#mothered a little too hard........ as the youths say

[thecruel]

96th Annual Academy Awards | March 10, 2024

[woso-dreamzzz]

Wiped Out III

Fridolina Rolfö x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your first start of the season

Today was meant to be a good day.

Today was meant to be a great day.

It's your first start of the season.

Your parents are here to see you.

Your mother. Your father. Frido's parents too.

Today was meant to be perfect.

"You'll do great," Frido says, a soft kiss landing on the top of your head.

You don't answer her, suddenly feeling shy as you go and warm up.

"Which ones are your parents?" Ingrid asks as her eyes rove over the stands," They are coming today, right? I think Frido said."

"Over there." You point an errant hand over to the friends and family section.

Ingrid narrows her eyes as she takes in all the people sitting there. "I don't see them."

"There! By the aisle."

Ingrid's brow furrows. "That's Frido's parents."

She would recognise them anywhere. She's been in their house enough times to recognise them from a distance.

"No, they're mine. Papa always wears the blue shirt to my matches. He doesn't like jerseys."

"No. That's Frido's father."

"I think I can recognise my own father, Ingrid," You say with an eye roll.

"No. I'm sure-"

"Our father's are twins," Frido says in passing, handing you for bottle to drink from.

"They are?"

"Identical," You put in, passing Frido back her bottle," And our mums."

"What?"

"Our mums are identical twins too."

Ingrid looks between you and your cousin, mouth opening and closing for a moment before she sighs. "Your fathers, a pair of identical twins...married another pair of identical twins. And had you two?"

Frido doesn't answer.

But you do.

"Yeah? What's so confusing about that?"

"So you're sisters then."

"No," Frido snaps quickly, voice hard before she looks away," I mean, no. We're cousins."

"But I mean, genetically, you're siblings. If you're from two sets of identical twins..."

"We're not," Frido snaps again, shaking her head like the whole idea was stupid," We're cousins. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"Geez, Frido," You laugh, bumping your shoulder against hers," I'm trying not to be offended here. I'd be a great sister."

Frido's eyes soften like they always do when she looks at you and she fondly tugs on the lock of hair that always escapes your ponytail no matter what either of you do.

Ingrid doesn't push anymore on the topic, especially when it's so clear that Frido's got some strange hang up on it.

The match starts like any other and nothing seems out of the ordinary.

It's as intense as any other match is but just like every other match you've played in, Barcelona are solidly in control.

You frown a little as you and Mapi stand over a free kick, an odd twinge in the back of your leg that you rub. Maybe it's not in your leg actually, maybe it's actually in your chest.

A weird feeling that just won't settle.

You push it away though because this is your first free kick as a Barcelona player despite having been here a season now.

It was a new thing Pere was trying.

He'd been going over old film and came across an old set of videos of when you played for one of the Sweden youth teams. You'd been the dedicated free kick taker ever since you arrived, scoring goal after goal after goal no matter where you were on the pitch.

"Take it," Mapi says from behind her hand, trying to disguise the choice.

The twinge in your hamstring dampens as you push it from your mind, nodding.

Both you and Mapi take steps back.

She runs across you and then you move.

You know something is wrong the moment your foot touches grass.

The ball speeds from your strike, neatly landing in the top corner and passed the keeper's outstretched hand.

The team celebrate but you're on the ground.

Something between a squeak and a yelp make its way out of your mouth as your hamstring flares in pain.

The Johan erupts in noise at your first goal of the season but you can hear nothing over the roar in your ears and the pain in your leg.

Tears sting your eyes as a shadow falls over you.

Your cousin is there like she is every time you're injured like some kind of avenging angel.

But you don't want her right now.

You're in pain. You feel vulnerable. You feel like a little girl needing her boo boo kissed after scraping her skin at the park.

"Mama," You sob," I want Mama."

"It's okay," Frido tries to soothe you, something like confliction in her eyes," Come on. It's okay."

You grasp at her hand, squeezing tightly. "Frido, I want my Mama."

"Shh, shh, it's alright. It's going to be okay."

The medics rush on quickly as well and you try to kick them away with your one good leg.

"Stop...Stop!" You shriek when they touche your injury.

"We need to get her off," One of them says and Frido nods.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" You may be injured, in tears and vulnerable but you'd like to keep some essence of your already shattered dignity.

"Can you stand?" Frido asks, tenderly brushing your cheek with her hand.

"I..." You want to say yes but you know the correct answer. You shake your head.

"We're going to need a stretcher," One of the medics speaks into their radio and within a minute or so, you're being helped into it.

You catch Frido's hand as she walks with you to the touchline.

"You'll tell them to get Mama?"

Frido blinks away some of her own tears. "I'll...I'll tell them to send auntie."

It takes barely an hour for the diagnosis to come back.

A torn hamstring.

A torn hamstring that needs surgery.

Which means months out of football, months of recovery and rehab.

You wonder briefly if you'll get to go to the Euros this summer.

Sweden still haven't qualified yet. You won't be apart of the squad for that campaign but if they do qualify, you wonder if you'll be back and strong enough to join the Euros team.

Mama holds your hand though.

Papa and Uncle and Auntie are still in the stands watching Frido but Mama is with you, holding your hand as you suck on a green whistle to take the edge off.

She presses a soft kiss to the top of your head as her hands gently card through your hair.

You stopped crying a while ago as you nestle into her, head on her chest like you used to do to her and Frido when you were little.

The sounds of studs on flooring alerts you to your cousin coming and you sit up just as the door swings open.

"Hey," She says, panting.

"Hey," You reply.

She squishes onto the other side of your bed. It's a tight fit but Frido makes it work, taking your other hand. "So...What are we looking at?"

"Torn hamstring," Your Mama replies," She's going to need surgery."

"I hate it when you two talk over me."

"How long are we thinking she'll be out?"

"Six months."

"No!" You huff, drawing the attention of your Mama and Frido. "He said six months are the latest. Three months minimum. I'll be ready in three months."

Frido and your Mama exchange twin looks.

"I'll be ready then! I will!"

Mama continues to stroke through your hair and Frido squeezes your head.

"Recovery takes time," You cousin says," You shouldn't rush things."

"I'm not going to rush things. I'm not an idiot, Frido. But I will be ready in three months and I'll be healthy for the rest of the season. And then we'll compete in the Euros. Like we said we would."

Your Mama sighs. "You're both just as stubborn as each other. You get it from Frido you know."

Frido tenses a barely imperceptible amount next to you.

"How did I get it from Frido?" You laugh," Via telepathy?"

"Yeah," Frido laughs too but it doesn't meet her eyes," Something like that."

[novaursa]

Good evening, can you write about daemon x little sister

If we can see their relation evolved from really protective brother to lover obsessed.

He was always protective of her, he doesn’t like that Viserys come close to her. And when she grow up he scared every men that came closed to her.

She was supposed to married a Lannister but Daemon could not accept it and take her to dragon stone. Everyone thinks she’s dead because they never see her again but when Daemon came back to King’s Landing, he’s not alone but with his sister wife and their children.

Dragonblooded

- Summary: You always belonged to Daemon. And when Viserys gave you away, the dragon took what was his.

- Paring: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The sound of laughter echoes through corridors, a joyful melody that bounces off the ancient stone walls. You are no older than five, your golden-silver hair, so much like your mother’s, trailing behind you as you run through the hallways. Your small feet tap lightly against the cool floor, your tiny hands reaching out to grab at the air, chasing an imaginary butterfly.

"Come here, little dragon!" Viserys calls out, his voice warm and inviting, as he pretends to chase after you. His laughter is softer, more measured, but it carries the same affection that glows in his eyes. He is gentle, your eldest brother, always careful not to frighten or startle you. At ten years old, he already shows the signs of a future king—kindness, patience, a quiet strength that soothes those around him.

You turn, giggling, and reach out for him, and he catches you with ease, lifting you into the air. "I have you now!" he declares, spinning you around in circles, your peals of laughter mixing with his. 

"Viserys, higher!" you plead, clinging to his tunic, your small face lighting up with glee.

But as Viserys twirls you again, you catch sight of another figure standing just beyond the doorway, watching the two of you. Daemon, your other brother, leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, a frown tugging at his lips. He is only two years younger than Viserys, but where Viserys is gentle, Daemon is fierce, his eyes always smoldering with an intensity that belies his young age. 

He steps forward, and though he doesn’t say a word, the air between you shifts, a tension that even you, in your youthful innocence, can sense. Viserys notices too, lowering you to the ground but keeping a protective hand on your shoulder.

"Daemon," Viserys greets, though there’s a hint of wariness in his voice. "We were just playing. You can join us, if you’d like."

Daemon’s gaze shifts from Viserys to you, and his frown deepens. "She’s my sister," he says, his voice low, almost possessive. "I don’t need your permission to play with her."

There’s a beat of silence as the two brothers stare at each other, a silent battle of wills. But before it can escalate, you tug at Daemon’s sleeve, drawing his attention down to you. 

"Daemon, play with me!" you say, your eyes wide and pleading. You adore both of your brothers, but there’s something about Daemon that always draws you to him—perhaps it’s the way he looks at you, like you are the only person in the world who matters to him.

His expression softens the moment he meets your gaze. The hard lines of his face melt into something gentler, something only you seem to bring out in him. Without a word, he scoops you up into his arms, holding you close. You wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

"She’s tired," Daemon announces, his voice brooking no argument as he starts to carry you away. You peek over his shoulder at Viserys, who watches with a resigned smile. 

"I was only playing with her," Viserys says, but there’s a note of understanding in his tone, an acknowledgment of something that has always been between you and Daemon—something he will never quite share with you in the same way.

Daemon doesn’t respond, his attention solely on you as he carries you through the halls. His grip on you is firm but gentle, his warmth seeping through his clothes and into your small frame. You yawn, your eyelids growing heavy, and snuggle closer to him.

"Rest now, little sister," Daemon whispers, his voice soft in a way it never is with anyone else. "I’ll always keep you safe."

And in that moment, as sleep begins to claim you, you know it’s true. You may be Viserys’ beloved little sister, the youngest and most cherished of the Targaryen children, but you are Daemon’s before all else. In his arms, you feel safe, loved, and most of all, his.

The years have passed, and you have grown from a spirited child into a young woman of striking beauty. Your silver-gold hair cascades down your back in soft waves, your violet eyes—so reminiscent of the Valyrian ancestors—shining with a quiet intelligence. Your resemblance to your mother, Alyssa, is so uncanny that it often leaves those who knew her breathless, lost in memories of the past. You are the pride of House Targaryen, a true dragon in both blood and spirit.

The lords of the realm have taken notice of you, their eyes lingering a bit too long as you walk through the halls of the Red Keep. Whispers of your beauty have spread across the Seven Kingdoms, and it seems that every highborn man with a title to his name seeks your hand in marriage. The attention is overwhelming, though you do your best to remain composed, as you were taught. Still, you cannot ignore the way your heart flutters with nerves when you catch their lingering gazes.

Today, you find yourself in the gardens of the Red Keep, the sun casting a warm glow over the roses in bloom. You stroll through the maze of greenery, the scent of flowers filling the air, when you hear the soft murmur of voices behind you.

"My lady, you are a vision," one of the young lords says as he approaches, his tone smooth and rehearsed. He is tall, with dark hair and a confident smile that seems to have charmed many a court lady.

"Lord Caron," you greet him politely, inclining your head. "You are too kind."

"I speak only the truth," he insists, stepping closer. "You grow lovelier with each passing day, my lady. The realm is fortunate to have you."

You offer a tight-lipped smile, trying to mask your discomfort. Though you are used to such flattery, it always feels hollow, lacking the warmth and sincerity you crave. 

Before you can respond, you feel a familiar presence behind you, a shadow that has always loomed large in your life. Daemon steps forward, his eyes cold as they fix on Lord Caron. There is a tension in his posture, a barely restrained fury that makes the young lord falter, his confident smile wavering.

"Lord Caron," Daemon says, his voice a low rumble, "I believe my sister has endured enough of the sun today. She is in need of rest."

Lord Caron glances between the two of you, clearly weighing his options. But the sharpness in Daemon’s gaze leaves little room for argument. He bows stiffly, offering you one last smile before he retreats, his footsteps hurried as he leaves the garden.

As soon as he is gone, Daemon turns to you, his expression dark and unreadable. "You shouldn’t be out here alone," he chides, though there is an edge to his voice that you have rarely heard before.

"I wasn’t alone," you reply, meeting his gaze evenly. "And I can take care of myself, Daemon. I’m not a child anymore."

His eyes narrow slightly at your words, as if the thought displeases him. "You think I don’t know that?" he mutters, his gaze sweeping over you. "I see the way they look at you—the way they covet you. They are like vultures circling above a feast."

You blink, surprised by the venom in his tone. "They are only being polite," you say, though even as you say it, you know it’s more than that. The attention you receive is not just polite—it is predatory, something you have tried to ignore but cannot entirely dismiss.

"Polite," Daemon scoffs, taking a step closer to you. His presence is overwhelming, a mix of anger and something else that you can’t quite place. "They want to marry you, to own you, to take you away from me."

You look up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his eyes. "Daemon, I’m not a possession," you say softly, though your voice wavers slightly. "I will marry one day, and when I do, it will be my choice."

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, he says nothing. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, until finally, he speaks, his voice low and dangerous. "No man will ever be worthy of you. No man will ever deserve you. You are mine, and I will not let them take you from me."

You stare at him, your breath catching in your throat at his words. The possessiveness in his voice, the raw intensity of his emotions—it’s more than just a brotherly concern. There is something deeper, something darker that simmers beneath the surface, and it both frightens and intrigues you.

"Daemon…" you begin, but he cuts you off, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. The touch is surprisingly gentle, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he’s memorizing the feel of you.

"You are my sister," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "You are the only person in this world who matters to me. I will not let anyone take you away, not Viserys, not any of those lords who think they can lay claim to you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, despite the confusion swirling in your mind. "I am not leaving you," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "But Daemon… this is not—"

"Don’t," he interrupts, his thumb pressing lightly against your lips to silence you. "Don’t say anything that will ruin this moment."

His eyes bore into yours, and you feel a heat rising between you, a dangerous pull that you know you should resist but can’t. Daemon has always been the center of your world, but now, you realize, he is something more, something that both terrifies and excites you.

For a long moment, the world seems to stop, and it’s just the two of you, standing in the garden, the air thick with unspoken words and forbidden desires. Then, as if sensing your hesitation, Daemon leans down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gesture that is both tender and possessive.

"I will always protect you," he vows, his breath warm against your skin. "No one else will ever come between us."

And as he pulls away, you find yourself nodding, unable to voice the turmoil inside you. Because deep down, you know that what he says is true—you are his, and in some twisted, inevitable way, he is yours as well.

The wind howls around the towering battlements of Casterly Rock, the seat of House Lannister. Below, the sea crashes against the cliffs, the waves like thunder as they break upon the ancient stone. You stand on a high balcony overlooking the expanse, your heart heavy with the weight of what is to come. The golden light of the setting sun casts long shadows, and though the view is breathtaking, you find no solace in it.

The marriage to Jason Lannister had been arranged swiftly, a decision made by Viserys in a moment of political strategy. It had all happened so fast—one moment you were in King’s Landing, the next you were being sent across the realm, far from the comforts of your home, and even further from Daemon.

Jason Lannister is a man of means, a wealthy and powerful lord, but he is not the man your heart longs for. Despite his handsome features and polite demeanor, he leaves you cold. You do not love him, nor do you wish to, but the weight of your duty had left you with little choice but to obey your brother’s command.

Tonight is to be your wedding night, a thought that fills you with dread. The thought of sharing your bed with a man who is a stranger to you, despite his politeness and charm, makes your skin crawl. You had always imagined your wedding night to be something sacred, shared with someone you truly loved—someone like Daemon. But such dreams seem so far away now.

As you clutch the stone railing of the balcony, you hear the faintest sound of wings cutting through the air. At first, you think it’s your imagination, a product of your desperate longing. But then the sound grows louder, more distinct, and your heart begins to race.

In the distance, you see it—Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, his massive wings beating against the darkening sky, his crimson scales gleaming like fire in the dying light. On his back, you spot a figure clad in black and red, his silver hair streaming behind him like a banner. Daemon.

He’s come for you.

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him descend, the great dragon’s roar echoing through the air as he nears the fortress. Panic and excitement mix within you—Daemon, your beloved brother, has come to take you away, to rescue you from a life you never wanted.

Caraxes lands with a deafening thud in the courtyard below, his long neck arched as he lets out another earth-shaking roar. The guards and servants scatter in fear, unprepared for such a display of raw power. You waste no time, gathering your skirts and racing down the steps toward the courtyard, your heart pounding in your chest.

By the time you reach the courtyard, Daemon has dismounted, his presence commanding as he strides forward with purpose. He looks every bit the rogue prince, his eyes alight with determination and something far more dangerous. He spots you immediately, his expression softening for just a moment before hardening once more as he glances at the keep behind you.

