reptiles, ichtyosaurs! These marine reptiles were rather shark- or dolphin-like in appearance, which is actually a really good example of convergent evolution! Like all other reptiles, they also needed to breathe air and they had... erm... well, I'm not sure if I can call the bones in their flippers digits, but, that's what they used to be, so...? They were cool reptiles and among my favourites! There were many other aquatic reptiles too, but I will only mention just the ones now. A paleontology account would be better-suited to list you allll the marine reptiles.

Mammals (class Mammalia)

Our home class! Some of the aquatic friends we have in this class include whales like baleen and beaked whales, dolphins (orcas go here), porpoises, belugas, narwhals and sperm whales, pinnipeds like seals, sea lions, walruses, and sirenians like manatees, (occasionally known as sea cows) and dugongs! We also have some semiaquatic buddies like hippopotamids, otters, beavers and platypuses! Whales and pinnipeds especially often cause a lot of confusion due to their very streamlined, fishy appearance. They are, however, air breathers that feed their young with milk (some dolphin calves are even born with some hair), and their ancestors were land mammals! The same goes for pinnipeds and sirenians too. True seals, fur seals and sea lions still have fur even! Hippos, otters, beavers and platypuses are a bit more obvious as mammals with their fur and.. distinct air-breathing.. but I wanted to mention them anyway. Their adaptations to aquatic life are just one example of how fascinating evolution can be!

And here we are! A hopefully comprehensive list of fishes and non-fishes, beginning with the ever-shifting story of the term "fish", phylogeny, and why some animals are called fish when they really aren't. I hope you have found useful and interesting information in this post, and perhaps learned something new! I bid you a farewell! :D

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 9: Lactation

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 8971

Afab!reader, noncon, mentioned/implied abduction, lactation, milking machine, medical kinks, injections, human experimentation, breast expansion, breastfeeding, possible body horror elements depending on how you want to look at it, general horror/ psychological horror themes, let me emphasize again that this is VERY non consensual 

A/N: okay, this one is dark. It might be upsetting or uncomfortable to some so PLEASE read the tags and pay attention to your own comfort levels before clicking the read more. It’s Dottore and you should expect the worst, so honestly just multiply that by 5 before you make your decision to read or not ndkvndke

⭐

You were hand selected from a group of other women and girls. Neither the oldest or the youngest, you’d fallen somewhere in the middle. It had been a diverse selection, ranging in size and shape, and even physical maturity, but he chose you out of all the rest. You’d watched him summarily dismiss the matrons standing in line with little more than a glance, outright scoff at the ones who hadn’t even hit puberty yet, as if they disgusted him, and then wave off the girls who were thin and malnourished. It was impossible to tell what he was looking for at the time, especially when it had come down to you and a few others who were healthy and ripe; old enough to be of marriageable age but not so on in years that your bodies were showing signs of aging yet … but you’d long since come to realize the answer for yourself. 

After that humiliating selection process and the equally invasive exam that followed, your world receded to a fine, pinprick of existence that consisted almost exclusively of cold metal equipment and him. Sterile and unpleasant, he touched you with impartial hands encased in powdery gloves while he conducted his preliminary experiments in the cold laboratory where he kept you like an animal. When not on his exam table or hooked up to strange, whirring machines that you did not understand the purpose of, you were securely locked inside a cage in the corner. You’d been foolish enough to think it somewhat nice and even comfortable at first, since it was bigger than the one you’d had to share with all the others after those masked deviants took you from your home. He even provided you with a blanket so you wouldn’t catch a chill and expire before he was through with you — or so he’d said —  but the appeal had quickly faded. It was impossible to stay optimistic when you'd been in here so long that you were even starting to forget what the outside world was like. 

You couldn’t tell how much time you’d spent there, unsure if only several weeks had passed or if months had flown by without your noticing. It could have been either, and he never responded when you asked. He never said anything to you, only at you. The Doctor in the frightening bird mask. As cold as any of the steel equipment he touched you with and just as silent as the machines, he merely conducted whatever trial or objective was on the schedule for the day and then left. You weren’t even sure if he had a name, but if he did you certainly didn’t know it. 

He’d also never asked for yours. 

The Doctor called you ‘Specimen’ when he bothered to refer to you at all, sometimes murmuring instructions to the exceedingly rare assistant that would stop in from time to time to help him with tasks. Either to get you hooked up to another set of plugs and monitors, or to strap you down to the table for him. You were much too scared to actually struggle or fight but it seemed to be the way of these things, so you allowed them to secure leather straps over your ankles and wrists without a fuss. He never hurt you beyond temporary discomfort when he’d take stabbing metal pincers to your breasts and notate the measurements with a low hum, or slip an uncomfortable metal device inside your cunt to spread you open. This, you could accept. You tried to tell yourself it was probably still better than what the others were experiencing, wherever they were, and the pain never lasted long anyway. 

But then came the day where he wheeled a small tray over after already securing you in place on the chilly metal slab in the center of the room, and you just caught a glimpse of what was on it. Needles. That wasn’t so strange. He took blood samples from time to time, to do what with you had no idea, but … these syringes were full of something. A mostly clear fluid that looked only slightly murky in the glaring overhead light. He was going to inject you with it. 

You understood this on an intrinsic, innate level of comprehension but still maintain your obedient silence while he putters around with whatever else was on the little tray. It’s not like he would have explained anything to you even if you’d asked. It’s only when he finally turns to you and wipes a cold, faintly clinging swathe over one side of your breast do you start to realize that something is not quite right here. The smell of antiseptic floods your nose all at once and you gasp, jerking against the bindings holding you down. 

It’s no use though. The leather is entirely unrelenting no matter how much you anxiously jostle your wrists, and all you can do is lay there, watching with big, frightened eyes, as he thoroughly wipes the area clean. It was so chilly in the lab that your nipples were already stiffly coiled but the one he’s clinically wiping down with that damp cloth seems to pebble to an even finer point that makes you whimper low in your throat. The Doctor had touched you like this before, many times in fact, so you didn’t understand why your body was reacting like this to him. Almost like it knew something you hadn’t yet realized … 

When he brings the first needle close to your tit you panic even though you try not to. But he merely clicks his tongue at you, murmuring something under his breath about behaving as he reaches out with his other hand to cup the swell of your breast and still you. Your toes curl at the sensation even as you anxiously shake your limbs, so scared and wracked with uncontrollable shudders your chest heaves under his hold but he doesn’t even give it a moment's pause. One second the sharp needle is arching through the air on a sure, steady trajectory, and the next it’s sinking deep into your flesh. 

A hurt, gutted little moan escapes you, hot tears flooding your eyes while you watch him swiftly depress the plunger. It only takes a few seconds for the syringe to empty and he leaves you wildly gasping for breath when he withdraws it from the skin before turning back to the tray. 

You can’t process any of it as he sedately moves around the table to come up on the other side and repeat the process. It’s like you’re suffocating, looking up at him in horrified confusion and disbelief. What the hell was he injecting you with?

“Wait …” It's little more than a timid mouse squeak. 

Softly tutting at you, The Doctor quickly wipes the area down with a second antiseptic wipe and then bends over your chest to bring the next needle close. “Hush now, Specimen. I’ve got you.” 

The sharp point pricks into the meat of your breast and he lets out a low, faltering breath as it sinks in. You lurch on top of the table, too restrained to actually pull away, but it does little to stop you from devolving into hysterical, heaving gasps. You didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. But if your frantic reaction concerns him in any way he certainly doesn’t show it as he straightens up, eyeing you from under that horrid mask for a long moment before humming a brief sound. 

“Perhaps Specimen needs a sedative for today. We don’t want you hurting yourself carrying on like that, do we?” 

Chuckling faintly at the way you wordlessly squawk and shriek, he steps around you again to dig in a drawer on the far side of the room. You’d never admit it but you were so gripped by wild, mindless panic, very nearly choking on it, that you’re almost a bit relieved when he returns and injects another shot into your pinned arm. Almost immediately a false, manufactured calm starts to wash over you and you readily relax into it, happy to let your mind drift off rather than be forced to face the reality you were living. 

*~*

The next day finds you strapped down again, but this time with the upper half of the table propped up so you could sit. You’d woken up sore, your chest aching so fiercely it made you wince and seethe each time you moved, and having the weight of your breasts settle without any support like this was just making it worse. If you could have brought your hands up to elevate them and lessen some of the pressure you would have gladly done that but your wrists remained locked next to your hips. 

The Doctor takes his time giving you the usual examination as he always does, checking your temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, etc until he finally gets to the end and sets his clipboard aside. You cautiously watch him reach out then, twitching when he tentatively prods the underside of one breast with a blunt knuckle. He doesn’t miss your reaction even though you’d tried to conceal it, scared of what he might do with that information, and he noises a brief sound of interest as he brings his other hand up as well. 

Simultaneously, he nudges both of your tits to lift them slightly but not actually support them, and you hiss through tightly clenched teeth. You were already starting to feel lightheaded, a bit nauseous. The deep ache you felt was so close to being unbearable that you can’t help but react even when you know he’s only going to turn it back around on you. 

“My, how interesting,” He murmurs to himself, sounding really quite pleased with this result. “You’re already this tender, Specimen? It must be working even quicker than I thought … looks like I made the right choice when choosing you for this experiment. Aren’t you happy?” 

You want to ask him what experiment, desperate for any information at all, but you bite your tongue, already knowing full well he wasn’t going to explain anything to you. All you can do is helplessly watch as he pokes and prods, and paws at your chest until you can’t hold it back any longer and stinging tears track a wet path down your face. Your chest was so sensitive and sore it felt like he was jabbing you with blunt knives. 

Softly laughing under his breath, The Doctor lifts his hands a little higher and just brushes over your stiff nipples. You choke at the instant, blinding sensation and jerk back against the table so hard it clatters in response. It was all you could do just to keep drawing air into your lungs. You were so oversensitized it hurt! 

“Please,” You somehow manage to grit out. “Stop it!” 

“How precious,” He purrs, low and mean, as he takes delicate hold of the hardened buds between thumb and forefinger. Just holding them for the moment but even that is enough to make you writhe in place, thrashing against the bonds as much as you physically can. “You know, this is the kind of feedback you just can’t get with animal test subjects. All they do is scream and bleat, but you …” 

He leans closer — so close the curved beak of his mask almost touches your face — and you suck in such a ragged, threadbare gasp that it seems to claw at your throat on the way down. Trembling like a leaf now, you just stare at him. Fixated on the spot where his eyes should have been. You can catch only a very small glimpse of the corner of his mouth like this, and you’re more than a little unnerved to find he’s smiling. Delighted. Pleased. 

You just shake even harder. 

“Isn’t it nice that we can communicate like this, Specimen? You can beg me for mercy and I can laugh at you for being stupid enough to try. Why, if I suddenly find myself feeling generous I could even attempt to have a conversation with you.” Pausing, The Doctor appears to give that a moment’s consideration only to softly click his tongue at length. “Probably not, though. I doubt you have anything of interest to say.” 

Before you can even think to respond or formulate a convincing argument for yourself, he abruptly pinches down on your nipples and you shriek. Jerking back against the table only makes your tits bounce and pull at your sore teats where he’s still got them squeezed between his fingers, fresh tears welling behind closed eyes. It was easily the worst thing you’d ever felt. Even worse than the barbaric looking contraption he’d wedged inside your cunt and used to stretch you open when he first brought you here. You’d thought nothing could compare to that discomfort but you were now realizing just how bad it could really be. 

In this manner he spends what feels like many agonizing, endless hours just toying with your breasts; tugging and pulling, and twisting, until the sharp sensitivity somehow exceedes the threshold of comprehension in your mind and dwindles to a dull, mostly numbed but still aching throb. You’re distantly aware of it but too strung out to give it voice anymore. You barely even register the sound he makes when he finally breathes out a quiet sigh of satisfaction and pulls away, leaving your chest screaming in the aftermath. All you knew was that he was stepping away, leaving you to the agony … 

But then he comes back, and a broken little sob bursts out of you when you recognize the two needles in his hand. Whatever this experiment was, it didn’t look like it would be over any time soon. 

~*~ 

The next few days continue in the same manner, repeating the same process over and over again until you almost start to become acclimated to it. The Doctor visits you once in the morning to make note of your vitals and jot down whatever remarks on his clipboard before leaving you to waste away in solitude until midafternoon. Another round of vitals and more note taking, then another session of having him paw at your chest until tears were streaming down your face and, finally, another shot in each breast. He leaves you for the rest of the day until his final check in late in the evening when he makes his final notations and then secures you inside your cage for the night. It all would have been rather humdrum at a certain point except … 

Except that by the end of the first week you start to notice certain changes in your body. You’d thought it was your imagination at first, just a result of the injections and all the brutish pawing he insisted on doing for no reason you could conceive, but your breasts were in fact getting bigger. Swelling to the point that it was noticeable and you couldn’t write it off as a mere flight of fancy. Even worse though was the way your nipples had likewise become puffy and constantly stiff, like they were in a perpetual state of arousal. It was all very strange, to look down at your own chest and see yourself looking like that, but The Doctor was nothing if not pleased. 

He marveled over the results to no end, constantly remarking on how well you were reacting to the treatment and muttering under his breath that it wouldn’t be long now. You didn’t dare to ask until what, really not sure if you even wanted to know, but it’s not as if he would have told you anyway. Utterly helpless, all you could do was try to grin and bear with it for as long as you were able to, hoping that this trial would soon come to a close. 

But of course you’re not quite so lucky, and at the start of the second week he suddenly introduces double dosages of that mysterious substance he was injecting you with. Instead of one in both breasts, you now got two in each and with that increase so too do the results start to speed up. 

Your chest is not only growing bigger, you're more than a little horrified to realize one day, but heavier too. Initially you think they’re one and the same, and you were feeling jittery panic over nothing. But then you’d touched them, lifted them in your palms to lessen some of the strain, and it had occurred to you that your tits weren’t just filling out … they were swelling with an internal pressure, like something was building up under the skin and the resulting inflation was forcing them to expand. You couldn’t make any sense of it. Not only did you just not understand what was even happening in the first place but you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around why he would do this to you. What was his goal? Were these really the results he’d hoped for, or had something gone wrong? 

Trying to tell yourself you were still likely faring better than any of the others you’d shared a cramped little prison cell with or any of the women you’d stood in line with to be evaluated like livestock only goes so far. It soon becomes especially hard to consider your situation a lucky one when the daily breast massages steadily turn into a truly tortuous experience. Where you’d once been simply too sensitive and tender, there was now the added sensation of having too much pressure without any way to relieve it. You sob all throughout these little sessions now, groaning and heaving against the exam table while he squeezes and pinches, tugging on your raw teats until you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind. It gets so bad that even after he leaves you to your own devices you find yourself rubbing your chest in a blithe attempt at easing some of the constant ache there. 

That’s how you eventually figure out what’s really going on. 

It’s the start of the third week (you’d made it a point to keep track from that first injection) and your tits are so heavy and swollen they look like they’re ready to burst. Fighting back harsh, body wracking sobs, you desperately run your hands over them even though it’s done you little in the way of good up until now. It’s like an instinctive urge though, something deep in the primal part of your brain compelling you to massage your breasts even when it just causes you more discomfort. But you can feel something building in them and you’re half delirious with the thought that you would soon find relief if you just kept at it long enough. 

The first wet dribble almost goes unnoticed. You think it’s a mistake. A bead of sweat, perhaps, or maybe even a faint little droplet of blood where your nipples felt so chaffed and sore. But when you look at your fingertip only to find a clear, somewhat thick consistency clinging to the skin, you feel faint with disbelief. Try to convince yourself that it’s not what you think it is, that you were excreting literally anything else — anything at all, but … the proof smacks you across the face when you bring it up to your mouth and take a cautious lick. 

It was sweet and bitter at the same time, and more than just a bit cloying and you’re suddenly left with the crushing realization of what he’s done to you. 

~*~ 

For the first time ever, you fight him tooth and nail when it comes time to strap you down to the table for your midday exam. It’s difficult with your chest so swollen and heavy that every shuddering movement hurts, but you still manage to hold out until he’s forced to call for backup. You feel rather proud of yourself for that up until two sets of hands descend upon you, grappling to get you secured in place, “without harming the Specimen!”, he’d irritably snapped. 

It seems to stretch on for many, many minutes, but at last they manage to buckle a restraint around one of your wrists and it becomes frustratingly easy for them to get the rest. You’re left panting and heaving, shooting daggers at The Doctor as well as his assistant when they step back to sort themselves out. The younger man was nursing a bruised jaw where you’d successfully caught him with your elbow and The Doctor … you’d almost knocked his stupid mask off his face, and you regretted not being able to see him without it as he tersely readjusts it’s placement. Maybe next time though. There was always a next time with him. 

Finally drawing himself up, The Doctor impatiently tugs at the cravat around his neck where it had twisted askew before barking at the other man. “Get the table up. I want the Specimen sitting for this.” 

His assistant rushes to obey and you narrow your eyes at him in warning, still gasping for breath as he comes up next to you. Bending down, he reaches under the table to fiddle with some sort of lever or mechanism and then moves to incline the top half of the table, slowly inching you up until you’re left staring directly at The Doctor. He’s standing at enough of a distance that you can see his mouth under the curved beak, and you’re quite pleased to note he’s scowling at you. Good. A bit of frustration was well deserved after what he’d done to you. 

“Now then,” He finally intones, low and dangerous, as his assistant reaches back under the table to lock it in place. “Might I ask just what it is you think you are doing today? I was so sure you knew better than that.” 

It takes you a moment to realize he hadn’t asked you a rhetorical question for once and was actually expecting an answer. You were so unused to him acknowledging you in any way that for a moment you’re not quite sure how to respond. 

“Why don’t you start by telling me what it is you’re injecting me with.” You finally spit. 

The Doctor tips his head to one side, looking so much like a curious carrion bird in his beaked mask and feathers that it actually sends a chill down your spine. “Do you really think you’d understand if I told you? How ridiculous.” 

Your cheeks start to grow warm, but you pull yourself up as much as you’re able to and try again. “You’re a monster! What did you do to me?” 

“That’s better.” Simpering, he roughly yanks at his coat to straighten it and then strides forward. Your already erratic heartbeat picks up at his approach but you can’t pull away when he comes up alongside you and reaches out to rather disinterestedly grab one of your tits. Sharp splinters of pain immediately shoot through you and you wheeze, looking down at his hand on your chest in dull disbelief. “What I did to you is rather simple, really. If you want my honesty so much then let’s just say I’m a little surprised you didn’t start to figure it out sooner. Even someone with rocks for brains should have noticed the correlation when their body started to undergo sudden change. I mean, really. Are you that oblivious or are you just trying to get under my skin, darling Specimen?” 

He emphasizes that last bit with a tight, incensed squeeze on your chest, and you outright choke when a tiny little spurt of discharge flies from your nipple. Going so completely still it’s disconcerting, The Doctor simply stares down at you for a long, tension filled moment. Then, to your reeling surprise, he abruptly lets you go. 

“I see,” He eventually murmurs, tapping a gloved finger to his chin in thought. “So that’s what finally tipped you off. We’ve already made it this far in the experiment so it simply wouldn’t do to kill you now and have to start over from scratch … but we’ll have to adjust the parameters. Specimen is far too erratic to be left to their own devices anymore. Might even need to be put under permanent sedation until the final test results are obtained.” 

Muttering under his breath, The Doctor turns from you to pace the room in deep consideration and leave you violently shuddering on the exam table. You didn’t want to be permanently sedated … just the thought alone is almost enough to send you spiraling into full blown panic. Although you’d welcomed its comforting embrace once you were far too alert now to willingly slip under like that. You needed to think of something. Quick. 

“I’ll cooperate - -“ 

“Your cooperation means less than nothing to me.” He cuts across you like the crack of a whip, making you cower in place. Suddenly turning on his heel, he stalks towards you again and you can do nothing at all when he slips his hand under the heavy weight of one breast so he can lift it in consideration. “Specimen should be close to full production levels at this rate. Another day or two, I suspect.”

A heavy silence settles over the room, interspersed only by your labored panting and the nervous shuffle of the assistant somewhere behind you. But The Doctor is perfectly still while he seems to weigh the options laid out before him, his blunt thumb brushing idle circles over the straining swell of your tit while he thinks. You’re certain the waiting is going to kill you. 

“Dimitri!” He abruptly snaps, startling both you and his assistant, if the tiny yelp behind you is anything to go by. “Prepare the machine immediately. I know just what to do with this one.” 

*~*

With your hands secured behind your back, you’re led from the enclosed section of the lab you were usually kept in and into a different section that housed far more complicated machinery than you could reasonably process. You’d never seen so many different kinds of knobs, buttons, circuits, control panels, hanging wires and thick cable power lines in your life. Half of it you hadn’t even known existed until being brought here, but your relative familiarity with the banks and complicated components in the other room did serve as an effective baseline to at least understand that what you were looking at was far outside your sphere of comprehension. 

Even the tall cylindrical machine The Doctor’s assistant pulls you up to is so far beyond anything you could reasonably wrap your head around that you have no idea what it was supposed to do. You feel a bit like an oblivious sheep being peacefully led to the slaughter, but there wasn’t much you could have done about it even if you did know what was happening. 