"Daemon!" you cry out, rushing toward him. He catches you easily, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace that makes you feel safer than you have in weeks. The scent of him—salt, leather, and dragonfire—fills your senses, and you cling to him as if he were the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

"I’ve come to take you away," he murmurs into your ear, his voice rough with emotion. "You belong to me, not to some Lannister dog."

You pull back slightly, searching his face, your own heart torn between relief and fear. "Viserys… he ordered this marriage. He’ll be furious if you—"

"Let him be furious," Daemon interrupts, his eyes blazing. "You are mine, not his to give away. We will go to Dragonstone, and we will marry in the traditions of our House. Fire and blood—that is our way, not these weak southern bonds."

Before you can respond, you hear the clattering of armored boots and turn to see Jason Lannister approaching, flanked by a dozen guards. His face is pale, though he tries to maintain a confident air as he confronts Daemon.

"Prince Daemon," Jason says, his voice steady but laced with underlying fear. "This is madness. She is to be my wife by order of the king. You cannot simply take her."

Daemon’s lips curl into a dangerous smile, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel sword that has tasted the blood of many a fool. "Can’t I?" he says, his tone mocking. "You think to keep her here, hidden away in this golden cage? You think she will ever be yours, truly yours? You’re a fool, Lannister."

Jason stiffens, but to his credit, he doesn’t back down. "This will bring war," he warns. "If you take her, Viserys will have no choice but to act. The realm will not stand for this."

Daemon laughs, the sound dark and menacing. "Let the realm do as it will. I’ve never cared for the opinions of sheep. You think you can threaten me with war, boy? I am war. I have fought in battles you cannot even imagine. And if it’s bloodshed you seek, I will gladly spill it."

Jason falters, his bravado crumbling under Daemon’s intense gaze. "I…I only seek what was promised to me," he stammers, clearly trying to find a way out that doesn’t end with his blood staining the courtyard. "If you take her, I will not pursue her. But I will require compensation for this slight. The Lannisters will not be insulted without recompense."

Daemon’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, you fear he might draw Dark Sister and end Jason’s life right then and there. But instead, he takes a step closer to the lord, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"You dare to speak of recompense?" he hisses, his face inches from Jason’s. "She is worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock, more than your entire house. There is no recompense for what you tried to steal from me. But I will leave you your life, if only because I have more important matters to attend to."

Jason’s face drains of color, and he takes a stumbling step back, nodding quickly. "Yes… yes, of course. Take her, and may the gods be with you."

Daemon doesn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he turns to you, his expression softening as he reaches out to take your hand. "Come, sister," he says, his voice gentler now. "Let us leave this place. We will wed on Dragonstone, and no one will ever come between us again."

You nod, your heart swelling with a mix of relief and trepidation. Daemon leads you toward Caraxes, his grip on your hand firm and reassuring. The dragon lowers his massive head as you approach, and with Daemon’s help, you climb onto his back, settling in behind your brother.

As Caraxes takes to the sky, the wind whipping through your hair, you cling to Daemon, feeling the power of the dragon beneath you and the warmth of your brother in front of you. The world below falls away, and with it, the fear and uncertainty that had plagued you for so long.

As the Red Keep disappears into the distance, you lean close to Daemon, your voice barely a whisper. "Thank you for coming for me."

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a fierce intensity. "I will always come for you," he vows, his voice full of conviction. "You are mine, and I will never let you go."

And as you soar through the skies on the back of the Blood Wyrm, leaving Casterly Rock and all its golden confines behind, you know that he means every word. The path ahead may be fraught with danger, but as long as you are by Daemon’s side, you are willing to face whatever comes.

For you are his, and he is yours, bound by blood and fire, as it was always meant to be.

The tourney grounds outside King’s Landing are alive, a sea of banners fluttering in the wind, each representing the great houses of Westeros. The air is full of the scent of sweat, horses, and the faint metallic tang of freshly forged steel. The tournament held in honor of the impending birth of Viserys' child has drawn knights and lords from across the realm, all eager to witness the splendor and skill of the finest warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. 

King Viserys himself sits upon the royal dais, a smile of pride and expectation on his face. He has every reason to be joyous today—the maesters have assured him that this time, his wife Aemma will deliver a son, a true heir to the Iron Throne. But there is an undercurrent of unease in the king’s heart, a shadow that lingers at the edges of his happiness, for it has been years since he last saw his beloved sister.

Not a word has come from Dragonstone since that fateful day when Daemon stole you away, defying the king’s will and igniting a scandal that has only grown with time. Rumors have spread like wildfire, each one more outlandish than the last—tales of dark rituals, of dragons terrorizing the Narrow Sea, and of a brood of Targaryen children raised in exile, far from the eyes of the court. But none of these rumors have ever been confirmed, and Viserys has learned to silence any mention of you in his presence, the wound too deep to bear reopening.

As the king watches the jousting field, his thoughts drift to you, wondering where you are, how you have fared all these years. He tries to push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the spectacle before him. But then, a murmur runs through the crowd, growing louder as the people begin to turn their heads toward the sky.

Viserys follows their gaze, and his breath catches in his throat. 

There, descending from the clouds, is a dragon—its great wings casting a shadow over the tourney grounds as it circles above. The creature’s scales shimmer a deep, blood-red, and its roar is like the rumble of distant thunder. There is no mistaking the beast or its rider. 

"Caraxes," Viserys whispers, a mix of shock and something else—something like hope—rising in his chest.

The dragon lands with a thud just beyond the field, the earth trembling beneath its weight. The crowds part, a mixture of awe and fear on their faces as Daemon Targaryen dismounts from the dragon’s back, his presence as commanding as ever. His silver hair, untouched by time, glints in the sunlight, and his dark cloak billows around him like wings as he strides forward.

But it is not Daemon alone who captures the attention of the gathered lords and ladies. For behind him, gracefully descending from Caraxes, is a figure draped in black and red, a crown of silver-gold hair flowing down her back—you.

Gasps ripple through the crowd as they recognize you, their whispers growing into a chorus of disbelief and astonishment. But you pay them no mind, your eyes fixed solely on the dais where your brother, the king, sits in stunned silence.

You walk toward him with the poise of a queen, your hand resting protectively on the head of a small boy who clings to your side. His hair is a pale silver, much like yours and Daemon’s, his eyes wide with curiosity as he takes in the spectacle around him. Another child—a girl with your likeness—follows close behind, holding onto Daemon’s hand with an air of confidence that belies her young age.

When you finally reach the dais, the entire tourney ground has fallen silent, all eyes on this reunion that none had expected. Viserys rises from his seat, his face a mask of disbelief, his hands trembling as he reaches out toward you.

"Sister," he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. "Is it truly you?"

You nod, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of longing and caution. "It is I, brother," you reply, your voice soft but steady. "I have returned."

Viserys hesitates, his gaze shifting to Daemon, who stands beside you, his expression unreadable. The king’s eyes then fall to the children, and his heart twists with a sudden, overwhelming mixture of emotions—joy, sorrow, anger, and relief all at once.

"And these…" Viserys begins, his voice faltering as he looks at the boy and girl, "are your children?"

"Our children," Daemon corrects, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. There is a proud, possessive note in his tone as he looks at you and the children, as if daring anyone to challenge his claim.

The boy, sensing the attention on him, steps forward, his small chest puffed out with pride. "I am Aegon," he announces, his voice clear and strong. "Aegon of House Targaryen."

"And I am Rhaella," the girl adds, her violet eyes sparkling with the same fierce determination that burns in Daemon’s. "Daughter of Prince Daemon and Princess Y/N."

Viserys looks at them, his eyes filling with tears he can barely contain. "Aegon… Rhaella…" he murmurs, reaching out a hand to them. "My niece and nephew."

But before he can take another step, Jason Lannister, who had been standing nearby, watching the scene unfold with barely concealed anger, speaks up. "This is an outrage!" he exclaims, his voice carrying across the silent grounds. "This man stole the king’s sister and has kept her in exile for years, and now he parades her and their bastards before us as if we should welcome them!"

A hush falls over the crowd, tension crackling in the air like a storm about to break. Daemon’s gaze snaps to Jason, his eyes narrowing into slits of cold fury. He releases Rhaella’s hand and steps forward, every inch the dragon that he is, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister.

"You dare speak of my children in such a way?" Daemon’s voice is deadly quiet, each word laced with barely restrained rage. "You, who couldn’t even keep what was never yours?"

Jason’s bravado falters, but he presses on, his pride wounded. "They are illegitimate! Faith of the Seven doesn't acknowledge such unions!"

Daemon’s lips curl into a predatory smile, and in one swift motion, he draws Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel blade gleaming wickedly in the sunlight. He moves with the deadly grace of a seasoned warrior, closing the distance between himself and Jason in the blink of an eye.

"Speak another word," Daemon hisses, the tip of his blade hovering just above Jason’s throat, "and it will be your last."

Jason freezes, the color draining from his face as he stares into the eyes of the rogue prince. The crowd watches in breathless silence, the tension palpable. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you, but your focus is on Daemon, on the way his hand steadies, his grip sure and unwavering.

"Daemon," you say softly, taking a step forward. Your voice, gentle yet firm, cuts through the tension. "He is not worth it."

For a moment, it seems as if Daemon might ignore you, might spill blood here and now just to make his point. But then, slowly, he lowers the blade, his eyes never leaving Jason’s terrified face.

"Remember this, Lannister," Daemon says, his voice low and menacing. "The next time you speak ill of my wife or my children, I will not be so merciful."

With that, he sheathes Dark Sister and turns away from Jason, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than an insect. The Lannister lord stumbles back, pale and shaken, and quickly retreats, disappearing into the crowd.

Viserys watches all of this in stunned silence, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. When Daemon turns back to you, his expression softens, and he takes your hand in his, pulling you close.

"We are here now, brother," Daemon says, his tone more measured. "We are family, and nothing will change that. Not time, not distance, and certainly not the words of a fool like Jason Lannister."

Viserys looks at you, his eyes searching yours for answers, for reassurance. "Why now, sister? After all these years�� why return now?"

You look at him, feeling the weight of all that has passed between you, the distance that had grown and the love that had remained. "Because I could not stay away forever," you say softly. "Because you are my brother, and I have missed you every day. And because our children deserve to know their family."

Viserys steps forward, pulling you into an embrace that is both warm and desperate, as if he fears letting you go again. "I have missed you too," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you could ever know."

Daemon watches the two of you, his eyes flicking between you and Viserys. For a moment, you see something unguarded in his expression—something like relief, though quickly masked by his usual aloofness.

"Let this day be a new beginning," Viserys says, finally pulling back and looking at Daemon, his tone almost pleading. "For all of us. Stay in King’s Landing. Be at my side. Let us be a family again."

Daemon’s eyes harden slightly, as if considering the weight of Viserys’ words. He glances at you, searching your face for any sign of what you might want, what you might ask of him in this moment. For years, you have been his anchor, the one person he would follow anywhere, the one person whose opinion could sway him.

You meet his gaze, and though your heart swells at the thought of reuniting with Viserys, of your children growing up surrounded by family, you know what Daemon is feeling. King’s Landing has never been kind to him. It has always been a place of politics, betrayal, and intrigue, a place that tried to mold him into something he was not. And yet, the desire for peace between the brothers, for some semblance of family, tugs at you.

Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens slightly, and he turns his attention back to Viserys. "You speak of family, brother," Daemon says, his voice carefully controlled, "but it was you who sent your own blood away, who sought to wed her to another man against her will."

Viserys winces at the memory, guilt flashing across his face. "I made a mistake," he admits, his voice pained. "One I have regretted every day since. I thought I was doing what was best for the realm, for our family. But I see now that I was wrong."

Daemon’s expression remains inscrutable, but the tension in his posture seems to ease slightly. "And now you want us to stay," he says, not quite a question, but more of a challenge.

"Yes," Viserys replies earnestly, stepping closer to you both. "Stay. Let us rebuild what was broken. You are my brother, and she is my sister. We should stand together, not apart."

You feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, the air thick with the potential for reconciliation—or for more conflict. You squeeze Daemon’s hand, hoping to communicate your own longing for peace, for a life where your children can grow up knowing their uncle, their heritage, without the constant threat of exile hanging over them.

Daemon glances at you, his eyes softening as he reads the unspoken plea in your gaze. He exhales slowly, as if releasing a great burden, and finally nods, a small but significant gesture.

"We will stay," Daemon says, his tone firm but not without warmth. "But make no mistake, Viserys—I will not be made a tool in anyone’s game, not even yours. We come as equals, or not at all."

Viserys nods, relief washing over him. "Equals," he agrees, his voice thick with gratitude. "As it should be."

The tension that has hung over the tourney grounds like a storm cloud begins to dissipate, the atmosphere lightening as the onlookers realize that the confrontation they feared will not come to pass. Instead, there is a sense of awe, of history in the making, as they witness the reconciliation of the Targaryen siblings.

The children, sensing the change, tug at your hands, their eyes wide with curiosity and excitement. "Will we stay here, Mother?" Rhaella asks, her voice full of wonder. "In the big castle?"

You smile down at her, brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "Yes, my love," you say gently. "We will stay, and you will have your uncle Viserys and many others to meet."

Aegon’s eyes light up, his young mind already racing with possibilities. "And will we get to see the Iron Throne? Will we be able to ride our dragons here?"

Viserys, hearing the boy’s excitement, kneels down to their level, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You will see the Iron Throne, and much more," he promises, his voice full of affection. "You are both of the blood of the dragon, and this is your home as much as it is mine."

Daemon watches the interaction closely, a flicker of something like contentment in his eyes as he sees Viserys embrace his role as uncle. There is still wariness in him, a reluctance to fully trust after so many years of betrayal and bitterness, but there is also a sliver of hope, kindled by the presence of his children and the woman he loves.

As you and Daemon stand beside Viserys, the king rises and takes both of your hands in his, his eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. "Thank you for coming back," he whispers, his voice full of emotion. "Thank you for giving me a chance to make things right."

You nod, squeezing his hand gently. "We are family, Viserys," you say softly. "And family is worth fighting for."

Daemon, ever the rogue prince, adds with a smirk, "Just remember, brother, that dragons cannot be tamed. We are here because we choose to be, not because we must."

Viserys chuckles, a sound full of warmth and brotherly affection. "I wouldn’t have it any other way," he says, pulling you both into a rare embrace that speaks of years of lost time and the possibility of a future where the Targaryens stand united once more.

As the sun sets over King’s Landing, casting the tourney grounds in hues of gold and crimson, the three of you—Daemon, you, and Viserys—stand together, a family reunited at last. And though the path ahead may be uncertain, for this moment, there is peace, and there is hope, both of which have been hard-won.

And as you look at the faces of your children, who gaze upon the world with wonder and excitement, you dare to believe that this peace might just last—if only for a little while.

[barcaatthemoon]

silence || lia walti x reader ||

lia doesn't think you'll come to her game while the two of you are fighting.

you hated the quiet, but you were stubborn. lia was mad at you for something, an old fight that was rehashed a few days ago. you didn't seem to get the message, so lia had left last night. there was no note, no call or text. lia packed up an overnight bag and made her way to leah's to get ready for the game. you didn't even know if lia wanted you to come, but you were going to anyway.

this game was big, and even if you weren't there for just lia, you'd go to support the friends you had made on the arsenal team. as a kid, you had played on the youth team, but eventually gave it up for a coaching career. you had spent years learning in america coaching a college team before you came back to london to take a position at a team a league down from arsenal.

you loved your job, occasionally too much. you put in way more time and effort than what was required of you to do so. lia wanted you to take a step back and relax a little, but you couldn't. that was probably the root of the fight, and regrettable things were said on both ends. neither you nor lia were innocent in this fight. you knew that you had to apologize, but you weren't sure if lia would feel the same way and that was where your apprehension came in.

it was easy enough to find your seat in the friends and family section. you always sat in the same place, generally next to the same people. since today was a big day, you found yourself sandwiched between katie's and alessia's mothers. you liked the two women, who definitely doted on you a little whenever they saw you.

sometimes, you'd sit with lia's family when they came down, but you doubted that they'd want to see you. lia had to have told someone what was going on, so you stayed in your seat. you tried to keep to your best behavior in order to not attract attention. you knew how lia could be after big fights, and the last thing you wanted to do was distract her with such a big game hanging over her head. to a lot of people, it was just another game, but you knew that a loss here would knock them out of any major tournament play chances.

"(y/n), lia said you weren't coming today." you hated how surprised alessia looked as she saw you. you rubbed the back of your neck as you awkwardly shifted your weight between your feet. "i thought you were out of town."