Leaving your side, the assistant scurries over to the control bank and starts to fiddle with various levers on the panel, evidently fine tuning the parameters of the output as the strange machine starts to sputter louder. You momentarily consider making a run for it, weighing your odds of escape with your hands tied behind your back, but then The Doctor steps up behind you and takes a pinching hold of your elbow to give you a brief, teeth rattling shake. 

“Did you know,” He says rather amicably, at complete odds with the rough treatment. “Mammalian births are some of the most successful in nature. Even putting aside mankind, they’re among the most common class of animal and for good reason. Tell me, Specimen. Do you happen to know why that is?” 

You give your head a mute shake, a little too unnerved to play this game with him, and he barks out a clipped, humorless laugh. Yanking on your arm, The Doctor drags you closer to the heaving machine until the sound of it seems to swallow you whole and set your guts to vibrate. Suddenly finding yourself more scared than you’d ever been, you instinctively try to backpedal but he all too easily holds you in place. 

“It’s the milk, you silly little nitwit. It promotes growth and development, in addition to a wide variety of benefits to brain functionality.” Grinning a sharp, eager smile under his mask, he reaches up with his unoccupied hand to tug at a clear tube sticking out of the machine. Your mouth drops open when it jerks loose with a loud, forceful suck of air but nothing comes out, not even a peep. You were starting to have strong suspicions what this machine was used for and yet — you didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. 

Turning to you again, he holds up the open ended tube piece and tauntingly waggles it at you. “Now, answer me this … do you have any guess as to what happens to developing infants if they’re denied that very milk they need to grow? Say, in the instance of the untimely death of their mother?” 

Your stomach lurches with an intense, sinking feeling of dread. You did not like this line of questioning and what it would suggest any more than you liked the aggressive shucking noise coming from the machine. Surely you were misunderstanding something and he didn’t really mean what you thought he did. “I — I don’t know. I don’t understand - -“ 

You cut off with a frightened squeak when he gives your arm another tug to drag you closer, nearly pulling you stumbling right into him. Your heavy tits bounce with the sudden motion and bring fresh stabs of discomfort with it, but you’re much too focused on The Doctor to get swept up in the pain. It was all you could do just to stay on your feet instead of collapsing in a dead faint. You’d never been so terribly frightened. 

“They don’t grow.” He hisses, sharp fingers digging mercilessly into your skin. “Not to their full potential, anyway. All the amino acids, antibodies, vitamins and minerals they should have gotten from their mothers milk … gone, just like that. I’d ask you another question but it’s obvious you don’t have the intelligence to even follow along so allow me to spell it out for you instead. A colleague of mine runs an orphanage. Some of the children she takes in are quite young indeed and there is a noticeable difference between those who lost their parents early in development and those who did not. The ultimate goal of this experiment was to determine whether or not a reliable production method could be used to — fill in the gaps, so to speak.” 

He leans down then, putting his face close to yours, but you just stand there, staring up at him in wide eyed terror. It was like he was speaking a foreign language now, every other word so bizarre and incomprehensible that it may as well have been complete gibberish. But somehow you still grasp enough of the meaning to be afraid. You still tremble uncontrollably when he tips his head, and suddenly his breath is intermingling with yours without his mask in the way to block it. 

“And lucky you, our first test subject. Such a resounding success too.” He purrs in a soft, velvety croon that makes your spine snap straight. “Even I wasn’t expecting to see these results so quickly. If only you could have just had the sense to stay nice and docile for me … oh well. It doesn’t really matter now does it, my darling Specimen?” 

You force your constricting lungs to expand, sucking in a harsh, stuttering breath, but he just nudges your right up against him before you can think of something to say. Your blood instantly turns to ice when you feel his coat brush against you as well as the body heat coming off him, and frantically try to twist away. It was much too late though. His hold on your elbow was as good as iron and he now had you standing close enough to the machine that he could direct the suctioning tube towards your chest. So gripped with terror, you desperately try to angle away from it to no avail and you outright shriek when it sucks your nipple up and seals to your breast with a deafening loud schuck. 

Throwing your head back, you scream up at the ceiling until your throat seizes under the stress and you trail off into a gutted, hollowed out groan that seems to echo off the walls. The pressure is so extreme on your swollen, sensitized teat that for a wild moment you actually think it’s going to pull it right off. But when you sway unsteadily, nauseous and sick, then chance a look down, immense relief washes over you when you see the tip of your breast very much intact. That doesn’t make it any less painful though, and you viciously seethe through your teeth as you watch the suction pull at your nipple, stretching the pliant flesh to the point that it hurt just to look at it.

But then, to your groaning horror, you catch a brief jet of milky discharge getting sucked out of you to disappear up inside the tube and whatever it was attached to. You understood perfectly now. This was a milking machine. A horrid creation of The Doctors, no doubt, and it was so powerful that even when his hand falls away it stays suctioned right where it was over your teat. To your surprise, however, the sharp discomfort you’d first felt quickly starts to recede into a dull thrum under that constant pulse and you can’t quite stop yourself from issuing a low, faltering sound of relief. There was still an immense amount of built up pressure inside your breast but somehow the intense suction actually helped make it a bit more bearable. It wasn’t by much, but you were willing to take anything at this point, and your knees violently knock with that realization. 

“O - oh, blessed Archons!” 

Chuckling faintly, The Doctor slowly releases his hold on your arm and you nearly collapse right then and there. The only thing that reminds you to catch yourself is the tube attached to your breast which showed no sign of loosening its hold anytime soon. You stagger and try to reestablish your balance without him there to keep you propped up as he shifts behind you to step up on the other side. From the corner of your eye, you watch him reach out to grab the second suction device, grimacing even when your neglected tit throbs at the prospect. 

“Please, dear Seven, I’m begging - -“

“They aren’t listening, I’m afraid. Such a pity.” Casually, The Doctor curls his unoccupied hand under the weight of your tit and lifts it slightly to better bring the tube down on the nipple. It firmly sucks into place just the same as the first did, and you scream at the initial pain that tears through you. But same as before, it only takes a few moments for the constant, rhythmic sucking to alleviate some of the tension in your chest and, shuddering, you force yourself to relax into it. Easier said than done when it felt like this horrible machine was actively trying to suck the life right out of you but you manage, somehow. 

“How … how long do you intend to leave me like this?” You pant, struggling to swallow around the rock lodged in your throat as you awkwardly shuffle your feet to better ground yourself. 

“Hm?” Crossing his arms, The Doctor puts his head to one side in faux consideration. “What a silly question. As long as it takes for your production levels to reach their maximum output and for you to start milking properly, of course. Your current rate,” He nudges his chin towards the shuddering tubes, still mostly clear save the occasional tiny wet bead moving along their length. “Isn’t even close to being sufficient. Your lactation ducts need to be thoroughly stimulated until they start to trigger your let-down reflex for optimal milk flow. Truth be told, I had wanted to save this for the final step since things could get … messy, but you just had to go and force my hand, didn’t you?”

With a faint click of his tongue, he starts to turn. “No matter. At least now I won’t have to spend quite so much time monitoring your progress to ensure that everything is proceeding as it should. One way or another, that machine will have you sorted out in no time.” 

Gasping, you give a little jerk when he moves to walk away but you manage to catch the subconscious reaction before you can yank on the suction cups and hurt yourself. “Wait! Please don’t actually leave me here! You can’t — nghn! It hurts, you bastard!” 

The Doctor doesn’t even acknowledge your desperate pleas and he disappears further into the lab without so much as a backwards glance, leaving you at the mercy of the machine. 

~*~ 

You’re not sure how long he’s left you like this. All of your careful tracking since that first injection, gone just like that without his clockwork appearances to track the time with. It could have been mere hours or the whole day, a whole night. You never would have known any different. 

Your legs shudder under you, exhausted and sore from standing for the indeterminate period you’ve been hooked up to the machine but the tubes are too short for you to sit. You were effectively tethered to the faintly groaning mechanism with only enough lead to shift from side to side before the powerful suction started to pull and cause a great deal of discomfort. It wasn’t so bad when you just stood there and let it suckle at your raw teats, but that was hardly any comfort to you at this point. 

You’d watched your breasts shudder against the force and slowly, so slowly you hadn’t even realized it was happening at first, let down on the intense pressure that had steadily built in them over the last two weeks. What was initially just an occasional spurt of creamy fluid, shuddering beads sucked up through the tubes and into what you could only guess was a collection unit, had gradually turned into a relatively steady stream of creamy white fluid. Even without any real knowledge on the topic, you still recognized it for what it was and could no longer try to pretend it was something else. You were not only lactating but quite excessively by the looks of it. Whatever he’d been injecting you with had caused such an extreme physiological shift in your body that you were now rapidly producing milk without ever having been pregnant and the output only seemed to be steadily increasing. 

The innate relief that comes with having your tits milked doesn’t do much to pacify you though, and your head slowly comes up when you catch the sound of approaching footsteps. You know it’s The Doctor, so familiar with that slow, confident gait and the unique sound of his boots on the floor that you’d know it anywhere at this point. Shuddering so hard you nearly collapse, you force yourself to straighten from the tired hunch you’d fallen into, hissing when the suction tubes give a stiff jostle over your nipples. You weren’t foolish enough to believe he’d found the capacity for mercy in his twisted soul but a little part of you still hopes … 

“Good morning, Specimen. You look lovely today, don’t you?” He drawls as he comes up behind you, and a hurt little groan bursts out of you when more of the pressure in your tits gives to release a thick, creamy dollop into the sucking machine. You just stare down at the tubes in frozen, slack jawed disbelief. At the sound of his voice? 

He steps up beside you then, startling you, and you snap your attention up to find him grinning under that ugly mask. Waves of deep satisfaction practically roll off him as he halts close enough you can feel his coat brushing your thigh. The two of you just look at one another for what feels like an eternity, your shoulders trembling with every labored breath. 

“I see the machine has served its purpose.” He says at length. 

“Screw you!” 

Clicking his tongue in admonition, The Doctor reaches out and casually — much too casually — slips a gloved hand between your thighs. You jolt so hard the tubes bob with the motion, pulling at your poor tits, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it as he worms his wrist in the tight space even when you try to squeeze him out. Long, blunt fingers find the seam and rudely nudge up into you, nearly knocking you off balance when you give a fierce jolt. 

“My, my, isn’t that interesting?” He croons, baring sharp teeth with a mean, perverse grin as those oppressive digits slip and slide through an obscene amount of slick. You’d been so focused on the continuous suction on your nipples, the stilted relief of pressure, that you hadn’t even noticed how the rest of your body was reacting. 

Your stomach wrenches with this knowledge but you just stand there, thighs quaking around his hand, while he casually pulls soft, wet little clicks out of your cunt with the drag of his fingers. It was horrible and disgusting, and your nausea only increases when you catch a glimpse of yet more creamy white discharge being pulled up through the tubes. 