"is that what she told you?" you asked. alessia shook her head, but you didnt miss the guilty look on her face. "i should probably go. good job today less, that was a great goal."

you quickly shoved all of your things in your bag and tried to make a quick exit when you walked right into lia. she had her back to you, so she didn't notice who it was until you were speeding past her. the conversation with her parents was immediately cut short to chase after you, genuinely not having believed that you'd try to come see her play after the week of silence between the two of you.

lia knew that you hated not talking to her, but you wouldn't open up communication until she did. whether it was you being stubborn or just not knowing how, lia wasn't completely sure. she knew that you had a hard time opening up to anybody, and that sometimes it was easiest to give you space to work things out on your own. lia also knew that she had really hurt your feelings during your last argument, and that it was best if she didn't accidentally say something to make it worse.

"i'm really happy that you showed up," lia said as she grabbed onto your wrist. you stopped moving the moment that she touched you. "i missed you last night and this morning. are we okay?"

"yeah, i think so," you told her. lia let out a sigh of relief as she pulled you into a hug. you melted against her body, leaning heavily into her embrace. "will you come home tonight?"

"only if you're sure that you want me back. i am really sorry for what i said and for ignoring you. you'd never expect me to put my job on the backburner for you, and i can't expect you to do the same for me," lia apologized. after the week that you had, you easily would have done anything that lia wanted you to. luckily, she realized that you were living your dream the same way that she was.

"i'm sorry that i've been distant. i'll be better," you promised. lia smiled as she cupped your cheeks and leaned in to kiss you. you kissed her back eagerly, hoping to make up for all of the kisses that you had missed out on because of the fighting. "go back and celebrate with your team, i'll pick up something for dinner."

"no, come celebrate with us. i don't want to celebrate without you there too."

[worldwithinworld]

Since we all have the time of Haymitch's games on our minds, I thought now would be a good time to bring up again my longstanding theory that Katniss's mother was disowned by her parents but not primarily (or even at all) because she married someone from the Seam. I think it's because she and Katniss's father were involved in rebellious activities.

Here are my clues:

She was Maysilee's friend. She got her canary after she died, inheriting the symbol of a warning in the form of a songbird.

Haymitch's victory frightened Show. If the Capitol's control was strong at the time, Haymitch's forcefield trick would have been just good tv. The fact that Snow came down so hard on Snow suggests there were threats of rebellion before Haymitch even went into the arena.

When Gale is whipped, Haymitch says they used to take people who got whipped to Katniss's mother. Specifically, he says, "She's the one we took them to," which seems to imply it was just her, not her whole family.

After treating Gale, she briefly speaks to Haymitch about "before." They understand each other so easily with just a few words despite us seeing hardly any interaction between them before. It feels like they have more of a shared history than what Katniss knows.

Speaking of what Katniss knows, she considers this interaction and wonders what they are talking about but decides she's too upset to ask right then. She never thinks about asking again, but the whole thing suggests that there is a lot more to the story of D12 in Haymitch and her parents' youth.

Katniss remembers her mom getting angry at her dad for teaching her "The Hanging Tree." Little Katniss had cried because her mom yelling was so out of the norm. Katniss assumes that her mom didn't like her little girl learning such a dark song, but we know better. Her dad sang a rebels' song, and her mom got scared of him teaching it to her daughter.

I think both of Katniss's parents were involved in rebellion to some degree when they were young. The Capitol came down hard on Haymitch and his whole district to snuff it out. It scared Katniss's maternal grandparents who maybe told her to cut ties with her Seam boy or else, or maybe they just cut her off for her own deeds irrespective of her romantic interest.

[serpentface]

THE KHAIT BRIDEGROOM (South Wardi variant)

(A romantic folktale in which a girl marries her khait, kinda)

There once was a poor maize farmer, living in a mud hut at the edge of a village on the Brilla river. His beloved wife had died in childbirth, leaving him with only a daughter to raise on his own. The two led very difficult lives, and he mourned that he could not grant his daughter the ease and safety that she deserved. She had to work the fields just as hard as he did from the moment she was able to walk.

The most valuable asset to the farmer’s name was a beautiful young bull khait, who he had found roaming wild in the scrub. The khait was big and strong, with fur that shone gold like sunlight and was spattered with white spots like stars. He was never gelded, for he was a gentle and docile animal that bore none of the wild ferocity of many an intact bull. He took the yoke without complaint, and bore a rider with unwavering patience. Many had tried to buy the great beast from the farmer, but he refused all offers. Having such a fine working animal of his very own was a gift beyond the farmer's wildest dreams, and the khait was worth far more to him than anything he was offered.

The farmer had no fear that his khait would ever harm his daughter, and so she spent many days working him in the fields on her own. She always treated the animal with a kind, gentle hand, and he trusted her deeply and worked himself hard for her sake. The girl and beast became dearly bonded during the years of her childhood.

But the farmer’s daughter had just recently come into womanhood, and he was now tasked with finding her a good husband, and perhaps a better life in the process. He approached every man of good standing that he could find, but each laughed in his face. His daughter was too ugly, they said, and the farmer certainly couldn’t offer a good enough dowry to make up for it.

And it was true that his daughter wasn’t all that pleasant to the eye. Her hair was loose and matted, her skin was sun-worn and rough, she was often dirty from her labors, and the only cloak she owned was tattered and worn over her naked body. But beneath all that she was kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. A man could not truly ask for a better wife, and so the farmer persisted.

The only potential suitor he had yet to approach was the son of his village’s chieftain, who was newly a man and as of yet unwed. The farmer knew he had little to offer the man, but hoped that the son of a wise elder would see his daughter’s virtue.

And so brought his young daughter to meet the chieftain’s son. He supplicated himself before the youth, laying one hand on the man’s foot and one across his own breast.

“My lord, I would offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son held back a laugh. He certainly could ask for a better wife, and quite easily! He found the very proposition to be insulting. But he had a rather lowly and vicious nature, and thus he pretended to contemplate the offer.

He looked the girl over with a deep frown, and shook his head.

“As tempting as this sounds, I must refuse. Her hair is too matted and ugly, I cannot have an unkempt woman for my wife. Perhaps if she manages to fix it, we can discuss engagement." The chieftain's son said.

And he sent the father and daughter away.

The girl had nothing left but to attend to her chores. It was the beginning of the planting season, and she had far too much work to do to wallow in her sadness. She held back tears as she placed the yoke on the khait’s neck, and began to cry to herself as she hitched him to the plow.

“What’s wrong?” Asked the khait.

“The chieftain’s son won’t marry me. He says my hair is too matted and ugly. He thinks I am unkempt.” The girl wept.

The khait felt great pity for her. It was true that her hair was quite disagreeable, but through no fault of her own. She had no mother to teach her to braid it finely, and her daily labor was too dirty and strenuous to keep it neat. It hurt his heart to see her so sad. And so he asked his friends, little egret and magpie, for help.

Magpie flew off to a distant town, and there he stole a ball of sweet-smelling soap and a jar of sesame oil. And meanwhile, little egret sat upon the girl’s shoulder as she guided the plow, picking lice out of her hair and teasing apart the tangles with her nimble beak. 

The next morning, the girl rode down to the river upon the khait’s back. The great beast stood guard and shielded her body while she washed her body and cloak with the fine soap and oil. She scraped the dirt from her skin and oiled and rinsed her hair until it was clean. Little egret taught her to braid her hair finely, and together they wove it into two neat strands, scarcely a hair loose.

She thanked the khait for his help, and he nodded his great head, relaxing as little egret and magpie took flies from his ears in payment.

The girl returned home and excitedly showed her father the good news. Her once filthy hair now shone bright and clean like chains of bronze, fragrant with oil and falling in two tight braids down to her breast. Both rejoiced, and her father took her to meet with the chieftain’s son again.

The farmer supplicated himself again, and said:

“My lord, I would again offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. Her hair is beautiful and well-kept, and shines like bronze. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son looked her over with a deep frown, and shook his head.

“I suppose her hair is quite beautiful now, but on second look-… Her cloak is tattered and worn, and she carries herself like a barbarian, wearing nothing underneath. I cannot have such a lowly woman as a wife. Perhaps if she manages to clothe herself properly, we can discuss engagement.”

And he sent the father and daughter away.

The girl returned to her tasks, humiliated and miserable. She flung the seed as if she disdained it, stomping through the freshly tilled fields in her anger.

“What’s wrong?” said the khait, gently nosing her shoulder.

“The chieftain’s son still won’t marry me. He says my cloak is too tattered and worn, and that I am naked like a barbarian. He thinks I am lowly.” the girl said.

The khait was upset for her sake. She had only one cloak to her name and walked near-naked underneath, this was true, but she took precious care of what little she had, and carried herself with modesty and dignity. It hurt his heart to see her honor insulted.

“Go down to the river and gather a bushel of the sweetest, greenest grass you can find, and take your father’s sharpest knife. Return to me, and I will take you to someone who can help.” the khait said.

And so the girl and went about gathering grass, taking only the most succulent of stalks and wrapping it all in an old blanket. She returned to the khait, knife and grass in tow. He took her upon his back, and together they rode into the brush.

They traveled for half the day, all the way to the Red Hills. There they came across a big horse with wool the color of snow, surrounded by his brightly spotted yakintsi wives.

The khait saluted him with a loud bellow. He stood nearly thrice as tall as the horse, but bowed his head in deference all the same.

“Lord of the hill, I humbly ask you to give this girl some of your wool. She brings fine riverside grass as a gift in trade.” the khait said.

This horse, though of tame stock, was himself wild and proud. The thought of being sheared was a bit humiliating, and he considered leaving his visitors in the dust then and there. But the forage of his hills were poor and sparse, and the bundle of grass the girl had brought was quite enticing. And his wool had grown a bit too thick and fine for the hot weather, and he could certainly stand to lose some.

“Fine,” he said, “She may shear my wool for as long as it takes for me to finish eating, and not a moment longer.”

And so the horse chomped away at the grass while the girl made quick work of shearing him. By the time the horse finished and ran off, the girl had gotten herself a hulking pile of fine, white wool. She carefully bundled it into her blanket, and the girl and khait rode back home.

She spent many days spinning the wool, and meanwhile the khait brought her kolis flower and foxgloves to make dye and precious feathers and cowries for adornment. She then spent many more days in weaving, until she had a fine cloak and veil of yellow, a grass-green headband with white stripes, and a pure white dress to wear underneath.

She happily showed her father her new clothes. Both rejoiced, and her father took her to meet with the chieftain’s son again. This time, the girl rode astride the khait so that her dress would not be dirtied by walking. She was a resplendent sight atop the beautiful animal, her brown braids gleaming against the rich yellow of her cloak and lovely white gull feathers and shells ornamenting her headband.

The farmer supplicated himself a third time, and said:

“My lord, I would again offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient. Her hair is beautiful and well-kept, and shines like bronze. Her cloak and veil are fine and well-made, and she wears a dress of pure white. You could not ask for a better wife.”

The chieftain’s son looked her over with a deep frown, and shook his head. 

“Her hair may be very beautiful, and her clothes may be fine, but on third look-… Don’t her hips seem a little narrow to you? A little too lean? She will never be able to bear healthy children.”

And, seeing a possibility, he added:

“But perhaps that could change with a good offering. Give me your khait as part of her dowry, and I will offer him up to bless your unfortunate daughter. Then we can discuss engagement.”

The farmer was pained at this. He could hardly bear to lose such a precious and hardworking animal. But the thought of seeing his beloved daughter sad and alone pained him far more. He reluctantly agreed.

“This khait is a fine and noble animal, gentle and docile, and agreeable to hard work. He is young and has never once been bred. One could scarcely make a finer offering than him.” The farmer said sadly.

And with that, the khait was handed off to the chieftain’s son. But he had no intent on making an offering of the animal in sacrifice, just as he had no intent on marrying the girl. The khait was a very fine beast indeed, and the chieftain’s son wanted him for his own herd.

But his satisfaction at his play soon turned to frustration. He had hoped to use this fine bull as a stud, but the khait refused to cover any mare. He thought that certainly he could pull a plow or carry a rider, but the khait shook off the yoke and bucked and kicked at the sight of saddle. The man couldn’t even bridle the khait, who would lower his horns and paw the earth at the mere sight of him. The chieftain’s son finally decided to geld him in hopes that the beast would become less spirited, but he couldn’t even make the approach. The khait charged him on sight, and ropes meant to hold him seemed to slip off his neck like water.

“That wretched plowman lied to me, this animal is bad-tempered and wild. He probably has a better khait hidden somewhere, that greedy dog. This one is useless.” The chieftain’s son said to himself. He decided there was no remaining use for the khait but to butcher him for a feast.

It took ten men to capture the khait, and ten more to hold him down. The chieftain’s son, who by now felt quite vindictive towards the great beast, decided he wanted the honors of the slaying himself. He held the furious khait by the horns and sliced a deep gash across his neck.

But to the astonishment of everyone watching, no lifeblood poured from the wound. Instead, the khait’s form seemed to shift right before their eyes, its great bulk shrinking beneath its flesh. Its golden hide fell open, and out from underneath climbed a human man. He was tall and handsome, with freckled skin that shone like bronze, and a thick beard and long curled hair the color of gold. He covered himself in his own shed hide, and spoke to the chieftain’s son with great disdain.

“You are a pathetic dogfaced excuse of a man, a liar and a thief. You live crawling so low that you can’t see a good thing standing right in front of you. If you won’t marry her, I will.”

And with that, he left the man and his entourage behind in astonishment.

The khait-man did not head back home straight away, but instead slipped into the brush where little egret and magpie were waiting for him. He had bidden his time under chieftain’s son’s care so that they could help him collect a great bridal gift.

He clothed himself in a fine cloak and skirt, and said farewell to the birds, who mourned their loss of lazy spent eating flies off his back. Hefting his gift onto his strong, broad shoulder, the khait-man made his way back to the little mud hut.

The farmer answered the call at his door with his daughter hiding behind him, frightened of this strange man. But as she looked at him she quickly recognized the gentleness in his eyes, the familiar sunlit shine of his hair, and her heart was glad.

The khait-man knelt and bowed deeply, and said to the farmer:

“I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. She is kind and gentle, hardworking and obedient, and more beautiful than the sun. I could not ask for a better wife.”

And the khait-man laid out his gift- rare and resplendent feathers, precious shells, fine wool, and his own lovely golden hide. This would more than cover the girl’s dower and the farmer’s loss of his khait, and leave him a hefty sum of wealth behind as well.

The farmer agreed to the proposal with great enthusiasm, and the girl and the khait-man were thus betrothed.

And so they were wed, and had many children. The girls were beautiful and the boys were handsome, but all were a little strange- their hair was shone gold like sunlight, and their skin was spattered in freckles like stars.

NOTES:

Animal stories feature heavily into Wardi folktales. There are two distinct (though not wholly separate) traditions of animal stories- the older tales focus more heavily on talking animals as archetypal figures- a trickster hare, a greedy hyena, a cowardly jackal, a brave lion, etc- interacting in the wild with little to no human presence, or with Human being just one animal figure. These are at least in part the remains of original animistic religious traditions among early Wardi groups, wherein animal spirits would be used as figures in tutelary and/or explanatory fables (and for entertainment).

The modern era tradition tends to focus more on talking animals interacting with humans within the framework of human society. In some cases the animal’s ability for speech is unquestioned, in other cases the animal is explicitly magical in nature. These variants still tend to retain old style animal fable elements and their learned archetypal relationships. IE: a khait having a little egret and magpie as friends is an old archetype- (the little egret is a bird that follows large ungulates to feed on flies and stirred up insects, and a type of magpie in the region is known to eat flies and ticks off of large ungulates, and to be more tolerated than oxpeckers), these birds would often be cast as friends or servants of large, noble ungulates. The theme of the khait having access to a sort of separate animal society also resembles the theming of the older animal stories.

This particular fable has many variants across the Wardi sphere. The girl is usually a peasant’s daughter, but is sometimes a noblewoman mistreated by her family. The animal is usually a khait, but sometimes a bull, very occasionally another animal (a horse in some North Wardi traditions, one highly derived Highlands variant has a dragon as a spouse).

The khait bridegroom story is just one part of a much broader folktale archetype, whose core points are:

A virtuous young woman is unable to find a husband, is beautiful but made ugly and dirty by her lifestyle (usually either poverty or abuse)

An animal helping figure assists her (sometimes its an actual animal, sometimes its the spirit of a dead relative in animal form, sometimes its a shapeshifter, a wild spirit, a minor deity, or a cursed human)

There is a conflict between a good suitor and bad suitor- in some cases the good suitor is the animal, in other cases he is a third party.

This archetype extends far beyond the Wardi cultural sphere, and directly connected variants can be found among all the Viper and Mouth seaway adjacent peoples (Burri, Kos, Titen, Finn, Royal Dain and some other Dain groups, Ubiyan, Uboe, Wogan, Wardi, Cholemdinae, Hill Tribes, Yuroma), sometimes in addition to or merged with separate animal bride(groom) folktales. This spread is through a combination of common ancestry of some groups, and regular historical interaction of others. Very similar folktales occur elsewhere in the world, but likely developed independently.