“Are you enjoying your milking, Specimen? Good. You’re going to be here for a while so it’s probably best if you find some way to entertain yourself.” Chuckling, The Doctor slowly withdraws his hand, much to your shuddering disappointment, but he ignores your quiet whimpering in favor of straightening up. “Dimitri!” 

A sudden bang sounds from somewhere in the lab. Within seconds, the young man rounds the corner at a flustered sprint and you sway unsteadily on your feet when his eyes widen at the sight of you. 

“Lower the settings on the machine,” The Doctor hisses at him, low and dangerous. “Then leave me for the rest of the day. I will oversee the experiment myself from here.” 

He turns back to you as his assistant goes scurrying off to fiddle with the control panel, leering viciously under his mask when he reaches out to palm your hip. You gnash your teeth, chest heaving with fast pumping terror but there’s nothing you can do to stop it when he tugs you closer. Your pelvis bumps his firm thigh and you suck in a harsh breath. He couldn’t be serious … now, after all this time treating you like little more than a slab of meat? 

Seething, you grimace when the suction suddenly lessens to a weak, hollow tug that you can barely feel through your raw teats. The change in pressure is immediately apparent though and your nipples pulse in its absence. You have to fight back the sobs that try to tear their way out of your throat as you watch him slowly reach up to wrap his hand around one of the tubes still clinging to your breast. He doesn’t pull it off though, not yet, and instead just looks at you for a long beat. 

“I suppose you do deserve a reward. After all, you’ve far exceeded my expectations and I’m quite pleased with you, you know.” He purrs at last. “I wasn’t expecting you to take to the drug so quickly, nor did I foresee you reaching this production level so soon. You’ve impressed me a great deal, Specimen, and I always make sure to reward good behavior where I can.” 

He doesn’t warn you before he does it. So abruptly it leaves you reeling in hurt disbelief, he pops the suction tube free with a firm tug and your nipple throbs against the total lack of pressure. It feels like a million tiny pinpricks are stabbing into the sensitive flesh all at once when the air hits it, wafting uncomfortably against hot, swollen skin. Unable to stop yourself, you look down only to instantly wish you hadn’t. 

Not only was the swollen teat so puffy and dark from the suction, fat with milk that beads and dribbles wetly from the tip, it was also humiliatingly engorged. The constant sucking had pulled at the pliant skin for so long that it now stuck straight out in a plaintive, attention grabbing point. Meaty and so starkly different from how it had once looked, you feel bile rise in the back of your throat. 

The Doctor doesn’t allow you enough time to fully process what you’re seeing though, and you helplessly watch him take the remaining tube in hand so he can pull it loose as well. You shudder so violently at the onslaught of sensation that your knees give out but he’s quick to steady you with both hands on your hips. Fingers digging in mercilessly, he pulls your lower body against his own and your mouth drops open at the hard press of his cock on your stomach. 

“That’s a good look for you, Specimen. Much better than all that hissing and kicking you did yesterday.” Casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to do, he lifts a hand from your waist when he’s sure you’re steady enough not to fall and nudges a single finger under one teat. You loose a gutted, broken sound when a fresh bead of milk trickles out to run down his hand and, humming, he idly presses up to make more come out. “Yes, your production levels are excellent. Your let-down reflex seems to be working quite well.” 

You aren’t sure what he’s going to do next when he withdraws his fingers, but the very last thing you expect is for The Doctor to hunch over your chest and seal his mouth around the nipple. Going stock still at the sensation of a hot, wet mouth suckling at your breast rather than the cold, impartial machine, you just stand there and … let him do it. You were horrified with yourself but couldn’t quite find the wherewithal to be disgusted when it felt good. So much better than you could have imagined it would. His tongue laps at the swollen bud to gather the creamy secretion and swallow it down, the suction of his mouth so much less intense than the merciless tubes and yet — somehow far more satisfying. 

A frazzled whimper rattles through you with the sensation of your milk ducts giving out completely, releasing a steady stream into his mouth. The Doctor groans very softly against your skin at the influx of milk and nuzzles deeper into your breast, bringing his teeth down around the puffed up areola to make it squirt at the back of his working throat. Numbly glancing down at yourself, at his face pressed into your chest, you’re more than a little horrified to find a sympathetic dribble coming out of the opposite teat to splatter on the floor below. You didn’t understand how you were making so much milk and you knew even less why your body was reacting to him like this, but all of that seems to get swept up and dissolved in the dreamy haze that slowly comes over you. 

You’d felt it while you were hooked up to the milking machine as well but had written it off as a defense mechanism of some sort … just an old, primal part of your brain trying to make the situation more bearable so it didn’t break you. The physical discomfort as much as the mental strain of watching your body change against your will was taxing enough that it had made sense at the time. But now you knew, innately, that it was a natural response to feeding. As much as the let-down reflex was, this strange sense of peace was just the nature of your mammalian instincts. 

Suddenly his strange questions and even stranger answers made a lot more sense. 

“Goodness,” He groans when he finally comes up off your breast some moments later. A heavy squirt of milk follows after him, splattering across his open mouth but, much to your heaving shame, he just reaches up to wipe it away. “You really are producing more milk than I expected you to at this stage of the experiment. I suspect at this rate you could likely fill almost two gallons in a single day … such a sublime Specimen you are, darling, and a resounding success at that.” 

You can see he’s breathing heavier now, either excited by the results or the act of feeding from your breast, and you bite down on your lower lip to keep quiet as he straightens so he can reach for his slacks. He’d never crossed this line before, had never shown you even so much as a passing interest even when he had you spread out and helpless on his exam table, and you don’t know what to expect. The rigid cock that springs up in the space between you surprises a strangled gasp out of you though, and you try to jerk away from it. He was big. Much bigger than you were prepared to take. 

The Doctor just grabs onto your hips, squeezing so hard you cry out even as he drags your pelvis closer so he can slot himself between your thighs. Wheezing, you shudder uncontrollably when he takes a moment to sedately thrust into the space and drag his stiff length over soaked lips that seem to cling at him. The calm that had mercifully fallen over you while he was suckling is quickly replaced by jittery panic, and you can’t help blubbering like an idiot when he none too gently forces your pelvis into an upward, tilted angle that almost drags you up onto your tip toes. 

You didn’t want him touching you like this. Didn’t want to even think about him moving inside of you, claiming your body for himself. 

But the stiff rope keeping your hands behind your back is unrelenting and there isn’t anything you can do about it as he nudges closer to line himself up with your entrance. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m sure you’ll like it. Your sweet little cunt is already so very wet and I bet it’s just aching to be filled, isn’t it?” 

Hissing through your teeth, you twist your head around so you won’t have to look at that horrible mask looming over you. But that does absolutely nothing to deter him though, and you cry out when he starts to slowly sink into your hot, squirming guts. Taking him like this is difficult, the slow stretch so much worse than it would have been if you could properly spread your legs. He just forces you to stay upright when you waver, and you let out a hurt little groan as his fingers dig into your hips so hard you can feel bruises blooming under the pressure. Your cunt grants him entry one stilted inch at a time though, welcoming it as much as your mind wants to fight it. 

But you’re completely at his mercy and when he finally settles inside you, as deep as he can reach in this position, you feel something in you snap. Your hips nudge forward of their own accord to weakly rut against the intrusion as you tip your head down, intending to look at where his body connects with yours, but all you see is … your breasts, so swollen and heavy, leaking copious amounts of milk all over your front. Like being penetrated had loosened a faucet and you were now freely dribbling all over the place without the need for any stimulation. The sight alone almost sends you shuddering right over the edge. 

Hunching closer when your eyes start to roll back, The Doctor studies you up close for a long, drawn out beat while your cunt hollowly contracts around him, squeezing his length in pulses. You feel the excited shiver that runs through him as much as you see it, and then he tips his head to just touch his mouth to yours. “Aren’t you being good for me?”

“P - please —!”

He softly shushes you, lips brushing when he speaks again. “You’ll get your reward, not to worry. But tell me something first, Specimen. If you can do that for me I’ll make sure you feel so good you won’t know what to do with yourself.” 

Mewling softly, you sway against his hold while your tits just keep leaking. “What do you want?” 

“Can you tell me your name?” 

You go still, so caught off guard by the question you can’t seem to process it at first. But then a stiff shudder tears down your back and your eyes go big, jerking back as far as you can when he’s got a hold of you like this. A helpless, trapped little animal sound bursts out of you but he just grins at you, his mouth a razor sharp slash under the mask. You didn’t remember. It had been so long since you’d spoken it, since anyone had called you anything other than Specimen … you truly didn’t know anymore. 

Where there once had been a solid, tangible thought there was only ringing silence. An echoing void inside your head, and The Doctor’s leering smile only grows when he sees the horror dawn on your face. 

You weren’t anyone now. 

Just Specimen.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Springtime Symbolism OC Questions.

A little list of OC questions based on Spring Symbolism in North West European Heraldry. Obviously many of these things have different symbolic meanings in different cultures and have had different associations at different points in history - this list is intended more for diversion than serious historical analysis.

Green Leaves and Blossoms - The Promise of Renewal.

Does your OC hold onto hope for a better future? For themselves? For those they love? Or for their society?

Has your OC ever made a conscious decision to make a fresh start? Or have they even reinvented themselves completely? What did they hope to leave behind? Was it truly possible to do so?

Is your OC skilled in repairing or rebuilding what is broken or worn? Or would they sooner dispose of something and replace it with something new and (perhaps) better?

Does your OC find their moods affected by the seasons? Do they struggle more during colder and darker months? Or do they find unique pleasure in each season?

What would social or cultural renewal mean to your OC? A return to a previous golden age of freedom, tradition or peace? Or a fresh beginning for society into something new and enhanced?

Eggs and Lambs - Birth and Fertility.

Does your OC know much about the circumstances of their birth? (or creation, as the case may be) Who was present? Was it planned or expected? Was their arrival celebrated? Or resented?

Does your OC have an affinity for plants and gardens? Have they ever played an active role in harvesting crops or foraging for roots or mushrooms? Or is the actual production of the food they eat quite alien to their everyday life?

If your OC has ever given birth, was this a positive or a traumatic experience for them? If they have not or could not do so, then how much use would they be during a birth? Would they be confident in assisting? Or would they prefer to be far away from the process?

Was your OC considered to be a cute baby? Are there any pictures or keepsakes from this time in their life? If they were never a baby then what sense do they make of the helplessness and dependence of tiny babies?

Does your OC plan to have children? Or plan to have more children if they already have a child? If not, then is this because they dislike children? Or because they consider themselves unsuited to the task of parenting? Or for another reason?

Flowers and Sunshine - New Love and Romance

Would your OC be delighted to receive flowers from a partner or admirer? Or would they be slightly nonplussed - or even offended?

What would your OC consider a romantic gift or gesture if they were planning such a thing for someone? If they aren't romantically inclined themselves, then what advice would they give another person?

What would your OC wear to meet a new or prospective lover in the Springtime? If they are not interested in romance themselves, then what would they advise a friend or sibling to wear to match the season?

Does your OC's wardrobe change as the weather gets lighter and warmer? Does this impact how others see them? And is garnering certain reactions entirely intentional? If not from the wider public, then perhaps from a lover or partner?

Does your OC ever get crushes on other people? Or did they do so in their younger days? Do they remember these fondly? Or does recalling such things make them cringe?

Cleaning and Washing - Starting Anew

What old habits or negative behavioural patterns has your OC left behind? Was this something they found easy? Or did it take time and/or help from others?

Does your OC have any Springtime rituals? Either personal (spring cleaning or shopping for a new outfit for example) or traditional to their culture or society (a ritual dance or cleansing).

Does your OC need their partner or friends to hold them accountable when they are trying to make a positive change? Or do they prefer to quietly resolve to make a change and not involve anyone else in the process?

Has your OC ever burned or otherwise destroyed something that reminded them of unhappy times or experiences in their past? Was this part of an arranged event? Or something they did spontaneously or in anger?

What is a habit or behaviour that your OC wishes to modify or adopt in the future? What has held them back from making this change in the past?

[hayatheauthor]

Crafting Authentic Child Characters: From Toddlers to Tweens

When it comes to writing captivating stories, it's not just about the plot or setting—it's about the characters that bring your narrative to life. Among those characters, child characters hold a special place. 

Child characters, when done right, can hold a special place in your readers’ hearts. Think of YA series like Harry Potter or Percy Jackson- these books featured eleven and twelve year olds but their captivating tales and realistic characteristics drew us in. However, when done wrong, child characters can often ruin immersion and make readers feel annoyed due to their unrealistic representation. 

In this guide, I’ve decided to explore the different pubescent age groups you often see in literature alongside tips to help you craft authentic child characters. 

Understanding Toddler Characters

The toddler years—a phase characterized by tiny tots exploring the world with wide-eyed wonder. Writing toddler characters can be a delightful yet challenging task. These pint-sized adventurers, typically aged 1 to 3 years, are bundles of curiosity and emotion.

Characterizing Toddlers

Toddlers are known for their limited communication skills. Their vocabulary might consist of a few words or adorable gibberish. They often express themselves through gestures, facial expressions, and body language. Embracing their simplicity is key when bringing them to life on the page. Toddlers view the world with fresh eyes and uncomplicated hearts, finding joy in the little things like chasing butterflies or playing with bubbles.

Portraying Toddler Dialogue

When writing dialogue for toddler characters, simplicity is the name of the game. Toddler speech is basic and straightforward, often composed of short sentences or one-word responses. Capturing their enthusiasm is essential. Toddlers can be highly expressive, so use exclamation marks and enthusiastic language to convey their excitement. It's all about experiencing life's wonders, one small step at a time.

Writing toddler characters offers an opportunity to explore the world through innocent eyes and infuse your story with their unique brand of wonder and emotion.

Toddlers In Flashbacks 

I would like to quickly mention that people don’t retain most of their memories from their toddler years, so if you’re trying to create a plot point surrounding a situation your character witnessed as a toddler it is important to consider whether a child that age would realistically even remember such an event. 

Capturing the Essence of Children (4-7 years)

Children aged 4-7 are often brimming with creativity, curiosity, and a penchant for storytelling. Think back to times when you used to mix up shampoos in the bathroom to make ‘potions’ or create weirdly intricate plots for your ‘house’ games. 

Characterizing Young Children

At this stage, children are developing rapidly, both physically and cognitively. They have an eagerness to understand the world around them, which often leads to a vivid imagination. Their capacity to believe in the extraordinary—whether it's magical creatures, talking animals, or hidden treasures—creates a wonderful opportunity for storytelling.

Young children are naturally curious and possess a boundless well of energy. Their interests can be diverse, ranging from dinosaurs and superheroes to fairies and space exploration. To capture their essence:

Highlighting Imaginative Play: Young children often engage in elaborate make-believe games. These imaginative adventures can be a goldmine for character development.

Embracing Curiosity: Encourage their inquisitiveness about the world. Show characters asking questions, seeking answers, and discovering new things.

Crafting Dialogues and Actions

When crafting dialogues and actions for children aged 4 to 7, it's important to consider their evolving language skills. Unlike toddlers, who may struggle with pronunciation, characters in this age group can typically speak properly. This means they won't say "sowwy" for "sorry" or "wuv" for "love."

Embracing Storytelling: Children this age love to narrate their adventures and dreams. Use storytelling within your story to reflect their imaginative nature.

Curious Questioning: Show characters exploring, asking "why," and expressing wide-eyed wonder. Utilize their questions and observations to drive the plot or reveal new information.

Navigating the World of Pre-Teens (8-12 years)

Many captivating young adult series begin with characters in their pre-teen years, allowing readers to witness their growth and development throughout the books. This is because writing characters in this age group, typically aged 8 to 12, offers a unique exploration of budding independence and the influence of peer relationships.

Your characters are no longer seen as little kids but at the same time don’t have the freedom associated with adolescence. 

Characterizing Pre-Teens

Pre-teen characters are in the process of discovering their identity. They're developing a sense of self and often begin to assert their independence from parents or caregivers. While their childlike innocence remains, they're also exposed to a wider range of experiences and emotions.

These characters may show an increased interest in friendships, hobbies, and their expanding world. To capture the essence of pre-teens:

Embrace Growing Independence: Pre-teens may want more autonomy in decision-making. Explore their budding independence as they take small steps toward self-reliance.

Peer Relationships: Friendships become more critical during this stage. Show characters navigating the challenges and joys of making and maintaining friendships.

Crafting Dialogues and Actions

When crafting dialogues and actions for pre-teen characters, consider their evolving perspectives and emerging voices:

Balancing Childlike Wonder: While they're growing up, pre-teens still retain their childlike curiosity and wonder. Don't shy away from showcasing these traits.

Beginning Adolescence: Pre-teens may start experiencing pre-adolescent changes. This could include minor mood swings, increased self-awareness, and curiosity about the world's complexities.

Tweens: Balancing Innocence and Growing Up (13-14 years)

As we move forward into the world of tweens, we encounter characters aged 13 to 14—the age where innocence meets the beginnings of adolescence. Crafting characters in this age group offers an exciting opportunity to explore the challenges and interests of this transitional stage.

Characterizing Tweens

Tweens are on the cusp of adolescence, and their experiences reflect this delicate balance between childhood and growing up. They're often navigating the complexities of middle school, peer dynamics, and a burgeoning sense of self.

Tweens may still possess a childlike wonder, but they're increasingly exposed to more mature themes. To capture the essence of tweens:

Emerging Independence: Tweens may desire more autonomy and may challenge authority figures as they assert their individuality.

Peer Influence: Friendships take on even greater significance. Characters in this age group may grapple with peer pressure and the need to fit in.

Crafting Dialogues and Actions

When crafting dialogues and actions for tween characters, consider the delicate balance they strike:

Retaining Childlike Charm: Tweens often have endearing quirks and moments of innocence. Don't lose sight of these traits.

Exploring Pre-Adolescence: As they begin to encounter the complexities of growing up, characters in this age group may exhibit curiosity about more mature topics while still experiencing occasional moments of youthful naivety.

Writing tween characters allows for a captivating exploration of the liminal space between childhood and adolescence, where they teeter on the brink of exciting self-discovery.

Creating Memorable Child Characters

Now that we've explored the unique characteristics and development stages of child characters, it's time to discuss how to craft memorable and well-rounded child characters, regardless of their age.

Developing Distinct Personalities

Each child character you create should have a distinct personality, just like any adult character. Think about their likes, dislikes, fears, and dreams. Are they adventurous, introverted, mischievous, or kind-hearted? Consider how their personalities align with their age group.

Character Growth and Development

While child characters start with a certain set of traits, they should also experience growth and change throughout your story. Whether it's learning important life lessons or maturing in their outlook, character arcs are just as relevant for children as they are for adults.

Examples from Literature

To better understand how to create memorable child characters, let's turn to some examples from literature. Take, for instance, Scout Finch from "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee. She's curious, brave, and compassionate, making her a beloved child character who evolves throughout the novel.

Or consider the character of Matilda from Roald Dahl's "Matilda." She's an exceptionally bright and resilient child character who learns to harness her unique abilities.

These examples show how well-crafted child characters can leave a lasting impact on readers.

Crafting Authentic Child Dialogue: Dos and Don'ts

Writing dialogue for child characters can be both challenging and rewarding. It's important to strike the right balance between authenticity and readability. Here are some dos and don'ts to keep in mind:

Dos:

Capture Their Perspective: Remember that children see the world differently. Describe events and surroundings through their eyes. Use simple language when necessary to reflect their understanding.

Embrace Authenticity: Children may use slang, colloquialisms, or unique phrases. Incorporate these sparingly to add authenticity to their speech.

Show Growth: As your child characters mature throughout the story, their speech should evolve too. Gradually introduce more complex vocabulary and sentence structures.

Reflect Emotions: Children express emotions openly. Use dialogue to convey their feelings, whether it's unbridled enthusiasm, innocent curiosity, or the occasional temper tantrum.

Don'ts:

Avoid Stereotypes: While children may display certain traits based on their age, avoid falling into clichéd stereotypes. Each child is unique, so give your characters depth beyond typical traits.

Steer Clear of Exaggeration: While child characters can be quirky and funny, be cautious not to make their dialogue overly cute or exaggerated, which can become grating to readers.

Limit 'Baby Talk': Especially for older child characters, avoid excessive use of baby talk or mispronunciations unless it's essential to the story.

Don't Oversimplify: While simplicity is key, don't underestimate your young readers. Children can understand complex emotions and ideas if presented in a relatable way.

By keeping these dos and don'ts in mind, you can create dialogue that feels authentic, engages young readers, and adds depth to your child characters.

Crafting authentic child characters can be a fulfilling journey for writers. Whether you're depicting the innocence of a toddler, the imaginative spirit of a young child, the evolving personality of a tween, or the budding independence of a pre-teen, these characters can add depth and heart to your stories.

Remember, each child character is a unique individual with their own quirks, dreams, and potential for growth.

I hope this blog on Crafting Authentic Child Characters: From Toddlers to Tweens will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[dalishious]

My Five Biggest Fears for Dragon Age: Dreadwolf

Dragon Age: Dreadwolf is highly anticipated by BioWare fans. At one point, I would consider myself to be excited for it too, however, unfortunately the long wait with zero information about the game has only wrecked my personal anticipation. Will my hype return once we actually start to get some regular news about the game? Most likely. But until that time comes, all I find myself doing is just… worrying.

These are the five biggest things I worry about.