In this variant of the story, the khait's ability to talk and transform into a human is not explicitly explained, as it's not a core concern of the narrative. In some other variants, the khait is specifically a nobleman or prince or otherwise upstanding man who has been cursed into animal form (and is cured at some point in the story), or he is a benevolent shapeshifter (belief in people with the ability to magically change into animals via wearing skins is very common, largely considered silly commoner superstition by the urban elite but still very popular in folktales). The latter is heavily implied here, especially by the khait removing his skin to transform and giving it up in marriage.

A perhaps unexpected subset of this folktale's popularity is its imagery being a common motif erotic art objects, particularly the matter of inevitable consummation of the khait-man and girl's marriage. These are usually not considered outright pornographic (as is true for most Wardi erotic art), and often are mildly humorous in nature, fully embracing the strangeness of a girl marrying what was, up until recently. an animal. The suitor is usually depicted with a head of a khait, even when in human form. Animal headed figures in Wardi art are almost never meant to be taken literally, and instead are used to describe inner nature (in this case, him being a literal animal, but in other cases it's nature in a more abstract sense- ie: some visual representations of Odonii or the Odomache depict them with the heads of a lion) or as a visual shorthand for shapeshifting.

The less explicit cup in a matching pair depicting the khait-man and girl's wedding night (though is only tied to the story by its concept, and is otherwise quite tonally disparate).

He's shown presenting her with a courtship gift of an ornamental domestic duck, which will read as comical- it may suggest that he's nervously trying to secure her affections despite being already married, or that he doesn't know how courtship works (because he was an animal up until, like, yesterday) and thinks he needs to give gifts to get sex. The oversized phallus will also be read as humorous. The tapered shape is not intending to represent an ungulate penis, and is instead a visual pun on the phrase 'a bull led by his horns'.

While this cup is intended to function as a decorative and mildly humorous art piece (rather than outright arousing to the audience), the depiction of the young woman is straightforwardly sexualized, with the high focus on her thighs and buttocks (which is a cultural focal point for feminine sexual beauty) and her wavy un-braided hair (common in erotic scenes, as it gives the audience a voyeuristic sensation that they are VERY specifically looking in on a highly private scene (due to women normally keeping hair braided outside of the home)).

This cup is a very fine art piece made by a devoted craftsman. This degree of stylistic realism is rare in Wardi art and a largely contemporary phenomena, due to the increasing demand for accurate visual representations of public figures in statuary, frescoes, and coinage partly leading to the rise of a highly skilled, wealthy craftsman class. The relative surplus of these elite artists has led to some instead making a living on such things as antelope-man erotica objects for nobles to leave out in their domiciles as conversation pieces.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Night 221: Liar’s Night

words: 1.7K rating: E pairing: Gale x Tav summary: A night for tricks & treats at the annual Blackstaff Academy Masquerade Ball. An certainly more treats than tricks that Gale had hoped for. tags: kinktober - masquerade, f!oral, public sex, fluffy smut

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

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Gale huffed as he adjusted his mask, trying to straighten it. It was rather itchy too. He wished he could have just used a glamour like some many of his colleagues tonight.

Liar’s Night. A festival in honor of Leira & Mask, gods of trickery, deception, and illusion.

It was often celebrated with people dressing up in costume to ‘trick’ the gods into thinking they were someone else. Though celebrated up & down the Sword Coast, in Waterdeep, the celebration was very elaborate. As home to one of the greatest magical academies, people took their effort in the illusions very serious.

None more so than the academy itself.

As a student, Gale often wondered what the professor’s masquerade ball was like. The smaller celebration for students was often quite involved, so he had to assume that the professor’s was over the top. It did not disappoint. The main ballroom had been decorated with beautiful crystals straight from the Underdark and beyond. Intricate weavings of pumpkin vines from some of the best herbologist magicians this side of the druids. Candles floated in mid-air, a common trick, but would change on their own with the tempo of the music played by an invisible orchestra. Seeing his colleagues unbutton their collars for a bit, dressed so unique & silly, was also quite impressive.

“Gale my boy, where is that enchanting wife of yours?”

“Hard to say, Elminster.” Though not on staff at the academy, a wizard of Elminster’s acclaim was welcome at any magical gathering. And Elminster would go just about anywhere with free cheese. “It’s a little hard to see with this mask.”

“Hmmm…her suggestion, I take it?” The older wizard asked. Though not really asked, as he seemed to already have his answer before Gale nodded. “I thought as much. Do not take this the wrong way, my boy, but I would not have thought a proud peacock like you would cover put his visage so willingly.”

“Did you just call me vain Elminster?”

“Not so much ‘vain’ as more….proud of your appearance. And which you should be, my boy. Enjoy your looks and your youth while you can. They will be gone from you sooner than you know.” The older man huffed a little, seeming defeated by the weight of his own years a bit, before he sipped his wine. “I will leave you to search for your mate then. Do say goodbye before you leave though.”

“We’ll find you by the buffet I take it?” Gale quipped as his old mentor departed.

Alone in the crowd for a moment, Gale continued to try and scan the room for his wife. She had said that she would met him at the party, saying it was silly for him to come all the way back from classes just to return a few hours later. Gale said he didn’t mind what man would, arriving at a party with a beautiful woman on his arm but she insisted.

“Excuse me kind sir,” he turned around at the gentle tap on his shoulder, thinking it was someone looking for the loo again, and felt all the air rush out of his lungs, “could you direct me to the nearest stream?” There before him was Tav. His beautiful Tav. Dressed in what he could only assume was a water nymphs costume.

The intricate, flimsy material moving around her body like waves on the sea. The flecks of sparkle like moonlight blinking in the sea. Her mask, not nearly as cumbersome as his, just some delicate pieces of white coral by her temple with makeup over her eyes. Clearly her inspiration that of the Umberlee charges they helped while in the Gate. But where they looked ready to slay a man in divine vengeance for their Bitch Queen, Tav looked as if she would lure a man to the sea, who would willingly follow as a sacrifice to the Mother of Oceans for just one more glance at her.

“There…there are no streams here.” Gale replied. Collecting himself and turning fully towards her. “But there’s a pretty large fountain in the south corridor I could interest you in.”

Tav giggled. The sound like sea breeze through a chime. “I suppose I will have to make do. What’s a handsome man like you washing up on these shores?”

“I’m looking for someone.” Gale told her. “A missing love.”

“Missing? Oh, how horrible.” She stepped closer and placed her hand at his chest. Even with the thick cut of his jacket he could feel her pulse there. Although maybe that was his own heart. “Anything I can do, to help a poor lost sailor?”

Gale clasped her hand and, without a word, cast Dimensional Door. Suddenly, they were no longer in the thick of the party but in a secluded, unused portion of the ballroom. Gale torn off his mask and threw it to the ground somewhere in the dark before he kissed Tav feverously.

“Where did you get this dress?” He asked when he finally let her go.

“I made it.” She told him; would her wonders never cease. “I thought it would be a cute couples costume. Nymph and pirate.”

Suddenly his outfit made sense. Gale hadn’t questioned it. Interested in the party but less on what he was wearing, and trusted her judgement. “Well then, it seems I have caught myself a nymph in my net.” Gale replied. Falling back into ‘character’. “According to legend, that entitles me to three wishes for your freedom.”

Tav giggled again. “Alright. What are your wishes, handsome sailor?”

“I want to taste you.”

Gale kissed Tav again, deeper this time, before he moved down to her neck. Her skin tasted like salt. Gale wondered if she had added it to make her costume that much more authentic, or if it was just his imagination. He moved further down. Kissing the patches of skin her costume left dangerously bare as he moved the kneel in front of her. “Gale,” Tav hissed quietly, “we’re at a party!”

“You said you would grant me any three wishes.” He reminded her. Her blush an intoxicating contrast with all the blue. “This is my wish.”

With no further complaints from Tav, Gale moved the ruffles of her skirt aside. Letting them fall over him like a curtain as he reached up to spread her legs and lapped at her center. His wife moaned. Fingers gripping into his shoulders at the hem of her skirts to keep quiet. Gale used his practiced tongue to work her open. Moving one leg carefully onto his shoulder by her hand to give him more room. Taste her deeper. He was pleased to feel Tav buck her hips against him in a soft cadence. Using his mouth to gain her pleasure. His cock straining in his pants in reply.

In the quiet dark of their little corner, Tav moaned between the bite of her bottom lip as she came for him. Her sweet ocean coating his tongue before he pulled out from under her skirts. “Everything you wished for?”

“And then some.” Gale replied. Looking up at her with reverence before he stood to his feet. “For my next wish, I wish to be inside you.”

“Yes please.”

Tav wasted little time helping him unlace his pants and hike up her skirts again. Gale was pleased with her eagerness. Maybe it was the moment, or the fact that they were still at his work party, but she seemed quick to join with him; compared to their usual slow & passionate love making.

Gale held on to Tav’s legs when she wrapped them around his waist. Using the wall to brace them before he slid his cock inside. His little nymph moaned. Clinging to him as he fucked her. Thrusting in & out with ease from the wetness of her orgasm and tongue just moments ago.

“Don’t stop.” She begged him. “Feels so good. Don’t ever stop Gale.”

How Gale wished that could be true. To be joined with her always. To be one forever and feel her around his cock for eternity. Sadly though, all good things must come to an end, and the wizard grunted as his hips stopped. Coming deep inside her.

Gently, he let Tav down and allowed them to adjust themselves. Gale groaned as he straightened his back. The lower part tense from the strain and his impulse decision to lift his wife. Well worth it, but he was paying the price now.

“Shall we go back to the party for a bit, my love?”

“Yes we…Oh…Oh dear…” Tav giggled as she looked at Gale. Covering her mouth as she snickered. “Your face is covered in blue.”

Gale was surprised, although he really shouldn’t be, and touched his cheek to find blue paint at his fingertips. “Nine hells…” It was probably in his beard too. It would not do to go out looking like this; their disheveled appearance already a dead give away that they had not been taking in the pumpkin displays nor the night air.

“Think we can sneak out the back?” Tav asked.

“Now that you mention it, I just so happens I know a way to sneak out through this back hall.” A memory for his school days that was proving quite useful.

The couple snuck out through Gale’s hidden escape route and out off the campus to head back home. Once there, he took Tav in his arms again. “Sorry my impulsiveness ruined your costume. And the chance to show it off.” He apologized. “You just looked so lovely. I couldn’t help myself.”

Tav chuckled at his apology and offered him a kiss. “No need to be sorry. We’ll be better prepared for next year I suppose.” Gale smiled. Delighted at the thought of next year. And the year after that. And the year after that.

His wife wrapped his arms around his neck to stare lovingly at him. “You never told me your third wish, sailor.”

Gale grinned. He tilted her chin up, holding just before their lips touch to whisper, “Forever.” His one wish. His only wish for a very long time.

Tav leaned up to seal their lips together. Like the stamp on a contract. “Done.” She told him. “Now, handsome sailor,” Gale grunted as Tav hopped up into his arms. His lower back whining again as he held her up. “You’ve caught yourself and sullied a fine nymph this day. You’ll have to clean her up.”

“Oh yes, woe be unto he who interrupts a nymph’s bathing rituals.” He teased back. His cock already getting excited again as he carried her to their bathing suite. Eager to show his water nymph how long he could hold his breath for.

[dystopyx-blog]

inspired by this post (cw it's a teeny bit nsfw)

Imagine going to a park or zoo or aquarium with your yandere twst bf... something where are there kids running about. The baby fever hits HARD for them then.

There are kids running about, clearly not following rules, which upsets Riddle. He thinks he could never deal with that... He ends up yeling at a couple of kids, and really upsets them. But you get right in there and comfort them. You tell them what they were doing was bad, but you also tell off Riddle. You get the kids to calm down and behave. He can't help but think how good of a mom you'd be. Very different than his mother, but maybe that'd be a good thing.

Leona takes you to Cheka's birthday party. No way he could handle it on his own. You're mostly there for emotional support for him, but at some point Cheka and his friends pull you away to play with them, and you just shrug and laugh as you apologize to Leona and go along. He's incredibly annoyed at first, his annoying nephew dragging off his girlfriend when you're supposed to be there with him. But you're so good with them... and then his sister in law goes up to him and tells him what good parents they'd both be, and all he can think is "yeah, of course we would."

You thought a good date with Azul would be the aquarium. But while you enjoyed looking at all the colorful fish in large tanks, Azul was mostly just smiling and nodding along with you. In all honesty when you checked out the fish, he'd rather check his investments. But he loves you so he humored you. And then he saw a child pressed up against the glass of a tank. He cringed slightly, but you walked over to them and started talking to them. Curious, he approached the two of you, and realized you were looking at an octopus. And he realized, with a blush, that you were telling the child all about them. The child is in awe, and you turn around to him with a loving smile, and he knows right then what you two are doing when you get back home.

All it takes for Kalim is bringing you back to his home and watching you get along with all his little siblings.

You're out walking with Jamil when you see a bunch of kids dancing around a fountain. You laugh and join in, dragging Jamil with you. You insist he show off, and after you praise him and inflate his ego, he does. The kids are incredibly impressed to say the least, and you continue to praise him, even after you two are finished dancing with the kids. And suddenly he's entertaining the idea of giving you children of your own.

Vil is treating you to a shopping date when bunch of children approach you. They noticed Vil and, just like the kids from his youth, thought of him as the villain he played. But you immediately set them straight, telling them how wonderful Vil is. The kids look at Vil with a whole new perspective. And they even tell them how cool it is that someone so cool can even play evil characters! "Niege can play a good guy, but only Vil can be the villain!" You giggle as you send them along, and Vil is looking at you and the idea of children in a whole different way.

Idia already knew you were great with Ortho, but this was different. Idia finally had someone to go to a convention with, an emotional support person aside from Ortho. He was baffled when he saw children there, but you were quick with a positive spin, as you so often were. "Look at the baby nerds, Idia! Awww, that nervous one kinda reminds me of you." While checking out a booth, the same kids show up, and you all, Idia included, end up talking about your favorite games and comics. Of course, Idia always knew Ortho was really cool, but he didn't realize other kids could be cool, too! He's hesitant to bring another Shroud into the world, along with a metric shit ton of other concerns, but he's starting to consider the idea of introducing a player three....

Malleus is one who already has massive baby fever no matter what as is. But then you walk with him around a beautiful park, and insist on swinging with him. There are children there, of course, and some want to swing as well. And you and Malleus, of course, offer up your swings. A lilltle one is struggling to swing as high as the other child, so you offer to push them. And Malleus, the show off, uses magic to help the child. You and Malleus end up spending a lot of time playing with the kids, Malleus using his magic and you teaching them games from your world. This doesn't introduce the idea to Malleus, but it does make him decide that you are going to start trying for kids right fucking now. ... I mean once you're alone. Probably. ...... at least away from any kids. He has that much self control.

BONUS

Going to the beach with Floyd, and you both end up playing with a bunch of kids. Floyd is in pure bliss and he wants nothing more than to start a family with you right then and there the sooner the better.

Staying in Harveston with Epel. You're helping out some of the youngins and it has Epel contemplating about continuing the family business and the family name.

Thing is that you don't even genuinely have to like kids in these scenarios... you could just be being a responsible and respectable adult, but the point is you're being good with kids and all of a sudden these guys are imagining you with their kids 🙄

This was very soft barely yandere I'm sorryyyyyy

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn't be watching a man undressing, especially not from the house next door."

Warning: Intolerance, toxic religion, parental relationship, Jungkook taking off his clothes 😮‍💨🤲 very dumb reader.

A/N: This is my first fanfic on Tumblr and my first BTS one. I know, it's embarrassing. The story isn't that great, and it probably shouldn't be the first one I post here, but the characters took on a life of their own without my consent, and I've been writing this since 2022 (fuck), so here we are. Please keep in mind that English is not my first language and that the reader is extremely annoying. See you on the next chapter! Thank You.

Next Chapter

Chapter 1

I organize the things from the bazaar as I go through the accessories spread out on the table. It's a calm easy task and I've done it more than a thousand times, so even with my eyes closed the job is done masterfully. My mother is next to me, quietly, listening to music on an old radio that she refuses to throw away. It seems that, since it's a radio she got as a teenager, the object has a deep meaning for her and she doesn't even like the thought of exchanging it for something more modern. I hum along too, trying to tune my voice in some parts where the music gets harder and the notes get higher.

Usually on the weekends, every Sunday, my mother and I go to church and the bazaar after the service, to raise money and help the pastor's project. Pastor Leen is a good man and always helps everyone in need, so this semester, during these last months of the year, he has been focusing on the animals that live on the streets. Everyone in the community who goes to church participates and helps in whatever way they can, whether through donations or fundraising, like my mother and I do. That’s why we gathered some clothes and items for the church bazaar, and with the sales, we can do our part. It's exhausting, but rewarding in the end.

During the week, I study at the university in my town and work at the library, so there's not much time for rest, but I like having a busy life. Although I know that, for some people, my idea of a busy life might not seem busy at all. At twenty-one, I’m supposedly supposed to be somewhere else in the world, enjoying my youth and partying with my friends, but strangely, I never wanted that. Whether it’s because of my mother, who always instructed me not to follow that path, or because I’m just introverted, I’ve never gone to parties or had adventures that I could look back on later. The most out-of-the-ordinary thing I've ever done was drink beer when I was eighteen and regret it the next day, feeling guilty for being influenced by a friend.

I’ve never left this town. I’ve never dated. I’ve never been to a party. I haven’t done many memorable things in life. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll regret not having these experiences someday, but I’m so tied to the way I live my life that it’s hard to change, even just a little. Habits are hard to break, whether for better or worse. I’m pulled from my thoughts when the store door opens and Mrs. Jeon walks in with a smile on her face and two heavy bags in her hands. I quickly get up intending to help her, but my mother is faster.

“Good morning, Eunji,” Mrs. Jeon greets my mother, letting out a relieved sigh as the weight of one of the bags is lifted from her hands. “Good morning, Y/N, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Jeon. How has your week been?” I ask, taking the other bag from her. I peek inside and notice that it’s full of men’s clothes, judging by the size and the predominantly dark colors.

“Radiant, actually. My son arrived in town last night,” she says, her smile widening. I’m surprised because I didn’t know she had a son. Mrs. Jeon moved to town six years ago, and I don’t recall any son visiting her or her mentioning him. This is the first time she’s spoken about it, at least in front of me.

“Your son, Jungkook?” my mother asks, curious, and our neighbor nods, still beaming. “Doesn’t he live in Seoul?”

“Yes, he does. But he’s been expanding his business, and I invited him to visit, and coincidentally, he decided to open a branch here,” she explains, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. My mother instantly flashes a smile. An interested smile that I know all too well.

Of course, because I’ve never dated, my mother is always trying to set me up with someone. Not that I want her to. I never asked her to make all this effort, much less to convince the church ladies to introduce their sons just because I’m single. It’s embarrassing, as if I’m not capable of finding someone on my own without my mother’s help, but she doesn’t listen, even when I had an honest conversation with her asking her to stop trying to play Cupid.

"What kind of business?" my mother asks, and I try not to roll my eyes. For a woman of God, she worries way too much about money and status. It's a controversial topic that has led to arguments between us in the past.

"He's a tattoo artist. He owns a tattoo studio in Seoul," Mrs. Jeon explains with a proud smile, and my mother's face immediately turns serious. The charm of a potential son-in-law is lost. Of course, no one is ever perfect enough for her—or for me, in her eyes.

I love my mother. She’s strong, and many times I look up to her when making important decisions, but she judges people too harshly. Ever since she joined the church when I was younger, she’s changed. She changed her clothes, the way she speaks, and even her thoughts. I can’t even remember what she was like before, and even though all these changes were a support for her after my father passed away, some aspects of the situation still bothers me. The fact that she believes people are going to hell just for having different opinions and ideas is one of them. Of course, I don’t argue with her about it and rarely express my point of view. If she knew how I really thought, I’d be a princess locked in her room, with no peace and even less freedom than I already have at home.

"He's a tattoo artist?" my neighbor nods, not noticing the bitter tone in my mother's voice. I decide to step in, anticipating some sharp comment from the woman beside me.

"Mrs. Jeon, thank you so much for the clothes and for your help. Just today we had three customers, and the clothes you donated sold very quickly," I interject, changing the subject. The tension in my shoulders eases as my neighbor shifts her focus to the bag in my hands.

"Oh, no need to thank me. I want to do as much as I can to help the animals. I adopted a puppy last week and I’m in love!" she says, placing her hands on her cheeks with joy, and I can’t help but smile. Mrs. Jeon is one of the few older people from the church that I enjoy talking to.

"What’s his name?"

"Gureum. He’s an angel," she says, forming the small size of the puppy with her hands.

"Gureum? Don’t tell me he’s all white," I guess, laughing at the name.

"He is!" she laughs with me, jingling the keys in her hand. "Anyway, I hope we get plenty of donations this month. I can't wait to see the results of our work."

"That’s true, Misuk. This month the winter will be harsher, so we have to act more quickly this year," my mother continues, and the conversation shifts to the church project. I feel more relieved as the minutes pass and Mrs. Jeon leaves. Not because of her, of course, but because of the situation itself. My mother is very straightforward and usually says what she thinks, no matter who it hurts. I don’t want my relationship with our neighbor to be ruined just because my mother doesn’t know how to hold her tongue.

"Did you hear what she said?" Eunji asks, her eyes wide, one hand on her chest as if she’s deeply shocked. "Her son is a tattoo artist! Do you think he has those awful marks all over his body?"

"Probably, Mom," I sigh, trying to focus on the clothes Mrs. Jeon just brought. "And Mom, don’t talk like that. She’s our neighbor."

"Even so! Y/N, that only happens when parents don’t know how to properly guide their children. How can a mother, who goes to church, let her son go down such a horrible path in life?"

"We don’t know how her son lives, and it’s none of our business, Mom!" I try to keep calm as I fold a large black T-shirt, but then I remember that before organizing the items, we have to wash them, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

Usually, the clothes are washed at our house, and my mother still has to stay at the bazaar for a while longer. Honestly, I don’t want to be around her listening to how good of a mother she was just because I go to church and don’t have a tattoo on my arm. It irritates me, and it’s hard not to let her notice, but for the sake of peace, I try my best, nodding and agreeing with all the nonsense she says.

"Mom, I’m going to take all these things home and get everything ready for the bazaar, okay?" I try to force a smile, but my face feels stiff. My head is throbbing, and I can’t wait to get home. I’ve been out of my room all day, and there’s nothing more exhausting than that, at least for me. She murmurs in agreement, probably annoyed that she can't keep talking badly about Mrs. Jeon’s son, but I don’t care and just leave.

I regret it a little halfway home because the bags are heavy, and even though the distance isn’t long, it’s hard to carry all the clothes by myself. I arrive home out of breath. The sky is overcast, with dark gray clouds covering it, but I’m sweating as if I just ran a marathon. I laugh a bit at my lack of fitness, promising myself that I’ll start the morning walks I keep putting off, and I head to the laundry room to start organizing the clothes.

When I open the bag, I’m surprised by the items. Not only are they of good quality, but I’m also certain they don’t belong to Mr. Jeon. He dresses well, but not in this style. I can hardly imagine him wearing black jeans or a heavy jacket. I’m intrigued by who the owner might be, but I don’t waste time pondering it, too tired to unravel mysteries that aren’t even important. I leave the laundry room once everything is organized and head to my room, throwing myself onto the bed.

My room isn’t particularly special or different, but what I love the most about it is the bookshelf filled with books covering almost the entire wall. It was my dream from a young age to get a job and buy every book I was interested in, and luckily, that’s been possible since I started working at the library. It’s the perfect job for me, even if it’s temporary. I’m studying literature to become a teacher, and I can’t wait to start working in my dream job.

I sigh and pull my phone out of my dress pocket, too lazy to take off my clothes and go shower. I groan, placing my hands over my face, knowing there’s no escaping it after being out of the house all day. There’s no way I’m going to bed like this. Reluctantly, I get up and untie my hair, which falls in waves, heavy against my neck.

I bend down to grab the hem of my dress and start pulling it up, feeling even more tired. Today was such a long day. I can’t wait to go to bed and sleep until tomorrow. I take off my socks, lifting one foot behind the other, and as I head to the towel inside the wardrobe next to the bed, I unhook the bra that’s been bothering me all day. The relief is so immense that I let out a sigh, touching my breasts with my fingers and playing with my nipple, hardened by the cold air.

On my way to the bathroom, I stop and look at the window when I notice that the neighbor’s window—the one that had never been opened until now—is, in fact, wide open. I need a few seconds to realize that there’s someone on Mrs. Jeon’s balcony, and worse, it’s not her on the other side. It’s a man. The most handsome man I’ve ever seen in my life.

I hide behind the bookshelf in my room, afraid that he might think I’m spying on him, but for some reason, I keep watching him with curiosity, hypnotized by the way he moves around the room and among the furniture. His dark, wavy hair falls over his face when, out of nowhere, he starts pulling his shirt over his back, taking it off lazily while focusing on the phone in his hands. He gives a small smile, almost as if he subconsciously knows the effect he’s having on me. My heart beats hard against my chest, and my breathing quickens; my mind fills with fantasy images of his pink lips and large, seemingly soft hands.

He is... gorgeous. Different. With tattoos all over his body. One of his arms is completely covered in designs, and his chest is adorned with images that I can’t quite make out. My mouth waters as my eyes roam over his strong back and shoulders. His pale skin glows under the dim light of the yellow lamp, and it’s hard to catch my breath. It’s like observing a work of art. A forbidden work of art, I know. It’s wrong. But I can’t convince my mind that I should stop. The man, still a stranger, smiles at his phone as the screen lights up his face. Unlike his body, which exudes sensuality and is intimidating, his smile is sweet and gentle, and the most charming I’ve ever seen. He tosses the phone onto the bed, unbuckling the leather belt around his waist and deftly undoing the buttons of his jeans. That’s when the trance that literally had me delirious breaks. I slam the window shut, desperate at my own madness.

What was I doing? How could I have seen a stranger stripping like a complete pervert? I feel so bad, guilty for having crossed the line and done something as wrong as this. I gulp, covering my face with my hands. I let out a tortured sigh and feel my heart racing uncontrollably. I am sweating, as if I had done a heavy workout, when in fact, I had been standing still the entire time. I peek through the gaps in my window to see the room in Mr. Jeon's house, but I can't see anything anymore and I don't have the courage to open the curtains and try to look at the man again.

It's the first time in many years that I have felt something like this. Could it be desire? I can't remember the last time I felt anything like this. I recall having a small and first crush on a boy at school, something innocent, when I didn't even know what it meant to like someone romantically or as a friend. This was, throughout my life, the only consistent experience in recent years. It scares me that suddenly I feel something different for someone, even if it's minimal. I let out a sigh and cover my face, embarrassed by my own behavior. To make things worse, I'm not even wearing clothes. I rush to the bathroom and close the door, staring at myself in the mirror. I am so dazed that even my cheeks are dark red. I close my eyes tightly and head to the shower, trying to let the water wash away my thoughts. It doesn't work. I spend the whole night gazing at my bedroom window, full of images that I can't forget or erase.

I have a normal day after the almost exhausting night. I study in the morning about different approaches with children on the autism spectrum, which I find completely interesting and complex, and then I work in the afternoon at the college library on campus. This is actually great because I can study even during my work hours with free access to all available books, which has saved my life in recent months. The first semester of classes was tough, but this second one has been terrible, with piled-up assignments and deadlines that are almost impossible to meet, at best. My life has revolved around this routine, and the ordeal of exams hasn't even started. On my way home, I stop at a convenience store to buy something to eat and bike towards my house, which, honestly, isn’t very far but is extremely tiring.

I get home exhausted, collapsing on the sofa almost immediately. My mother appears from the kitchen with a serious face and a tense expression, as if something very grave had happened.

"You won't believe who invited us to dinner." she comments, placing one hand on her hip.

"Who?" I ask, just out of courtesy. Besides not being hungry, I'm not interested in the subject, too stressed with college stuff to pay attention to my mother.

"Misuk."

"And what's the problem, Mom?" I roll my eyes. Until yesterday, my mother had no problem with our neighbor, and now she acts like the woman is forbidden or not good enough to be her friend.

"Did you forget, YN?" she asks, crossing her arms. "Her son, the one from Seoul, will be at the dinner."

I turn pale, my mouth dry. How could I have forgotten this? College has consumed all my thoughts during the day, but I would never forget that man. The man I saw through the window is Mrs. Jeon's son, I suppose. I concluded this after spending the whole night mulling over my thoughts and reliving that body and face, which I can’t even recall without blushing. I’ve already eaten at college and feel satisfied, but the first thing I do when my mother mentions the dinner is smile.

"I’ll go with you." I affirm, unsure. If my heart raced so much from a distance of Mr. Jeon's son, I can't imagine what will happen if I see him up close. But I'm so curious that I can't avoid it. I want to see him. I want to prove that everything I felt last night wasn’t just a product of my imagination tainted by romance novels.

"The truth is, I wanted to cancel the dinner."

"You didn't cancel, did you?" I ask, trying not to sound too desperate. My mother shakes her head, which makes me sigh with relief.

"No, but I'm curious about the guy. I want to see what he's like and make a better judgment about him. I just ask that you don’t get involved with that kind of person. He’s a tattoo artist and lives alone, so young. Who knows what he does alone in a city like Seoul." she says, and I agree with a noise in my throat.

I’m also curious about him, Mom, but not for the same reason as you. I stay silent as I go upstairs to my room. I look for some slightly nicer clothes without much expectation but I don’t have anything different from conservative or old. I feel sad for no reason and convince myself that it doesn’t matter what I choose to wear; a man like the one I saw last night will never be interested in me, no matter what I put on. I quickly shower, then, after my mom calls me from downstairs, I look at myself in the mirror, staring at the dark blue dress that goes down to just below my knees. I roll my eyes and simply go, with little enthusiasm.

My mom has a bowl with a freshly baked cake, and after saying it's for the neighbors, we head out. It’s the house next door, but the short walk feels like an eternity to me. My heart races as we approach, and I let my mom lead the way, walking ahead. She knocks on the door with three taps, and we don’t wait long before Mr. Jeon appears. He’s a man in his fifties, but very handsome and friendly, wearing a long-sleeve shirt and comfortable house slippers. He smiles at both of us, still holding the doorknob and giving us space to enter.

"Good evening, Eunji, good evening, Y/N." he greets us. I nod, a little embarrassed. Unlike Mrs. Jeon, I don’t see him often, as he is very busy with work and doesn’t attend church regularly.

"Good evening, Yejun."

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for having us." I smile, genuinely grateful. I truly like the couple, as every time I see them, they always treat me very well.

"What a polite girl, isn’t she?" he says to my mother in a joking tone, then looks at me kindly. "You don’t need to thank us. We love having you two here. Please come in and make yourselves comfortable."

"I brought a cake for after dinner." my mom says with a smile. "Where is Misuk? I want to give it to her."

"She’s in the kitchen, finishing organizing things. Shall we go there?"

I follow them in silence, having little to do. My mom is more accustomed to the environment, as she comes here a few times for church meetings. I take a few steps toward the kitchen when a noise on the stairs catches my attention. Then he appears, and like magic, everything I felt before resurges, ten thousand times worse. I catch my breath as I see him slowly descending the stairs. He is much taller than me and different from what I imagined, now up close.

His eyes are dark, bright and large, which strangely complements his sharp jawline. His lips are a beautiful pink that makes me run my tongue over my mouth, enchanted by their apparent softness. Pink is now my favorite color. He exudes a powerful aura with his heavy clothes and his body built like a big mountain towering over me, but when he smiles, I am captivated. His smile is sweet, friendly, and inviting, making me want to get closer. However, the thing that catches my attention the most is the eyebrow piercing. My God. What a man.

"Hello, how are you?" he says with a boyish smile, and I blush instantly. I try to maintain a mantra in my mind, repeating several times: calm down, calm down, calm down! "My name is Jungkook, are you my mother’s neighbor?"

"Y-yes." I stammer and almost instinctively close my eyes, frustrated with myself. He smiles even more, squinting his dark eyes as if he finds me amusing.

"Nice to meet you. What’s your name?" he asks with a soft voice, and I feel embarrassed for not having said my name earlier.

"My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you." This time I don’t stammer, but I speak so quietly that I fear he might not have heard me.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N. My mom talks a lot about you." he says, confirming that yes, he did hear me.

I open my mouth to try to say something, but suddenly my mother appears. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. I wanted more chances to talk and discover new things about him, but all I was managing to do was look like an idiot who hasn’t left the house in years, completely antisocial. My shoulders slump, and I follow my mother to the dining room in silence, feeling embarrassed. I can almost feel Jungkook’s presence behind me, but I don’t have the courage to turn around and glimpse his expression. I almost automatically remember him taking off his clothes, showing the tattoos that are now hidden, and I flush even more, almost choking on my own saliva.

"Good evening, Y/N!" Mrs. Jeon smiles at me, already seated at the table. I feel guilty for almost drooling over her son earlier but I smile, greeting her in the same way.

"Good evening, Mrs. Jeon. The smell of the food is delicious, as always." I say, seeing the vegetables on the table and the meat next to it that looks divine. If I hadn’t eaten earlier, I’d be attacking the food, with respect, of course.

"Always so sweet, Y/N." she smiles. "Please, have a seat. Jungkook, sit next to her." she requests. I try to not choke again, just nodding, watching the man I am incredibly attracted to sit to my right side.