5. Big, beautiful maps of nothing

In both Dragon Age: Inquisition and Mass Effect: Andromeda, most of the open world maps are very… empty. Instead of creating an adventurous feeling of excitement to explore, it just makes travelling those maps a tedious task. Games like The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim or the new Baldur’s Gate 3 have open maps too, but those developers actually made use of their space with level designs. Skyrim is full of caves, ruins, etc. content to stumble upon. So is BG3, as well as introducing new dynamics to a fight depending on which direction you approach the encounter from. These games prove an understanding of how to best equip an open world concept that BioWare has only executed in a few maps across both their most recent RPGs. I do not want to see Dragon Age: Dreadwolf be yet another case of luscious forests where developers spent far too much time making look visually beautiful, and not enough time actually filling with game content.

4. Shoddy attempts at retcon

For those of you who don’t know what “retcon” means, it is short for “retroactive continuity”, and refers to the phenomenon of fiction introducing new information that is inconsistent with past information. The purpose is to revise old material. Dragon Age: Inquisition had more than one attempts at retcon that were terribly executed. For example, the player is told not once, not twice, but three different times—as if repeating it enough will erase all the extensive lore up to that point saying otherwise—that the Dalish get rid of their mages if they have “too many”. This is despite the previous games and extended materials showing that the Dalish practically revere their mages.

Now, not all retcons are bad. For example, in Marvel Comics, the superhero Karma’s real name was recently retconned to be Xuân Cao Mạnh, a real Vietnamese name, after spending years and years with the made-up Vietnamese name, Xi'an Coy Man. This is an example of how retons can be used for a good purpose, like fixing a long-lasting mistake. But what exactly is the mistake in saying the Dalish are good people who don’t hate mages like most of Thedas? That was just a cheap, transparent excuse to villainize both elves and mages further.

Cheap, transparent excuses like that make me lose faith in BioWare’s writing. It concerns me with what other lore they view as needing “correcting” in order to reinforce their idea of Grey Morality™ where it doesn’t belong.

3. Imposter characters

One of the biggest grievances I had with Dragon Age: Inquisition, was how the Hawke written in that game was in no way the same Hawke I played in Dragon Age II. I understand that it would be impossible to capture the exact customized character, but the Hawke in DA:I was placed into the game with an anti-blood magic agenda, and wouldn’t shut up about it. This is hilarious, considering how many players chose to make their Hawke a blood mage personally!

With this in mind, I am terrified that my Inquisitor, who will very likely make an appearance in Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, will be used for whatever new agenda needs to be pushed. I better not hear a single anti-Dalish comment from my Lavellan, is all I’m saying.

2. Whitewashing ahoy

For all the talk about #diversity values, BioWare has a very extensive criminal record when it comes to whitewashing their own characters. Almost every single one of their most prominent visibly non-white characters have had their skin lightened or completely washed out, as well as ethnic features erased, at some point or another. This is why I cannot share any excitement or desire for existing characters to make a return; the fear that we’ll have to see Zevran next looking like Chris Hemsworth next haunts me too much.

But this particular fear runs even deeper than individual characters. Why? Because we know that Dragon Age: Dreadwolf will be taking place in northern Thedas, which up to this point has been consistently depicted as having largely non-white demographics. I’m not saying there are no white people in Tevinter, Antiva, etc., but I am saying that if I see the same mix of 80% pale tones and 20% “everyone else” we’ve gotten from the last three games, I will absolutely flip shit. White characters should be in the minority for a change. Otherwise, what is the point of shifting focus away from the dominantly white countries in the first place?

1. This will end of the Dragon Age franchise

Is this the most likely to happen of all fears? No; it is probably the least. But after the pathetic failure that was Anthem and the lacklustre response to Mass Effect: Andromeda, I would not be surprised if BioWare is on thin ice in EA’s eyes. (Which is ironic, considering the demands made by EA to chase after multiplayer fads and micro-transactions are what got BioWare into such a mess in the first place.) Electronic Arts is a garbage company run by garbage people. That much has been proven time and again. The executives behind BioWare itself aren’t clean, either. Unfortunately it will be average employee that suffers the most punishment and blame if the game does not meet the likely very high standards set out for it. In some ways, they are almost set up to fail.

It’s not fair, and there’s not we can really do about it, because the gaming industry is run by selfish idiots. It’s because of this that if events come to pass that the Dragon Age franchise was put “on hold indefinitely” so BioWare can work on clunking out an Anthem sequel, I would be very upset, but not very surprised.

-----

Times are really tough for me, and all my patron supporters are greatly appreciated! If you like my work, please consider becoming one yourself, and I'll be forever grateful!

[international-writing]

Intelligence agencies 101: MI6

Dashing spies and deadly agents, from James Bond to Alex Rider and George Smiley. We have all heard of British Intelligence, but just how much do you know about MI6?

1.- It is the oldest secret service in the world.

If we want to get technical, spies have been working for the British crown since 1569, thanks to Queen Elizabeth I and her Secretary of State, Sir Francis Walsingham. But for now, we'll focus on the contemporary Secret Service.

Hear me out, back in 1909 in the midst of what we call the "armed peace", things were getting anything but peaceful. Countries developed and accumulated weapons like it was a sport, and most of them were unsatisfied with the territories they owned. Germany was going all Queen and screaming "I Want It All", which made the rest of the European countries slightly concerned by its imperialistic ambitions.

Britain was the first to grow paranoid and so Prime Minister Asquith decided to have the Committee of Imperial Defence, create a Secret Service Bureau.

However, it is worth mentioning that the existence of the agency wasn't formally acknowledged until 1994, under the Intelligence Services Act, and even though everyone had known about it for ages.

2.- They have very... diverse tasks

Officially, MI6 is tasked with the collection, analysis, and adequate distribution of foreign intelligence (it is a common misconception that MI6 also handles national affairs, that's what its counterpart MI5 is for).

Now, note that I said "officially", and that is because unofficially (it is kind of very illegal), MI6 has been known to carry out espionage activity overseas. But you already knew that, didn't you? Otherwise, why would you be here?

3.- Roles

As described by the SIS itself, there are several roles within the organisation:

Intelligence officers: Must be UK nationals of at least 18, with no drug use and pass a very intrusive security clearance. The jobs are divided into the following subcategories:

Operational Managers: planning and managing intelligence collection operations.

Targeters: turning information (data) into human intelligence operations.

Officers: link to Whitehall (government) as well as validating and testing intelligence.

Case Officers: managing and building relationships with agents.

Operational Data Analysts: Must be UK nationals of at least 18, with no drug use and pass a very intrusive security clearance. Tech abilities are a must. Training course lasts 2 years.

Tech Network Area: Must be UK nationals of at least 18, with no drug use and pass a very intrusive security clearance. Skills in: GoLang, gRPC, Protobuf, Kubernetes & Docker Python, Java, C#, C, C++, and React (+Redux).

Language Specialists: Must be UK nationals of at least 18, with no drug use and pass a very intrusive security clearance. Russian, Arabic and Mandarin linguists are the most solicited, followed by translators.

4.- Their alphabet is a bit jumbled up

Anyone that has ever seen or read any 007 material knows that M is the head of MI6, whether that be Judy Dench, Bernard Lee or Ralph Fiennes.

But what if I told you that the head of MI6 is actually a certain C?

Back when the Secret Service Bureau was created, a 50-year-old Royal Navy officer called Mansfield Cumming (and dubbed "C") was chosen to head the Foreign Section.

5.- MI6 or SIS?

Officially, the agency's current name (adopted in 1920) is Secret Intelligence Service, hence the acronym SIS, but it wasn't always that. We've established that it started its days as the Secret Service Bureau, and during WWI, the agency joined forces with Military Intelligence, even going as far as to adopt the cover name "MI1(c)".

The agency continued to acquire several names throughout the years, such as "Foreign Intelligence Service", "Secret Service", "Special Intelligence Service" and even "C's organisation". It wasn't until WWII started, that the name MI6 was adopted, in reference to the agency being "section six" of Military Intelligence.

And I truly do hate to be the bearer of bad news but... the name MI6, as cool as it sounds, is no longer in use. Writers and journalists still use that name, but those within the organisation just call it SIS nowadays.

6.- They are fond of their traditions

Remember our dear Commander Mansfield? Well, turns out he started a thing. The man used to sign his letters in green ink and always with the letter "C" a tradition that proved to be sticky enough to be passed down to every single Chief afterwards. Another tradition worth mentioning, is that of calling intelligence reports "CX reports", which... you guessed it, is still done to this day.

7.- Special friends

On 1949, the SIS began a formal collaboration with the CIA, even though the agency had already helped to train their predecessor's personnel, the U.S. Office of Strategic Services.

Even the CIA has admitted that the MI6 has provided them with some of the most valuable information of all time, including information that helped during the Cuban Missile Crisis and key elements to the capture of Osama Bin Laden.

I hope this will be of some use to your future writings and do feel free to submit an ask if you happen to have a specific question regarding British intelligence, or any other International Relations subject!

Yours truly,

–The Internationalist

[sealixirfairytales]

I made the character Jamil will hate the most! XD

Briar Horneil

(Thorn)

Dorm: Savanaclaw Year: Third Year Race: Beastman (hornet traits) Age: 18 years old Height: 6'3" (191 cm) Homeland: Shaftlands Class: 3-B, Seat 19 Best Subject: Flight

Club : Track & Field

Hobby:

Obstacle course challenges

Strategic board games

Likes:

Order and discipline

Honorable duels

Learning about diverse cultures

Bees and insects

Dislikes:

Betrayal of trust

Unnecessary destruction

Laziness or shirking responsibilities

Favorite Food: Honey-glazed roast

Signature Spell: “Swarmveil” Briar conjures a swarm of hornets. These insects can block paths, attacks, or obscure his movement, embodying both precision and controlled chaos.

Personality: Briar is disciplined, confident, and carries himself with the gravitas of a natural leader. He is fiercely protective of those he considers his own, respecting strength, loyalty, and perseverance. Despite his commanding presence, Briar is a thoughtful strategist, often taking time to assess situations before acting.

Underneath his tough exterior lies a heart deeply shaped by loss. Briar values harmony and cooperation, even if he rarely shows it outwardly. He has a sharp wit and can be surprisingly lighthearted in moments of camaraderie, especially when bonding with his dormmates.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Voices lines :

Login Greeting

“You’re here. Good. Let’s make this day worth our time.”

“Punctuality shows respect. I’m glad to see you understand that.”

Home Screen Interactions

When Tapped:

Idle:

“Order in chaos… That’s what I admire most about the insect world.”

“Keep your wits about you. Even the most peaceful surroundings can hide threats.”

“Savanaclaw’s energy is… untamed. Sometimes it’s refreshing; sometimes it’s exhausting.”

When Happy:

“Don’t mistake discipline for coldness. I’m just… careful with my trust.”

“I admire resilience. Show me that you don’t crumble under pressure.”