His parents and my mom engage in a lively conversation, and I try to pay attention in case they ask me something, but the truth is, I can’t follow along at all. Jungkook eats in silence and occasionally answers my mother’s questions, which I’m sure are meant to gather more material for judgment when we get home, but I can’t follow any of the reasoning. Besides being handsome, polite and kind, he also smells good.

With the clothes he wears and the tattoos decorating his body, I would swear his perfume would be woody and strong, but it’s quite the opposite. His scent reminds me of spring, or nature like a field full of flowers. It’s a scent I could absorb all day. Lost in thought while I play with the fork on my plate and the cabbage kimchi I served myself, I don’t notice him coming closer to me and my ear. My whole body shivers with his breath. I try to not make it too obvious, but I think it’s in vain since I hear his soft laugh even closer to my neck.

"Do you want to go to the kitchen, Y/N?" Jungkook asks in a whisper so close that I look around just to make sure no one is watching, especially my mother, who seems to have already formed a prejudiced opinion about him.

"Why?" I ask in a whisper, confused.

"I want to ask you something." he smiles crookedly, which makes me even more disturbed. I nod, still unsure about what I’m agreeing to. He quickly stands up, and I almost instantly follow him. When we get to the kitchen, he turns around quickly, watching me attentively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"W-what do you want to ask me?" I swallow nervously.

"I was thinking whether I should talk to you about this, but after meeting you tonight, I think it’s for the best, anyway." he says with a serious face. His previously relaxed attitude changes completely, as if all the fun from earlier had drained away.

I become worried, my mind filled with questions, until something occurs to me. What if last night, somehow, he realized I was watching him? My body turns to jelly at the thought, and my heart beats faster as I look at his face. I would die, seriously. I would fall to the ground and never wake up again. My hands tremble as I wait for his question.

"Are you and my mother very close?" he asks in a whisper, this time with a weak voice, looking at his own intertwined hands. I nod in agreement, even more confused. Since Mrs. Jeon moved to my city, we’ve become something like friends, despite the significant age difference. I consider her, even if mistakenly, like a mother.

"Yes. I think we have a close relationship. Why the question?" he shifts uncomfortably. He tries to smile but can’t. I am worried but silent, waiting for his answer.

"My mother is sick, Y/N." he says quietly, with a weak voice. My eyes widen at the news. I never imagined this is what he wanted to talk to me about. From his seriousness, it seems to be something very grave. "That’s why I came to the city. She had depression years ago and last month she tried to take her own life for some reason."

"She didn’t tell anyone, I’m sure." I say as much as I can, still shaken and shocked. Mrs. Jeon seems so happy lately that I could never imagine something like this. My eyes fill with tears, but I try to contain the flood of emotions inside me, embarrassed to act this way with a previously unknown person.

"I know. I was shocked when I found out." he explains, running his fingers through his dark hair as if he were tired. "She wants to spare people from the situation, but I wish everyone could know and support her. She shouldn’t be thinking about anyone’s well-being right now, except her own. That’s why I came to Busan, to take care of her."

"I understand." I whisper with a lump in my throat. I want to take his trembling hands and assure him that everything will be okay, but I don’t have that much courage. I wish I were casual and authentic and had the ease to simply say what I’m thinking. It’s the first time that not being this way makes me upset and sad. I wish I could be someone else right now. I wish I could help more.

"I apologize for bringing this up so suddenly. I hope I haven’t ruined your evening. I’m sorry." he smiles awkwardly, puffing his cheeks, and a previously hidden dimple appears. His face turns red and I can’t help but like him even more.

"Don’t worry. Really. Thank you for telling me the truth. I want to help in any way I can. I'll try to keep her company more often."

"Thank you so much, Y/N." he smiles, with his eyes shining. "I knew it was a good idea to tell you the truth. I knew I could count on you."

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments.

[whatsthethinking]

Somebody's Lover

Neteyam x Fem!Reader

◈ Word count: 3.3k

◈ Warning: n/a? Maybe just Neteyam being in love

◈ Note: Second request :) based on this video? Maybe, I tried. I'm finally getting around to the requests that have been collecting dust in my inbox

◈ Lo’ak version

The elders of the Omatikaya clan were becoming concerned with Neteyam, he was to pass his rites in a matter of weeks and yet, he hasn’t shown any indication of even thinking about choosing a mate. It was no secret that the young Na’vi had many admirers, many fighting amongst themselves to get a sliver of attention from the Olo’keytan’s eldest son.

But none of them seemed to have a chance. Neteyam did not show that he favoured one person over another. Everyone was treated with the same level of respect, and greeted them with perfect manners. Everyone was equal, even if Neteyam didn’t particularly like you.

Some parents would even go as far as having their children befriend Lo’ak or Kiri, even little Tuk and those who were really desperate would seek out Spider but these schemes did not go very far once they were met with Neytiri’s fiery gaze, the protective mother was able to detect their plans from miles away.

It seemed like no one had a chance, Neteyam hadn’t shown interest in anyone within his clan for what seemed like years now, not that anyone was counting. There was a time when the clan thought that Tahé was to be the ‘one’.

Tahé is the eldest daughter of Jake’s most trusted warriors, she would often train alongside Neteyam in their youth and was close to the Sully family growing up but as time went on, it was clear that the Tahé and the Sully children had grown distant. You would no longer see Kiri and Tahé skipping through the forest in search of flowers to weave, or Lo’ak dragging the girl along to get into trouble. You would see Neteyam following clan members around, learning how to forage for food, Tahé would be trailing behind him with a dazed look on her face as Neteyam soaked up all of the information.

But, it was clear that the distance started to form once Tahé had started making friends with the older children in the clan. Those older children would take time out of their day to bully Kiri and Lo’ak for being different, Tahé standing behind them not saying a word. More often than not, it would be Neteyam stepping in to put an end to the teasing, Tahé would bat her eyelashes, dismissing her new friend’s behaviour but Neteyam isn’t stupid, nor is he deaf. He could hear the teasing, he could hear his siblings cry at night. As much as Neteyam disliked the girl, he knew he had to keep up appearances and bite his tongue.

And tonight was no different, the clan was having a communal dinner to celebrate this week's very successful hunt, one that Neteyam had taken part in and was being praised for. Lo’ak, Kiri and Tuk sat to Neytiri’s left, conversing with her and their grandmother. Neteyam had been sandwiched between his father and Tahé, Tahé’s father and mother beside her.

“You should be proud of yourself, Neteyam. I was told you worked extremely hard today.” Tahé’s father praised.

“Thank you, sir.” Neteyam replied looking down at his food, “Everyone worked hard.”

“Yes, yes. But you made two sturmbeest kills mere seconds apart from each other.”

“You did?” Tahé’s eyes lit up, “you’re very talented, maybe you can teach me how you did it?”

Even though Tahé’s voice filled the air, Neteyam didn’t hear her, he was too focused on the events happening in the distance. A Na’vi girl his age was swatting a Na’vi boy's hand away from her food, while their parents ignored them, indicating this was a common occurrence. 

The boy stopped his antics when his eyes met Neteyam’s, the boy’s face broke out into a large grin as he waved his hand above his head enthusiastically. The older girl rolled her eyes dramatically before offering a smile in Neteyam’s direction which he returned.

“He would love to,” Jake started, looking at Neteyam and tapping the boy’s arm to regain his attention, “isn’t that right Neteyam?”

Neteyam’s face flushed as he had been caught not paying attention to the conversation. He looked at his father for any indication of what was happening but he was just met with his father’s smirk and a twinkle of mischief in his eye that Neytiri would suggest meant he was up to no good.

“I guess?”

“Great! Tomorrow?” Tahé questioned, clearly not sensing that the boy was not interested.

“N-no. Not tomorrow, I have plans.”

“Oh, the day after then?”

Neteyam looked at Tahé and her family, he felt all eyes on him. He was sure he could hear Lo’ak howling at his expense.

“Sure?”

Damn it

Something else about Neteyam that the clan noticed? His inability to say ‘no’.

—

“No,” Neteyam said flatly, adjusting the bow on his chest

“Bro come on, please, dad’s already on my ass for sneaking out after eclipse, just come with me. Please.” Lo’ak all but begged as he watched his brother saddle his ikran

“That’s not my problem, I told you and Spider not to go but you did anyways and now Spider’s wrist is broken, Lo’ak.”

Lo’ak looked at his brother in confusion, this side of him was different. Yes, he was used to his brother scolding him or helping him cover up his antics or coming along so no one got hurt, but in the past months, Neteyam had been brushing off his plans to cause trouble. 

“You’re gonna ditch me for Tahé, aren’t you? That’s low.”

“Tahé?” Neteyam’s face contorted in confusion, “why would I ditch you for her?”

“You don’t remember?” Lo’ak stared at his brother in disbelief, “You really don’t remember. Oh my. You agreed to help her with hunting or whatever today. She’s been running around telling everyone it’s a date or something. You would know that if you were around yesterday.”

Neteyam lept onto his ikran forming the bond and getting comfortable, “I’ll reschedule.”

Before Lo’ak could make a snide comment, Neteyam and his ikran took off into the sky.

“Oh, I can not wait to see her face.” Lo’ak smiles cheekily as he walks off, excited to tell his old friend that the love of her life stood her up.

—

“You need to hold the bow like this or you’ll drop the arrows.”

Neteyam nodded trying to focus on the instructions being given to him, but he was distracted by his teachers' close proximity.

Y/n circled Neteyam before stopping beside him, adjusting his fingers and stepping back.

“Okay, shoot.” 

Neteyam took a deep breath before releasing the two arrows, both arrows had hit way off centre, one was right at the edge of the target, a small breeze could send the arrow hurtling into the bush beside it.

“Oh?”

“Shut it,” Neteyam blushed, shooting two arrows at once was harder than the girl before him made it seem.

Y/n quickly retrieved the arrows and made her way back towards Neteyam, a teasing smile on her lips, “looks like the mighty warrior needs more practice.” 

Neteyam reached a hand out, placing it on top of y/n’s that were wrapped around the two arrows and pulled her forward gently until she was standing directly in front of him

“I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Neteyam smiled sweetly, taking in his lover's face. 

When he was with y/n it was like time stood still and nothing around him mattered. Being with y/n he felt like he could be himself, he could relax, there was no one to impress, no one holding him to a high standard. Being with y/n he felt nervous but also with her, he felt at peace.

Neteyam leaned down slightly and y/n closed the gap, Neteyam’s hand moved up and gently held the side of her head as their lips met. Y/n’s free hand held Neteyam’s arm, her fingers giving his arm a gentle squeeze. 

Neteyam could feel his heart pick up speed as y/n dropped her arrows and raised her hands to rest them on his shoulders and then slowly around his neck. He followed suit and dropped his bow on the ground, bringing his hands to her waist.

The sound of his ikran chittering brought the pair out of their embrace. Neteyam’s face flushed as he suddenly felt shy, not looking y/n in the eye. The girl grinned, bringing a hand to his chin and moving his head so he could meet her gaze. 

“Always so shy.” She teased placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

Neteyam chuckled under his breath, a hand gently caressing the small of her back, “What can I say? You’re absolutely stunning.”

Y/n’s face blushed at the compliment, causing her to look down slightly.

Y/n took Neteyam’s hand, leading him to her ikran. When they arrived, y/n let go of his hand and opened the bag she had attached to its saddle. Reaching in and pulling out a small parcel wrapped in fabric. She handed it to Neteyam, her hands fidgeting nervously as he began to unwrap it. 

“I remember that you said you like the one I have, so I made you your own,” Y/n admitted shyly as Neteyam ran a finger over the woven cords and then the stone sitting in the middle.

Neteyam reached around and quickly untied his beaded choker, replacing it with the necklace. When he was sure that it was secure, he grinned at her before placing his hands on either side of her face and dramatically kissing her forehead.

“Mwah!” He exclaimed as she laughed, “I love it.”

—

As Neytiri chopped the vegetables, her ears twitched hearing Jake half-heartedly apologise to Tahé’s father for her eldest son's disappearance. Her eldest son had been disappearing more and more recently. She had an idea what could be going on with Neteyam for the past few months but she felt like she should leave it to him to tell him.

“Neteyam’s back!“ Tuk exclaimed, pointing to the sky, sure enough, Neteyam and his ikran were making a slow descent in the distance, moments later, the boy in question stepped through the low-hanging trees into view. As the boy emerged, Neytiri instantly noticed the change in her son’s appearance, his usual beaded choker that he wore with pride had been replaced with a woven necklace, and his hair had changed too. The beads that resided at the front of his hair were now in a different colour order and there was also an orange feather dangling behind his ear.

The whispering was almost instantaneous but it did not seem to affect Neteyam as he made his way towards the family tent. Passing Jake and Tahé’s father in the process. Seeing him, Jake said bye to the other man and followed his son into the tent. Neytiri stood up as well and walked in with Tuk rushing behind.

Just as Neteyam entered the family tent, Jake’s hand reached out toward the boy’s back, pulling a white and blue feathered arrow out of the quiver. Jake instantly noticed that this arrow didn’t belong to his son or anyone in his family and at a stretch anyone in the clan.

Neteyam spun around at the slight weight change and his eyes locked onto the arrow being twisted between Jake’s fingers.

��This isn’t yours.” Jake stated, “Where were you?”

“Practising.”

“Practising?”

“Yes?”

Jake hummed as he took in this lie, he liked to believe he knew his children well and one thing about Neteyam, he was a terrible liar. Something they clearly had to work on.

“Who did you practise with?” Jake questioned with humour in his voice and Neteyam’s eyes failed to keep contact with him.

“A friend.”

“Oh? And does this friend have a name?”

Neteyam’s mouth opened and closed quickly, looking at his mother for help.

“Ma Jake, you’re embarrassing him,” Neytiri interjected, taking the arrow from between her mate’s fingers.

“I am not, I'm just asking questions.”

Neytiri gave Jake a look before handing Neteyam the arrow. Jake cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You ditched Tahé, again.” Jake stated to his son, putting on an authoritative tone, “Her dad was just here telling me how upset she is.”

Tuk rolled her eyes at her father’s antics, taking the arrow from Neteyam, everyone in this tent knew that Jake did not like Tahé around his children but for the sake of keeping the peace, he bites his tongue.

“I forgot.”

“Forgot with your friend?”

Neteyam paused momentarily before nodding, “Yes?”

Jake dropped the act at his son’s hesitant honesty.

“She make you that necklace?” Neteyam nodded

“She do your hair?” Again, Neteyam nodded

“Have you kissed her yet?”

“Ma Jake!” “Daddy!”

“What? I’m just asking.”

—

The next evening, Neteyam found himself walking confidently through the camp, hoping to not be stopped on the way to his destination. 

Neteyam led the pair through the bioluminescent forest, being sure to brush any low-hanging vines out of the way. 

“Where are we going?” Y/n questioned, looking around, no matter how many times she ran through the forest during the day, it does not dull the beauty it holds at night

“Just a little further, I promise.” Neteyam smiled, squeezing her hand.

Walking along a thick branch, moving the flora away from her legs, he motioned her to step forward onto the mountain edge as he placed a small basket on the ground, the moss beneath her feet lighting up with every step she took.

“Wow.” Y/n breathed out taking in the view. From here, you could see almost the whole forest

Neteyam walked behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“This is beautiful, Neteyam.” She whispered, placing her arms on top of his and taking in the view. “How did you know to come here?”

“Running around after Lo’ak has some advantages.” He smiled, placing a kiss on her shoulder.

Y/n laughed slightly at the thought of the younger boy that always seemed to attract trouble, he was very similar to her own brother, the only difference was that Lo’ak was the Olo'eyktan’s son so if he was to get in trouble, everyone knew about it.

Neteyam placed another kiss on the girl's shoulder and slowly made his way up her neck. Y/n turned her head and their lips brushed against one another.

“What are you doing?”

“Admiring you,” Neteyam replied softly, “is that okay?”

Y/n nodded, turning around, the boy pulling her into a kiss, much more passionate than the ones shared the day prior.

—

Y/n straddled Neteyam’s lap, her knees sinking into the moss. Neteyam’s hands ran up y/n’s thighs and rested on her hips.

Y/n placed one arm behind the back of his neck and used her free hand to trace the bioluminous flecks across his forehead, down his nose to his chin. Neteyam looked up at y/n, eyes full of love and admiration.

“I love you,” Neteyam said without a hint of hesitation or the usual shyness in his voice, a gentle smile on his face.

“I love you, too,” Y/n replied, smiling down at him lovingly.

—

Y/n walked into the clearing where other teens were training, her brother, Kalä, trailing behind her complaining about not wanting to train this early.

“We’re here for you, not for me.” She reminded him, rolling her eyes as he started to complain louder.

Y/n ignored him as she lent her bow against a tree and started to sort out her arrows.

Out of the corner of her eye, y/n noticed Tahé walking into the clearing with her obnoxious group of friends. As the group passes, Tahé eyed the girl before stopping fully next to her.

“Y/n, it’s been so long, are you here to train with us?” Her tone was somewhat condescending

Y/n looked down at the arrows in her hand and then back at the girl, “Did the arrows in my hand tell you that?”

Kalä bit back a smile at his sister's response which didn’t go unnoticed by the other girl who glared subtly at him.

“It’s just that I haven’t seen you around in such a long time, I was concerned, I thought something happened.”

Y/n resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the girl, instead looking to the other side of the clearing where Jake Sully, Neytiri and their two sons had walked in. Tahé’s eyes followed, her eyes lighting up at the sight. The girl quickly ran her hand over her hair and down her outfit before slowly turning away, y/n noticed that Kalä had extended his foot out but she pushed him to the side so he didn’t succeed in tripping the annoying girl.

“Behave.” She muttered, turning away to finish organising the arrows.

Tahé’s friends followed behind, chatting amongst themselves, none of them having the courage to walk up to the Olo'eyktan directly.

“She’s just so, urgh. I can’t stand her. Look at her, drooling over Neteyam, wait until she finds out he’s been shoving his ton-”

Y/n turned to her brother swiftly, hitting him in the arm with the end of an arrow, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Ow! I’m sensitive!” Kalä exclaimed defensively, holding onto his arm.

This caused the siblings to start bickering amongst themselves, which started to draw the attention of some clan members around them.

—

Neteyam looked around the clearing, he tried to make it seem like he was just surveying the area but in reality, he was looking for the girl he spent the whole night speaking to, the pair only making it back to their tents just as the sun was rising.

At the far end of the clearing, Neteyam spotted a familiar sibling poking each other in the shoulder.

Neteyam smiled, looking down at the grass surrounding his feet.

“Neteyam!”

He raised his head slowly to see Tahé walking toward him and his family, Lo’ak sighed and rolled his eyes as Neytiri nudged him. Jake looked back at his eldest son, s smile creeping onto his face as he saw Neteyam resist the urge to copy his brother.

“Good morning.” Tahé greeted cheerfully, a grin stretching onto her face.

“You’re very chipper this morning, so you must’ve already ruined someone's day,” Lo’ak stated only to receive a stern look from his father.

Tahé was about to retaliate but she was stopped as someone rushed forward, almost knocking her to the floor.

“Sorry! Neteyam! Finally, you’re here!” Kalä announced, skidding to a stop next to the boy, “Save me.”

Neteyam smiled at the younger boy, excusing himself from Tahé and his family, walking towards where y/n was standing, testing a bow.

“Look, Neteyam’s here!”

Y/n turned to smile at Neteyam before glaring at her brother, pushing the bow and an arrow into his chest before crossing her arms, “Go.”

“But-”

“Go, I’ll join you in a minute.” Neteyam intervened nodding at the younger boy

Kalä smiled smugly before walking off quickly to where other teens were waiting for an instructor. 

“You don’t have to help him, you know,” Y/n sighed, uncrossing her arms, letting them fall to her side and placing her weight onto one leg.

“I want to,” Neteyam confirmed with a smile, watching the boy join his friends.

With their backs to the clearing, everyone was able to see Neteyam’s hand slowly make his way towards y/n’s, taking hold of it and bringing it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, causing the girl to turn and smile at him.

Jake nodded approvingly while Neytiri smiled fondly.

Lo’ak was proud of his brother for finding someone he liked and he was even happier when he watched Tahé’s face drop and her shoulders sag in defeat.

Request from @tigermoon3

[lullaebies]

Request: Aegon really trying to get along or at least be in good terms with Jaehaera but she's still grieving for Jaehaerys and her mother too much (and the years don't seem to ease the pain) that she can't fully accept him yet

a/n: ok so this ended up a bit longer that i expected! i was trying hard to think how to go about this. hopefully this will read well <3 tomorrow i will continue with the rest of the reqs sent!

He sits quietly by his wife during the feast, their lips both red with the dark of wine.

It is a celebratory night, The Feast of The Father Above demanding grandness, lest the septons decide it a fair night to accuse the Crown of not being pious enough. It mattered little to Aegon, but it mattered to his subjects; meaning he had little ways to object.

The septons say this holy day to commemorate the Father is a day of just rulings, a day of auspicious decisions. Perhaps if he had been more pious he would’ve trusted his judgement auspicious enough to shut their mouth with some coin and tell them to celebrate down their streets instead of his halls, but alas. 

He looks at Jaehaera. As of two days prior, she is six and ten. The spring of youth, if one is to go by how the singers describe maidens of similar ages. Girls that age absorb the sun and hold its beam in their smiles, warming the room around them in cheer and dance. 

You wouldn’t be able to tell so, with his wife. She looks a painted doll, with an even line to her red lips that refuses to bend. Jaehaera doesn’t celebrate her nameday; when it comes, she usually refuses to leave her rooms for days after. Her ladies-in-waiting had once tried to prepare her a surprise, and in return, she had raged.

The court never quite understood her. He still remembers Myrielle Peake weeping at Jaehaera banishing her from her rooms. Her father never quieted about it since, he thinks grumpily. But when he was told of this great injustice the Queen has inflicted on her well-meaning ladies, he had to hold himself from laughing at the complainers in their face.

As if she would like to celebrate the day she remembered her own twin is lost to the afterlife, while she is lost here. 

He dismissed the complaints with some platitudes. He had felt similar enough when his regents assumed him to be ever thankful for them sitting him on the Throne, as if the death of his mother and older brothers hadn’t been the sole reason a crown is on his head. Let us celebrate your coronation and our hard work, your Grace, the dimwits had said. It is a joyful occasion. 

They wouldn’t know how to make him joyful if they tried, and his wife even more so. 

Yet still, there is a pang in him, seeing her so muted. There are rare days, where they align in their routes, and her words are reminiscent of his. Where they walk down the same route silently and it feels more natural than the forced conversations he is met with from anybody else. She always scurries away after, avoids him after, but...

She is his wife, and as much as they were sewn together, they are of similar enough cloth. Smiling like the sun is not something he’d expect of her, but he doesn’t wish she’d never at least feel its rays. 

He may have drank too much today. Her wintry form had been much on his mind. He supposes he finds ways to be melancholic no matter what, but he looks at her and sees himself, from a long while back; from before Viserys came back, before he could hold onto his sisters again to cry.

The dance floor had been filled with duos dancing to string instruments gracefully. It is not something he does often, but had seen her dancing before. As a child, granted, before it all, but she had seemed happy to do so before. And who would ask her to dance again, but her husband?

“Jaehaera,” he mumbles her name before he can regret it. She turns to him, heavy brows lifting in wonder. “Should we dance too?”

It should help, in more ways than one. Seeing them being amiable would calm the many lords here, he thinks. Or spring some hope to their souls, or more importantly, some respect for Jaehaera’s being. Wouldn’t that help, having the world know she is no jilted girl? It would do her good. It would do them good. 

He never wanted a divide between them to haunt them. They have enough things haunting them. Is this a good decision? He knows not, but The Father may as well sanction it auspicious, after all the hard work put into this damn feast.

Jaehaera’s tentative fingers fiddle with her wine cup. She puts it down softly. “If his Grace should like that,” she answers, building her wall from him again as her eyes shy away from direct eye contact. The rings on her fingers drag across the marble table, clinging to the cold of stone as they approach him. 

Aegon notes her offering. He doesn’t quite like that it's simply complacency, but then again, he had been simply complacent when everyone else goaded him to do anything, even if he did find enjoyment in it in the end. And if she doesn’t find enjoyment in it, at least she would have a spring in her step for the singers to sing about, and mayhaps that will soothe her.

He reaches for her offered hand, picking it up gently from the fingers. The table, her rings, they’re cold, but her bony fingers are warm. It is almost surprising, with how distant she seems at the moment. They rise from their chairs to the surprise of the people around their table. Viserys looks at him crookedly, but he pays it no mind - Jaehaera seems to go along with him well.

His thumbs fiddle with her knuckles nervously as he attempts a squeeze of reassurance. He truly doesn’t dance often; Baela sometimes forces him and he looks a fool, Rhaena sometimes does so too and becomes his harsh, smiling critic. He shouldn’t be able to reassure his wife in regards to dancing, he has little talent in his lanky limbs, but he has to try, he thinks.

A spot is cleared for them in the center of the floor. She thanks the lord and ladies who move in a mannerly way while he simply nods. The musicians switch a song, and he vaguely remembers the form for it, reaching for Jaehaera’s waist. After confirming from those nearby he remembered correctly, of course. 

As for Jaehaera, the form they should be in dawns on her quickly, and her fingers curl over the peak of his shoulder easily. She looks at their feet when the song begins. He does too, to see his are well placed. He wants to brighten this night some, but he doesn’t want to look like an oaf doing so.

Despite that, however, he can’t imagine he doesn’t look like one. He is unsurprisingly rusty, and the length of his limbs lend to a taut gait and especially dance. Jaehaera is surprisingly fluid in her movements, on the other hand. He nearly steps on her foot once, but she evades it simply. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

When he hears a soft snort coming for her, he almost thinks it had been for the better.

She is not without faults — she does step on his foot. He huffs at her in some vindication he is not the only one with two left feet. She finally lifts her eyes to him, supposedly to apologize too, but then the dance calls for her twirl. She holds his elevated hand throughout it. He does notice a hint of a crinkle to her eyes, and he even meets it with his own one.

When he stops her, hand finding her waist again to hold her in a secure manner, he thinks he shook off that rustiness. But then Jaehaera’s eyes land on him in a strange gaze, and her limbs suddenly feel tense.

Jaehaera swallows, and looks down again, her grip on his shoulder digging into his bone. “I think…” she stops them from moving. “I feel ill,” she says abruptly. “I think I should retire for this night, Your Grace.”

He blinks at her. He is not convinced; her face only gained some warmth to it as they danced. Still, he draws her away from the dance floor to its side, knowing here too, there is little to object to. She feels all too rigid in his hold, and something had her gaze become cloudy.

Most of the room seemed to cheer at them joining the dance floor, so that couldn’t be it. The taste on his tongue is sour, feeling somewhat jilted himself. Perhaps because he himself hadn’t hated the dance all that much. He offered this for her and still… Fine.

“Then go rest,” he allows, trying to keep the bitterness behind lock and key. She says her farewell to some key courtiers and leaves, quickly disappearing to the dark, gloomy parts of the castle. 

For a while, he returns to his spot at the table. When they strike a conversation, they ask of the Queen; some of them deem her rude for her abrupt departure. He finds their voices offensive, for he would rather like to retire to his apartments himself at the moment.

“‘Tis a holy day, for us all. Ill or not, even a Queen must be respectful—” Lord Peake grumbles by his ear, and he wonders why he hadn’t let him go ages ago.

Irritated, he decides that it wasn’t quite fair for her to leave him this way. Especially with everyone around looking at him like this in pitiful wonder. And with these halfwits, surrounding him around the table and offering their daughters as dance partners instead.

“Pay my respects to The Father and preside over the rest of the feast, Lord Peake,” he says, and comes up again from his place. “I should see how the Queen fares.”

He gets up and walks in long strides out to the dark, gloomy hallways himself.

—

As he approaches Jaehaera’s apartments, he finds himself hesitating to actually come in. 

His wife hasn’t asked for any kindness, even if he had attempted to offer it. He does think the wine had made him rather rash if not overtly sentimental; he wouldn’t have asked her to dance in the first place without it, and he certainly wouldn't have come by her door.

The Father Above might be laughing at him from the dark skies. Auspicious decisions, my arse. 

And he is about to turn on his heel, when he hears a sob from the inside of her room. 

He reaches for the knob of the door and twists it open. 

Jaehaera is by the window, too close to the damn window, the dying light of the fireplace showing bloodshot eyes and tears trailing down her rounded cheeks. She is frantic in her movements until she stops in place when she sees him, holding a quivering lip from saying a thing. 

“Why are you…?” he tries to ask, but some anxiety spikes in him and he can’t find a way to articulate himself. 

“Your Grace, please leave,” she manages out of her system. That lights a visceral feeling of rage within him. 

“You will not order me to leave,” he says plainly. Your Grace, your Grace, she tells him the entire day, but she won’t force that distance upon him when he plainly sees there is something foul at play. “I don’t know what I have done, but I did not mean harm to you and you know this.”

“I know,” she answers, the glisten on her lash line more noticeable. She’s shaking like a leaf; what has rattled her so? “But you more than all know that matters little.”

Fuck. He had been irritated, but now he is properly upset. All had been well, what has he done wrong? 

“If you tell me what it is I can fix it,” he says. It is the wrong choice; she turns to look at him with a sharper gaze, even with her tears. 

“I used to dance to that song with Jaehaerys,” she says, and Aegon already understands he has lost here. Of course, the times he remembered her dance as a child, it had been with her brother. “Mother taught us the steps. It was her favourite. Jaehaerys was determined to learn it well, even though I always had to escape his clumsy steps. He wanted to show mother he listened to her.” 

She wipes her cheeks with her hands, holding herself. 

“We never had the chance to complete the dance without missteps.”

Aegon shuts his eyes. “If I had known I wouldn’t have…” he begins. What is the point in saying what she knows already? “I’m sorry. I thought it would make you happy.”

He foolishly assumed he would know any better than anyone else in the Keep how to do so. They are adjacent to one another in pain when the court already assumes it knows everything about them. And he thinks, there had always been some truce between them, in regards to that — perhaps that had all been in his head, too.

That dance felt like a moment of peace to him. He wanted it to be a moment of peace for her, too, for them all. He is so tired of fighting and guarding his own self; he simply wants to relent to the calm that he feels could exist between them.

Jaehaera’s hand reaches for the seven-starred necklace upon her, swallowing. “It had, for a moment,” she sniffles, shame in her voice. “It made me happy. But my brother can’t be, and my mother can’t see it, and I…”

That he does know, the guilt of being alive. The guilt of continuing on despite having the world shattered, despite witnessing so much death. And Viserys returned from the dead, and when he confessed it all, his brother had told him simply one thing.

“You’re not at fault for that.”

And if Jaehaera has resentment on her tongue, any hatred she wants to spit out about those who were at fault — she doesn’t say it. Simply looks at him with guarded eyes, keeping her distance. 

He can’t ask her to close it, just for the sake of his own peace. He wouldn’t ask her to, either. The ghosts that plague her on her namedays, day to day, they are there, he knows what they whisper — plenty had whispered to him day to day.

“You need not to dance, but you need not hide what plagues you, and what would make you at ease,” he says. “Her Grace the Queen has her voice in court, and if she’d like it, the King’s ear.”

Jaehaera looks at the floor, as she does, and let all the tears that had been unshed out. She needn’t close the distance, but she does need to know she can, if she’d like. He lets her sob until she tires herself out, helping her to the bed and tucks her in. 

Even if winter plagues them, forever piercing cold, as long as her skin is warm on this earth, she should have her own dream of spring. 

If one day she should choose it, he’d be willing to help her find it.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Call Up

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get called up

Your first senior call up happens when you're seventeen (nearly eighteen) and still playing at Arsenal.

You've got a day off before the derby against Chelsea so your mothers have flown out to support you and, somehow, you've ended up at Millie Bright's house.

You're surrounded by your Momma and Morsa's old teammates (and a few of the Arsenal girls who were on the team when you were very little). There aren't enough seats for everyone but you're happy to sit on the floor in front of Momma and let her slowly card her fingers through your hair.

It's one of the things you've missed about being in England. You miss the little things about Momma and Morsa like this. You know they miss you too because there's never a day where they rearrange your daily video calls or don't send Leah around to your apartment when they think you're feeling especially sad on the call.

You miss them. They miss you. But you all know that it's best for you to be here, in England. You're still the second choice keeper but you know that if you keep working hard then by your eighteenth birthday, you'll have managed to clinch the number one spot.

After the derby, it's international break and you know that, while the senior teams are calling everyone up this week, you need to wait a few more days until the Denmark youth team sends for you again.

You've settled in well in the under-nineteen squad and you know that there's a round of friendlies coming up soon that you're excited to be apart of.

"The third choice keeper broke her arm," You can hear Morsa complain about the Swedish team," It was such a freak accident. It was gory to even watch. I almost threw up."

You don't pay much attention though, leaning back easily into Momma's hands. You're not paying attention to anything actually because you almost miss the vibrating of your phone on your leg.

You don't recognise the number but you pick it up anyway.

"Hello?"

"Is this y/n?" A professional-sounding voice asks," The Arsenal keeper?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Excellent. I'm calling up on behalf of the Swedish Senior team. I'm sure you know by now but our usual third keeper has been injured. We're offering you the call up in her place."

"W-What?"

You must sound especially panicked because everyone in the room has turned to look at you in confusion.

"I understand that you usually play for Denmark's youth teams but we've had our eye on you for a while. We've got a round of three friendlies coming up, one for each keeper, and would love to have you with us."