When Upset:

“Do not waste my time with excuses. Actions speak louder than apologies.”

“You had one task, and you chose to shirk it. Do better next time.”

Battle Lines

When Entering Battle:

“Precision wins battles, not brute force. Watch and learn.”

“Discipline beats recklessness every time.”

When Using a Spell:

“Swarm, to me!”

“Outmaneuvering you is almost too easy.”

“Blocked. Predictable.”

When Winning:

“Victory was inevitable. Now, don’t waste this lesson.”

“Your strength means nothing without strategy.”

When Losing:

“A temporary setback. Next time, I’ll be prepared.”

“Even hornets retreat… but only to strike again.”

Guest Room Interactions

“Your space is… efficient. No unnecessary distractions. I like that.”

“If you’re planning on hosting, make sure it’s worth your guest’s time.”

Based on Thorn:

[themotherofblood]

chapter 4 | river of fire | d.t x reader x r.t

series masterlist | main masterlist | previously

a/n: so a major fuck up on my end, I had updated a chapter on ao3 but didn’t on tumblr so I wrote two chapter fives, that has been corrected to the time line. So sorry!

synopsis: the matter of visery’s marriage looms in the air when Daemon swoops in to cause more chaos and steals his late nephew’s egg

“The lanterns in the sky were beautiful, just two but against the dark sky they were everything. Rhaenyra will find peace, I pray she does, no matter how many burning hot baths and curt words she throws my way. She is there, angry and afraid. She is me at seven, I could hold her and tell her everything will be better I cannot. I can merely tell her that I shall love her always, I will be with her always.”

After many quarrels on Rhaenyra’s part, she had finally earned a seat on the Small Council and you have been tasked with a new job. The King’s Cupbearer. Most of the time you tried not to break into a fit of ill-concealed giggles if you met Nyra’s eyes. It was insightful for sure, you made Rhaenyra do your bidding once or twice, men for a clothing donation run and a few sanctions for diverse agricultural trades. You wanted jasmine seeds without spending nearly half of your pin money to do so.

Rhaenyra had been aloof for most of it, growing more defiant— it was adorable and yet concerning; she was dealing with her grief as best she could, for it had only been just more than half a year since Aemma passed. Though Daemon being dismissed from the court might have had a role in catalysing her loneliness, sure you were there, her love that she would kiss goodnight and unabashedly embrace at all hours of the day but perhaps only a dragon could understand a dragon.

“Why did you have to say it! Why!” Rhaenyra scolded Daemon. “You will be gone now too.”

“ The Heir for A Day. ” You oddly understood the humour behind it. You believed not that he had ill intentions when saying it so, but perhaps your admiration for him was so thick you couldn’t see past it.

Even Syrax grew petulant, refusing to hunt for herself, she grew fluffy around the edges but adorable nonetheless, she doesn’t waft her nostrils at you anymore. You would like to think the yellow dragon is friends with you now, however, you do not wish to stick your hand in its mouth to test out the theory.

The latest rumble, however, one only spoken without your or Rhaenyra’s presence was the matter of Viserys finding a new queen for himself. Barely half a year and attempts of forever shrouding Aemma already had set afoot, it is expected of him even with Rhaenyra as his heir, the prospect of a son would forever loom over the high towers of the Red Keep. The lords would like to believe that the lot of you were stupid enough to not realise but Nyra had already scoffed about the prospect of having a stepmother, she’d support her father but such warmth might never extend to her new mother.

“ What ?” You and Rhaenyra exclaim in unison, brows pulled as you drop your current activities to question your aunt, a sense of vile premonition crawled onto your skin as your eyes blew wide.

Oberya had been summoned by the Small Council along with Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys, all the women at court and they found it appropriate to paw around the home, though she suggested that the notion of marriage was brought upon by Lord Corlys to present his daughter’s hand in marriage to Viserys– poor Laena, but your name was dragged to the battlefield by Lord Lyonel to contest Otto Hightower’s complains of Laena’s age. Offering you, an auspicious and elder match, elder match by a year and un-flowered. You are but fresh thirteen, he is at least two decades older if not more. Another horrid chill shrivels down your back.

Beyond all that was said, you could feel Rhaenyra’s gaze bore holes in your face, she knew this day would come but not you, the thought so wildly macabre that the possibility hadn’t even graced her nightmares in the past five moons.

“And?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice sounding far more curt than she intended. You turned to her, widening your eyes at her tone towards your aunt, she shook her head still replying to an answer.

“The decision is up to you, they have written to Qoren but I doubt he’d say any differently.”

“No! I’m not marrying Viserys.” You say mildly repulsed, Hands flailing as you push your needlepoint patch away, a shrill shiver running down your spine.

“Then that’s that.” Rhaenyra sharply nodded, coming to sit next to you. Yanking your face towards her and pecking your lips, it wasn’t an affectionate gesture but one to seal your decision for good.

Oberya coughed, eyebrows raised “Still here, darlings.”

You smiled at her apologetically, “You are sure Qoren wouldn’t write otherwise?”

“Oh-“ she rolls her eyes “have some faith in your brother will you?” She scolds, finding your mistrust in him still unbecoming.

“And write to him, will you. It’s been months dærya,” she points out before turning to leave, shaking her head once again at Rhaenyra who was clinging to you like a milk-hungry babe.

You shook Rhaenyra off you, it was far too warm to have her clung to your back. Now all you could think of was Laena , Rhaenys would have thoroughly prepared her for this, you were trying to find some bright light within such a prospect but you couldn’t. Viserys was a wise king and a wonderful warden to you, but he was nothing like the knights in the books you and Laena shared, not by a far shot.

“How could they do this? To Laena.” You shook your head, sinking further into the chaise and resting your palms on your belly.

Such marriages weren’t unheard of but you had believed Lord Corlys to be more of the progressive sort. He never found differences between Laenor and Laena and raised them alike but to now thrust Laena up for the position to marry Viserys all for…power? Title?

“It is for Rhaenys,” Rhaenyra mumbles, “if not his wife then his blood.” She sounded bitter.

You frowned at her, sitting up to clasp her shoulder with the fire of heavy disagreement burning in your heart.

“You are his heir, you. Not some child he currently does not have. He wouldn’t choose another.”

“How it could be, duck.”

“Nyra?” You frown, this time climbing on top of her to make her look at you. “You are his heir.”

“He barely talks to me, you think I’m his heir?” She snaps, pushing you off her. She grunts. “Not once has my input held any weight in his court, you’re young, it isn’t your place. I am his heir as a stowaway. The day one of those wh— women birth him a son. I’d be nothing again.”

Therein lay the truth, the subject that had her irked so, you saw it in the folds of her frown but never understood it fully. Septa Marlow had hushed Rhaenyra thrice on the topic but couldn’t punish as she saw fit because Rhaenyra was now the heir. There never had been such strife about successions when it came to you, your brother inherited the seat while you were a pawn for political alliances, it made perfect sense but this, to be the only child in many dead.

“Have you spoken to him about this?” You calmly said, trying to ease her turmoil as you reach for her pacing frame.

“I would sooner die.”

You would have opened your mouth to say something incongruous, something that you were sure would do nothing to fix the situation but what were you to do. Sit here and let Rhaenyra drown in whatever turmoil was boiling within her? You were three and ten but many days you couldn’t see beyond the frivolities of court, the games— what games ? Beyond the simpering ladies, and the brooding knights, what games were there to play beyond blindly chasing each other in the courtyard.

Sona interrupted your line of thought as she approached with a tray of tea for the lot of you and a stash of letters in her hands, Enora too followed suit, eyeing Rhaenyra's sour look as she presented her with her letters.

“Would you know where Lady Laena is?” You asked Sona as she poured you tea, she looked to Enora and then stood straight.

“Promenading, princess.” She replied.

You perked up, looking at Rhaenyra with a performative smile “We could use one too, couldn’t we Nyra, pick some flowers— perhaps visit Syrax?”

“I— she is with the King, princess,” Enora added, making Rhaenyra turn to her and sharply place her stash of letters on the chaise.

“Leave us!” She barks, pacing even harder now.

You looked at them apologetically as you took the teapot from Sona’s hands. “Stay close please.” You whispered.

“What fortune, even if I wanted to hate her I cannot.” Rhaenyra rants, picking at her sleeves. “He will always be the king won’t he, always the king before my father.”

You sorrowfully nodded. “I’m here with you, I’ll always be your lady before anything.” You sheepishly smile.

Rhaenyra’s curt resolution cracks for a moment as her lips curl upwards, and she yet again flops down next to you.

“I love you,” she mumbles, words like honey, you blush, nodding before kissing her cheek. She sighs even harder before resting her head on your shoulder.

The matter of Viserys nuptials was still in the air, every time you’d make rounds filling cups of the men in his court, somebody would bring it up, it went on for an entire moon and you could see it weighing down on the King’s shoulders. He was so beyond the need to talk about it, he barely spoke when Nyra and you would take meals with him. You saw it as his vice but Nyra, it wedged a further divide between her and her father. Even Alicent believed otherwise when she would accompany you in the gardens or to the markets.

Somehow, perhaps that Alicent was older, she had far wiser words, once laced in her faith as she consoled Rhaenyra. Every word with meaning and understanding she was stitching the gashes within Rhaenyra, you were thankful for it— Nyra wasn’t so pouty anymore. Though sometimes you missed Alicent, you were sure with her growing up her father would have thrust more ladylike duties in her lap, she couldn’t join your expeditions in finding shiny bugs or artisan rocks anymore.

“Go on, say it.” Rhaenyra shakes you by the shoulders.

“She won’t listen.” You rebut, shaking your head and cowering behind Rhaenyra, still small enough to hide behind her shoulders, you peek through looking at Syrax eyeing the sheep.

“Oh come on, roll your tongue on the ‘r’ and command her.” She insists.

“ Dr — Rhaenyra I can’t.” You whine, looking at the poor sheep, it wasn’t even shaved. Does Syrax eat the wool too? That doesn’t sound appetising.

She turns to you, squishing your cheeks within her palms and boring her purple eyes into your soul. “She is hungry, now you say it. Or I will make you ride on her.”

“There is a dragon in you, uncle said it and I believe him.”

“Rhaenyra, I wasn’t even given an egg and my mother wanted nothing to do with them.” You huffed, reiterating again.

“But look how well you do around them!” Rhaenyra whines.

“Say it or we go riding— and I sleep alone tonight!”

Your eyes widen, horrified you turn to Syrax “ Dracarys .” You say quickly and meekly.

Syrax turns her giant head to her rider, unused to taking orders from anything small that wasn’t Rhaenyra, she nods to her mount. The yellow beast wastes no time and blasts dragon fire onto the sheep, the poor thing doesn’t even get a moment to bleat its end before it gets cooked, you pout at where the fluffy animal stood. Rest well, sheep.

Rhaenyra watched Syrax feast on her supper as you looked around the dark stone cave.

“Nyra?” You pull on her arm, “can I go see the baby dragons?”

She bothers not to look at you and nods, knowing you'll be safe in the hands of the Dragonkeepers. She looks to Oalth, a newly appointed, young dragon keeper and orders him to take you to the nursery.

You pad along behind him, following his glowing silhouette from the fire torch in his hand as he leads you to the nursery.

“Watch your step princess,” he cautions, holding your hand as you climb up the steep stone-carved steps.

The nursery is well lit, mostly for the comfort of the Dragonkeepers but also to not have any of the little hellions wiggle away from this part of the cave, a giant hearth is lit with many dragon eggs laying around its edges, eggs of gold, purple, red and blues. Some small and some big, all waiting to hatch one day in the cradle of their riders or perhaps in the glowing embers of the hearth, their magic swirling within the membranes of the egg, forever keeping them alive and warm.

This summer there had been eight dragons that hatched, without riders they almost never survive, and if they do they never stay here, choosing to live their lives as wild dragons at Dragonstone, or perhaps wherever their hearts pleased.

“Here they are,” Oalth huffs as he moves out of your way.

Four little dragons looked much like lizards curled against one another. Little rocks used as cushioning to rest their heavy tails upon. They looked frail, breakable to touch. Oalth broke into a smile, bending down to let a finger trace down the orange dragon’s tail, they roused flopping over to him, expecting food most likely.

“I thought there were six?” You pulled your skirts up to stop one from trotting itself under you.

He looked to you apologetically, the answer being only one. They didn’t survive .

“Who’s eggs?”

“Dreamfyre, her eggs hatch but rarely live past the year.”

You tut, letting the orange little guy climb up your arm, smiling at the little thing. Orange body with bright red membranes, you could see it in the green of its eyes, it was strong.

“She is a fighter,” Oalth muses, smiling at the dragon finding adventure in climbing your skirts.

“She? How can you tell?”

“Intuition, we won’t know until she is grown but she has the fury of a she-dragon.” He says, minding the other little dragons.

“Quba konīr iksis,” a dragon keeper pokes his head through the entrance, hissing at Oalth in Valyrian, a foreign song to your ears. Oalth’s shoulders immediately stiffen.

“Stay here, princess.” He cautions as he grabs his dragon glass spear, rushing behind the other keeper.

You frown at him leaving but return your attention to the little creature now sniffing your ear. You gently pick her up by pinching together her wings and dropping her onto your palm.

“You’re a girl huh? Of course, you are, look at you.” You whisper, watching her walk in circles in your palms and plop down. “No boy dragon is this pretty.”

Oalth was right, even in her frailty there was something about her, a will to fly, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Just like the one Rhaenyra has when she finds some way to bother Septa Marlow.

“You will live.” You tell her “Grow ginormous and el— elegant, eat sheep and fly as high as you want.”

“ Dracarys .” You smile at her, already envisioning her pale orange body to be a beacon of the Sun goddess once she is grown, whatever rider would claim her would surely be an eccentric embodiment of her.

A swift shuffle however tears you from your gaze for adoration, you flinch, turning your head over your shoulder and looking around the nursery to find the intruder.

And found you did.

There stood Daemon, a shabby cloak pulled down, his glowing silver hair much longer and his charming smirk greeting you.

“Playing with fire, are you, little viper?” He asks with a smug grin on his lips.

“Daemon?” You chide, looking around the room once more before turning to him.

There was a small burst of joy in your chest, you missed him dearly, however, he shouldn’t have been here. He was banished from King’s Landing, if anyone knew he would be in so so much trouble.

“You shouldn't be here!” You hiss, placing the baby dragon back by its sibling.

“Pretty one you’ve picked, princess” he deflects, pushing himself away from the wall he leaned against.

You turn to the orange dragon, “She won’t make it they say.” You lament, so quickly forgetting how dangerous Daemon's little visit is.

He hums, approaching you to set his eyes on the dragon. “Name it.”

“I cannot do that?” You look up at him, eyes wide and shaking your head.

“Can you not speak?” His sarcasm doesn’t miss your ears as you tut.

“I'm a Martell.” You state the obvious, wondering if in the eight moons he had spent away from home, he had returned without his sanity.

He faux gasps “What would Daenerys say?”

A pang of guilt hit your chest, you looked nothing like your mother, so accustomed to your dark features you often forgot that there was dragon blood within you.

“I— she won’t make it anyways.” You shake your head, still looking at the dragon napping away.

“Name, princess.”

“Agni…?” You look up at him but flinch once more when this time Oalth comes back to receive you.

Daemon swiftly ducks behind the wall again, as you look at the young dragonkeeper.

“Your wheelhouse is here, the princess calls for you.”

You couldn’t shake off meeting Daemon again, how were you to keep such a secret in your stomach? He was here, he broke the king’s rules — not surprising at all but still, you were a part of whatever his plot was now. Your skin prickled in goosebumps as you made the rounds filling half-empty cups around the Small Council table. Lord Corlys as usual, stopped you from filling his, you would have insisted on just skipping him over but Septa Marlow said it wasn’t proper.

It was the day after and you still rose with such tussled movement within you, did he hurt someone, burn something, do people know you saw him but said nothing— bad girl? You nervously finished your rounds and set down the jug on the table before turning towards the meeting.

The doors opened to the Elder Dragonkeeper using his cane to bow and enter the council room, bile coated the insides of your mouth. You were in so much trouble.

You turned the other way, hearing the Elder speaking in Valyrian, damn you, you patiently listened for anything that might sound like your name, the syllables or the word dārilaros .

“Dārilaros,”

Mother Rhyone, don’t let it be me.

“Daemon sikio sīdas, eglivivys aōhys.” The Elder declared.

The room grew silent, as you turned around, mayhaps you weren’t in trouble at all. He didn’t take your name. You appeared confused at why Rhaenyra appeared angry, you thought she’d be happy to hear the return of her favourite uncle.

“Skorior drōmon Daemon laēttas?” Rhaenyra’s words sounded like a question.

“Dārilaros Baelon iderēptā se Drōmon Ēdrurzo iles rūs.”

Your head turns to Viserys and back to Rhaenyra to try and understand what has happened, but Viserys stands abruptly. Storming out of the rooms with Otto heavy on his heels along with Ser Westerling and the Kingsgaurd. Rhaenyra follows suit in the other direction, running up to her rooms.

The other lords shuffled up, Lord Beesbury and Lord Lyonel left the rooms next, leaving Lord Corlys to sigh and look at your rigid but confused form.

“You ought to return to the gardens girl,” he called out, breaking you out of your bewildered trance. “The jasmine, have they grown?”

“What has happened?” You blurted out. Looking at him this time.

“Prince Daemon has happened, an egg and a hatchling missing.” He shook his head.

You rushed out of the Small Council this tip, taking two steps as you rushed up Maegor’s Holdfast to your apartments. Daemon had once again shot an arrow straight at an already gaping open wound, you only worried about what Rhaenyra might do this time for she couldn’t just beat her fists on Daemon’s chest this time.

When you burst through her chambers she was already gone, the yellow gown she was wearing earlier discarded on her bed and her gloves and dagger gone. You groaned, falling onto her bed, wondering what trouble Rhaenyra was going to find herself this time, instead, you found a small rolled-up parchment along with her clothes.

“ I’ll return soon.”

You could cry from how frustrated and scared you were, why is it that these two always seemed to drag you into impermissible situations, where you must lie for them. You would again be in such trouble.

You paced back and forth at least a hundred times, your feet could have walked to Winterfell and back from how hard and how long you had been pacing, looking out to the setting sun and waiting for Rhaenyra to return home.

Every time a crow or pigeon flew by, you wondered if it was her. Come back, come back you insolent lover of mine.

“Princess?” Sona stood in your receiving chambers with an evening gown in hand, “it is time for supper soon.”

Supper with the king, my death.

Even dressed for supper in a longer gown, you began pacing once more, your boots thudding against the stone floor. Coming up with possible excuses you could give on Rhaenyra’s behalf, feverish, loss of appetite, poor absolutions— uh mayhap not.

When the sun just touched the horizon you began walking towards Viserys’s chambers, mumbling reasoning under your breath as Ser Darklyn followed behind you, he had been fed the story of Rhaenyra being tired, now you needed an elaboration. A sticky narrative with no questions, Ser Darklyn knocked on your behalf and then you were let in.

“Your grace.” You curtsied, waiting for him to receive you.

“Ah, come— come.” Viserys looked up from his pumice stone city.

“You’ve added another layer?” You ask the work was truly beautiful, with more cravings of dragons around the edges of the main wall.

“The Ānōgron, which is?” He quizzed.

“The blood mages workshops?”

He smiled, nodding at you.

“It is beautiful, my king.” You complimented, gently tracing your finger along its edge.

“Where is Rhaenyra?” He muses, still craving away with his dagger.

“She is feeling unwell, she had her supper early and chose to rest for a while.” You say quickly, toying with your fingers.

“Unwell? Pah, I didn’t think the matter with the egg would bother her so deeply.” he shook his head, wiping the tip of his dagger on a cloth. “Has Mellos looked at her?”

“I wouldn’t know, your grace. I spent the evening in the gardens.” Another lie. You twist the rings on your fingers even harder.

You awkwardly begin to walk towards the already set table for three, the aromas of deliciousness filling your nostrils, beyond everything today, you were starving for sure. Just as you settled yourself in, waiting for Viserys to join. The doors to his room opened once more with an attendant stepping in.

“The Princess has returned from Dragonstone.”

Viserys turns to you, eyes squint as he questioningly takes your name once more, your shoulders slumping in defeat and you glaring holes into the back of the attendant walking away.

You sat slowly eating your supper as echoes of arguing bustled from the antechamber, first, you would hear Viserys scold Rhaenyra, and then she would scream back in a rebuttal. It went on for several minutes, you finished your goose by then. Flinching every now and then whenever their voices would boom from the other chamber.

Eventually, everything went quiet, you wondered if this is what those two needed to finally have a proper conversation, one not laced with court propriety but one of a father and his daughter. You could still hear him speaking, and then her speaking. Softly, a fight grew to an endearing conversation by the time you began feasting on the lemon cakes. You slouched against the chair, this time sipping on— or trying to sip on some strong wine, which by all means tasted vile.

The doors then opened, and you abruptly sat straight, wiping the corners of your mouth and sheepishly looking at Rhaenyra. Both of them looked gleeful as they walked toward you.

“You alright sweetheart, you look ill,” Rhaenyra took a seat next to you.

You frowned this time, whisper hissing at her as you smack her thigh, hard. “I lied to the king for you, the king !”

Viserys then called for you. “Usually my court would have liars gelded, but I seem to have hordes of parchment to get through. Up before the Hour of the Rabbit, a King’s Cupbearer must not be late.”