You feel frozen in place, capable of nothing but blinking.

"I..."

"Sorry," The person says," I'm getting ahead of myself. I understand completely if you wish to stay with Denmark. You're such a talent. Forgive me for wanting to have it on my team. I understand if you need to discuss this with your mothers as well. Do you need some time to think about it?"

"No!" You say quickly.

You've never really thought about a senior team call up. You just kind of assumed that Denmark would be the obvious choice. You've spent so much time in a Denmark shirt that you just assumed Sweden didn't want you anymore.

"You've already come to a decision?"

Your feelings on this call up must have already been decided. It must have been decided for years in some deep, hidden away part of your brain because there's no need to even think about it. There's no need to even discuss it with Momma and Morsa.

Somehow, you think you've always known the decision you would come to.

"I'd love to join you for the friendlies."

You can hear the person's smile through the phone. "Excellent," They say," The details will be sent to your email as well as your agent's, who I'm sure will forward it to your mothers. Just in advance, what would you like on your jersey? Your name or Eriksson-Harder, like your Denmark jersey?"

You make eye contact with Momma, who looks increasingly worried the longer you stay on the phone. "Harder-Eriksson," You say," Please."

"You've got it. I'll see you very soon, y/n."

"Yeah, you too."

The call ends and you stare at your phone for several seconds.

"It's a bit early for the youth team call up," Morsa teases," You're changing your name? Does Eriksson-Harder not cut it anymore for Denmark?"

You blink. "More like Harder-Eriksson suits Sweden better."

"Sweden called you up?" Momma asks," That's strange. You've never had any problem rejecting their call if it came before Denmark's before."

You shake your head. "No, it wasn't the youth team. It was the senior team."

The room's quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

Morsa's voice goes hoarse. "What?"

You look at her. "I got called up for Sweden's senior team."

Someone else in the room, Leah, you think, says," Holy shit."

Momma pulls you into a hug. "Harder-Eriksson?" She asks, eyes glistening with tears.

You manage to shrug. "Morsa got Eriksson-Harder when I played for Denmark. You get Harder-Eriksson when I play for Sweden."

Morsa is still frozen in shock, looking much like how you feel. Her hands are shaking a little as she crushes you in her embrace. When she pulls away, she's crying too.

"Magda," Momma says," Why don't you call Frido? I'm sure she'd want to know."

Morsa nods robotically. "Right. Yes. Frido. Would want to know. Yes."

"And you," Momma says fondly, cupping your face and kissing your forehead," I think you should call a certain retired keeper, shouldn't you?"

You've already got Zećira's contact lined up on your phone.

[cowboyjen68]

Hi!!

I just wanted to ask some advice from one butch to another.

I recently got my dream job of being a warden on a nature reserve (and i love it!), while interacting with people there I get called a young man very often (i am 18 lol) and it gives me euphoria to know im masculine enough to even pass as a man. I've also had some volunteers ask if I was a man or not (despite my feminine name).

But recently I got called a "lady" outside while out with my mother. It drove me INSANE I cried alot.

Don't get me wrong I do identify as a woman but I hate being seen as a lady.

I've even thought about using he/him pronouns recently and changing my name but i'm too scared to as most people won't understand bc im still a lesbian.

Is this strange?

ps love u and ur blog lots xx

This is an easy answer because I was 18 once and looked enough like a teenage boy that I got "hey sport" and "hey young man" all the time, especially when in my work clothes. I worked for The Mayor's Youth Corp in Iowa City in the summers of my 15th and 16th year. Mom and Dad let me get a work permit AND bought me a used Datsun Pickup so I could drive myself the 20 miles there and back each day.

I was a volunteer with the Corp of Engineers youth from 14 to 16 and Dad knew I was super excited about this job. Mom was not thrilled that I wanted to cut my hair but my "grand mullet" was really hot under the hard hat in the summer heat of Iowa. (in the 1980's boys and girls had the short in front long and permed in back look) We compromised and I cut the sides really short. (photo of my me at 16 in my uniform for reference)

Using "he" would never have occurred to me because "EWWW Boys". This is not to say, however, that I hated being mistaken for a boy, on the contrary, it felt good. When someone thought I was a young man it meant they treated me as such. They didn't talk down to me, I knew they assumed I was capable and willing to get dirty. I knew unconsiously that along with the mistaken identity came many perks. This was nothing I analyzed but little girls see very early on the difference in treatment they recieve from their brothers, male cousins and neighborhood boys. This difference leads us to become negotiators to control our circumstances and not entittled to treatment based on our skills and actual personalies.

When an adult recognized me as a boy, even for a second at first glance, I knew I didn't have to prove myself. They, for an instant, assigned to me words like "strong, capable, demanding etc". No negotations required.

When someone realized I was a girl they literally had a change in their face. They smiled at me, softened their voice. When I was called "young lady" or "Miss" it always seemed to be backed my the worst assumptions (in my mind anyway). Lady is steeped in all kinds of traits I didnt want assigned to me. "quiet, weak, likes to dress pretty"OR "motherly, submissive, meek" Nothing good in my teen brain, that is for sure. Lady felt so OLD, so married to a man and reliant on him for survival, so polyster pants and ugly flats and scratchy blouses with a flower imprint. NONE of these things are inherent to being a woman or even socially forced on us but that is not how things work sometimes. Words that describe people get stereotypes and myths and traits attached to them all the time. Woman and girl are no different.

I can tell you, the best feeling in the world when I was in that job was when my supervisor, who damn well knew I was a young woman, trusted me with all the same tasks as the boys. Who valued my opinions and abilities equally to the young men. He took time to teach me what I didn't know, just like with them and didn't assume I couldn't or didn't want to learn things on the job. He didn't shame ANYONE for not being strong enough or for getting tired or needing a break.

Don't let the assumptions of others force you into another box of conformity. You don't need a boys name or to use any pronouns you don't feel connected to just to please others. In fact, none of that effort will change perceptions of those around you. I can promise that one day being called Lady will just be another word that you can hear and know it does not change your personality or your interests or control the hope you have for your future. What does waste a lot of time and energy is trying to adjust things in your life to fit incorrect or snap assumptions about you as a person. You can never control the thoughts of those around you but what you can do is stop worrying about it and enjoy YOU.

You have a job you love and are sure to thrive in. You are solid in your sexuality and love of women, you are in a unique position to possibly change the perceptions of others when they think of "young women". Your interactions with the public are sure to effect the assumpions of at least some people when they think of young women and their roles in our society.

Congratulations on your new career and I bet you rock that uniform.

[hballegro]

i have more conspiracies about MASH that may or may not be true, but ive decided they are. they also just might have been explained, but im dumb, and cant remember. heres your sequel.

in 7x3 where hawkeye tackles bj, bj goes "AAH!' and hawkeye says 'WRONG! THAT STARTS WITH AN H!'. this is because mike farrell's line was 'hey!' but due to the force and drama of the scene, just Yelped instead.

All the dogs that turned up that never appeared again [like the one bj and hawk "ate" when they were trying to scare a visitor, dogs seen in 1 shot, etc] were just dogs that the production crew/cast owned and wanted to bring to work/volunteered their animal for acting duty

in the handful if scenes where hawkeye is actually knitting [and not using the red yarn, for the reason given in the previous edition], hes making a blankie for erin. [co-credit my sibling]

klinger got his ears pierced during the course of the show, starting with clearly just clip-ons and then later declares he doesnt want his ears to close up. some say continuity error, I say commitment (and also it would probably be easier to find real earrings instead of clip-ons)

in s7e2 Peace on Us, no one told bill christopher to tie that red streamer around his neck, he just thought it would be silly

in s7e2 Peace on Us, again, no one told alan alda to drive the jeep back to camp with his leg up like that. he just knows the character well enough to make that call. which he's correct about

the scar on hawkeye's lip was caused by a fishhook in his youth. got called Troutboy a long time afterward because of it.

bj is a vaseline girlie and takes good care of his hair as well.

hawkeye sniffs food because, having grown up partly during the depression, eating spoiled food was a real risk, so giving it a good ol' sniff-test was a given

fr mulcahy cares deeply about his appearance and engages in more grooming activities than any other guy in camp [the shower cap, always looking perfect, owning gardening gloves, manicured hands and feet, etc]. he even irons his stole on a bi-weekly basis and launders his clerical collars

hawkeye's issues with people leaving and not saying goodbye began with his mother after she passed, since his father didnt want him to worry

on nights where charles goes to bed after the other two, he will occasionally clean up a little bit. this contributes to why he's so pissed in 'Pressure Points'- he's been doing his own cleaning and some of theirs without them noticing or caring.

once again these are all just things that came to mind while watching, i didnt think too hard on them. the only one 'researched' on was the food sniffing, solely because i needed to do Year Math lol

[edmcmayonnaise]

Months ago, I wrote "biographies" for Edwin and Simon in the style of the Edwardian (Third Edition published in 1915) study on "Sexual Inversion" (medical phrasing that pre-dates the term "homosexuality") in the style of Studies in the Psychology of Sex by Havelock Ellis. This book can be found for free online and is a treasure trove due to the collection of biographies written by queer people.

Maybe against my better judgment, I will share them now for Simon Appreciation Week, as they capture to some extent how I perceive their interpersonal dynamics.

HISTORY E.P. - English, student at public boarding school, aged 16. His father, who comes from an unremarkable middle class lineage, is a physician. His father has been deployed to France since 1914 for wartime service. His mother’s family has a history notable for hysteria in his maternal grandmother, and his mother he describes as a high-strung and nervous woman who herself has been intermittently institutionalized for afflictions of mood. 

He has no siblings, and describes the relationship with his parents as distant. He lived most of his early childhood life in the care of a nanny. At age seven, was sent away to boarding school. 

He has never been attracted to girls or women, though had minimal contact with girls his age, He takes little interest in women or in their society. There is nothing markedly feminine in his general appearance, but he does believe that his general kinesthetic disposition is not viewed by others as manly. Specifically, he says that he is concerned that the animated way in which his hands is too recognizable as a symptom of what he considers to be his congenital condition. 

He is of average height and medium-slim build, but generally normatively developed and healthy. He considers himself to lack skill in athletic pursuits with the exception of fencing, but is an omnivorous reader and excels in academics. 

In his own words:

“I have always been very shy of showing any affectionate tendencies. Most of my acquaintances (and close friends, even) find me curiously cold. For obvious reasons I have been unable to speak as to why this is. I fear being cruelly misunderstood, and I have at times felt as if wrestling in the folds of the morally reprehensible python of inversion.

"I find myself cut off from others, feel myself to be an outcast, and, amongst others my age, am intensely withdrawn. Privately, I am miserable. The desire to love and be loved is hard to drown, especially when treading through a veritable pool of ‘what-ifs’ as I am surrounded by male virality in all aspects of my life at school.

“I am not sure entirely what it is for which I am longing. Certainly, my parents neglected to impart to me any sort of knowledge of the adult modus vivendi. The only thing I do know with confidence is that no bodily satisfaction should be sought at the cost of another person’s distress or degradation, including my own.

“At my school, I have heard rumor, and in fact been the subject of rumor, regarding attachments and gratifications with other boys, which are all untrue. As with any topic that is discussed only behind cupped hands and in whispers, the stories become more and more fantastical as they are shared from schoolmate to schoolmate. Upon my truest promise, I have never yielded to the temptation of any sort of intercrural connection. I have preserved strict chastity. I do not know how long my mind can hold back the instincts of my heart and body, but I am terrified that I will soon lose this seemingly never ending battle.”

Shortly after E.P. submitted his history for publication in this book, it was reported that he and several other boys at his school went missing in what the school is calling an Act of God. Any additional information about what may have happened to this youth and his friends is not forthcoming at this time. 

~

HISTORY S.M. - English, student at a public boarding school, aged 17. Father and mother both living; the latter is of a better social standing than the former. He is much attached to his mother, and she gives him some sympathy and companionship, when he is at home. He is the third of four siblings, all boys, and he suspects that his next elder brother is also inverted.

In early life, S.M. was of delicate constitution and his studies were often interrupted by illness. Though living under mostly happy conditions he was shy and nervous, often depressed. This he attributes to having been on several occasions mishandled by his next elder brother; concedes that his brother is prone to foul and violent moods. However, his brother is well-liked, by his father and other siblings, he says, because of his masculine character. His brother has many friends at school. Though S.M. does report that he does have some influence over some of his classmates, he has few close friends.

Of his inversion, he reports the following:

“There is a boy in my year who has become the absorbing thought of my school days, and who comes to me in my dreams almost nightly. I have absolutely no words to tell you how powerfully his beauty affects me. He is well-formed, lean, shy, and in my dream he sits beside me, allowing our legs to touch and for me to caress his thigh. He looks at me with desire in his eyes, green, but clouded over dark with his want for me to kiss him. And I do want to kiss him– on his wrist, and his palm, and into the gentle, milky curve of his neck, and to leave my lover’s mark on him, to say to anyone who might pursue him that he is mine and mine only. 

“I keep my feelings hidden, however, hardly daring to look at him for fear of being found out. His bed is next to mine, and the rest of the dormitory is boisterous and lewd, and there is a good deal of bullying, which I cannot bear to have directed my way.

“I have tried to tell myself that these dreams are not due to a moral failing of my own, but indeed this boy’s own influence upon me. I love him and I resent him. His seeming indifference towards my existence, as he has never responded well when I have plucked up my courage to speak with him, angers me. I want him to look towards me and love me, too.”

S.M. was involved in the same incident as E.P.,  where he and several other boys went missing from their school. It is reported that their last known whereabouts were their school dormitory rooms.

[simpjaes]

HIIIIOOOOO ;_^_;

I’m on my period dreaming abt Jaykeeeeeee as the number 1 Jaykeeee whore I thought I’d let you know I can’t stop picturing Jayke so obsessed with their girl they even eat her out on her period ;O

Don’t hate meeeee oymygod I love you smmmmmm ;’~D heartttuuuu<333333!!!!!

oomf all you had to do was say "saltburn jayke" but you rly went full out cotton candy slut mode with this but okay ily i guess

warnings: period munching, if you can't deal with blood don't read this bc it's a mess but they like it so............

It's a thing.

These days anyway. Then again, you probably shouldn't be surprised considering you've managed to bag two boyfriends who love you to the end of the earth and back.

It's the fact that they don't even compete. They actually contrast each other, where one may be too tired and the other is full of energy. Or one rough, the other too soft to lay a hand on you in a way that might sting.

It's kind of nice.

Especially during your period.

For months, every month, they try to encourage you. They're not grossed out. They're just your happy, pretty boyfriends, wanting nothing more than to taste another sweet flavor of you.

You could argue this flavor isn't nearly as sweet as they hope it to be, but it doesn't change the fact that they're the only one to make you feel safe and comfortable enough to allow such a thing.

It always started with Jake, rutting himself against you despite knowing what time of the month it is. Leaving little sighs of "please," and "blood doesn't scare me, it'll help your cramps." Followed shortly by Jay just behind you, hugging you away from Jake unemotionally just so you can feel how turned on he is. "He's right, baby, we can lay down a towel? Get in the shower?" You always denied it, up until this point anyway. Where Jake is already crawling between your legs where Jay is holding them open. You feel gross, but they don't entirely let you give in to that insecurity. The point is, you were okay with them fucking you like this, not tasting it.

They both seemed to be on a war path though. The second you nodded Jake was on his knees and Jay was jumping into action to give his girlfriend's boyfriend easy access. It's the fact that Jake likes it. Dips in like there's nothing seeping out of you but the sweet essence of arousal. Arguably, you'd think whatever it is he's tasting is much thicker than usual. Much more metallic.

But oh, when he pulls back with that drunken and crooked smile on his face, lips lined with red, dripping down his chin, you find it hard not to hide your face initially.

He looked so beautiful. Jay made sure you could see it, gently removing your arms with his own smile, flicking his head back to Jake as if he couldn't wait his own turn.

"Come on, he loves it. Don't be embarrassed." Jay says, voice seeped with ease and arousal. And Jake would remain silent, licking his lips, thumbing the blood against his chin up and against that same already bloodied tongue before Jay moves down and makes room for himself. Spreading your legs impossibly wide, Jay appears far more eager after seeing Jake enjoy himself with each and every scent and flavor of you. Licking up the blood like he was truly born a vampire. Like the blood fills him with life and youth. It kind of fucks you up, really, watching them take turns dip in as if you're not an absolute cramping mess before them, but they take their time.

All the way until your muscles are forced to tense, and then relax, and tense again, and relax again. The mixture of blood and cum shared between both of them to the point all they can do is moan into each other's mouth, both aiming at your clit in a mess of warmth. Feeling two tongues in the same spot has always been a lot to take in, but all of it paired with everything else, along with seeing that pretty red contrast with their moaning mouths, on the tips of their noses, smeared against their chins? What's not to love about mother nature at this point?