#and now it is time to replace a very old very young self.
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.ೃ࿐ 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 1
summary : you are the youngest daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Arryn. Outlived your mother and your older twin brother, Baelon, in childbirth. You were titled as (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen. 
pairing : jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader
warnings : incest, sexual content, tension, age gap (reader is about 3-4 years older), jace is about a year older in this fic, misogyny, self-harm, violence, angst, teen pregnancy, birth, events do take place in hotd, meraxes is alive and thriving with vhagar :D
Masterlist
The dreary atmosphere in the chambers that were occupied by Queen Aemma’s birthing was soon vanished and was replaced by sudden cries that did not belong to the Prince Baelon but a Princess.
“Your grace, it appears she had carried another babe. It is a girl,” the maester carefully wrapped the babe in a cloth before bringing her to King Viserys, “a very healthy one, in fact, what will she be named?” Viserys couldn’t believe his eyes as the babe kept wailing for her mother but in an instant, he held the babe with much affection and love while he cried.
On that day, the realm has lost their Queen and Prince but has gained another Princess, named (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen.
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Gently pressing your hands onto the old dragon, Meraxes, who you bonded with for years now. You began caressing her white scales as she leans into your touch—wanting to keep being the eye of your attention before you pulled away and started heading your way back to the castle in your personal carriage
“Meraxes seems to be growing even more each year, my Princess. Might be even larger than the Black Dread soon enough.” Lysanna, your Lady-in-Waiting, nervously utter as you laughed. You have been forcing her to feed Meraxes for weeks now—you never seen the young girl sweat so much while handing your dragon food.
You handed your gloves to Lysanna for safekeeping and she pocketed them in her coat. You both reached inside the castle. You had wanted to check up on your sister as she was to be expected in labor soon but first you headed to your father’s chambers to see how well he’s doing.
You opened the doors with Lysanna by your side, “Ah! My young girl…what brings you here, my sweet child?” your father, Viserys, lights up to see his daughter visiting.
Like always, he’s sitting by the windows and sculpting. The architecture has increased in size each year ever since you were just a babe. He would always lecture about his creation with you on his lap. Till this day, it still amazes you that he created this.
“I do not need a reason to see my father. I was on my way back from the dragon keep,” you sat in front of him, raising your hands to grab his in order to place a kiss on it, “Meraxes also wishes good fortune. She even cried out for my attentiveness today.”
To your words of Meraxes, Lysanna slightly giggles.
“Of course,” he brings his attention back to his sculpting, “you remind that dragon of Rhaenys Targaryen, the wife of Aegon the Conqueror. Whether you like to believe it or not.”
It is true. You have been often compared to the late Queen Rhaenys Targaryen, you both shared similarities. Perhaps that is the main reason why Meraxes chose you to be her new dragon rider.
“Have you considered the Queen’s offer?”
You turned your head back to your father—who looked rather serious. You could only gulp and rub your hands anxiously, “about…the betrothal to Aegon..? I can’t say I had put much thought to it.”
The atmosphere in the room changed quickly, you felt. You didn’t want to spend your precious time with your father talking about betrothals. You wished to be free from marriage and children as much as you can.
“The Princess is right, my King,” Lysanna spoke up, there was no evidence of nervousness in her voice, “she has been under much stress due to Princess Rhaenyra’s upcoming labors..”
The thought of marrying your young brother scared you tremendously, knowing how he treats the handmaidens—including you, Helaena, and even Lysanna. You did not wish to be betrothed just yet, especially to a man like your brother.
You cleared your throat and sighed, “If you do not wish to be betrothed, my sweet girl then I understand,” your father promises as you looked up with eyes that were prickled with small tears, “I will give you all the time in the world.”
“Thank you, my King.”
Although there was a slight crack in your tone, you certainly appreciated your father’s patience and understanding. You seemed to feel guilt for wanting to put off opportunity of marriage for as long as you can but you are certain you won’t have much time before you are forced to be betrothed.
With your thoughts disappearing, Viserys only looked at you with a soft smile and placed a kiss on your cheek. You got up from your seat and headed out with Lysanna.
After leaving his chambers, you walked all over the castle to find Rhaenyra’s chambers, you pass by lords and ladies who would bow out of curtesy. It was clear they all know you had just visited the King. As you place your hand over Lysanna’s in an affectionate way,
“Thank you for stepping in. I could not last another second talking about marriage, especially with father.”
Lysanna looked over to you—she was obviously feeling upset for you. She had voiced her concerns many times about how she did not want you to be married off to Aegon. No—you deserve better than that.
“If I could, I would do anything for you to not be wedded off to that boy,” she said with ease, paying no mind to the people around you both, “I would rather have you be betrothed to my brother just so we could be sisters and both be ladies of Winterfell.”
At the thought of living out the rest of your days in Winterfell, you could only laugh. Maybe your life would’ve been more easier and happier if you were to be living in the North. Lysanna had told you many stories about Winterfell, it only left you wanting to visit the cold Castle even more. It even meant you could always be with Lysanna and see the snow everyday—you always wanted to see the snow.
As the doors that belonged to Rhaenyra’s chambers opened, you were attacked by the limbs of the young princes and their clinginess towards you and Lysanna. They quickly wrapped themselves around you both.
“Auntie! Have you just came back from riding Meraxes?! I saw you both flying in the sky! I was waving too,” Luke exclaimed. With swiftness, he was already up in Lysanna’s arms. You and Lysanna only giggled at the young boy and his eagerness.
You gave his forehead a big kiss before walking over to the couches that were placed in the middle of the room to sit. “Indeed, my dear nephew. I even had Lysanna to feed Meraxes today,” Luke gasped at the statement, had he only been begging to touch the Silver Queen for weeks now. He feels betrayed that you let Lysanna feed him. “do not fret. You can mount her…if your mother only agrees.”
As you hear him whine at the agreement—knowing Rhaenyra would never let him or Jace near Meraxes until they were at least twenty, you see Jace only sit right next to you and place his head on your shoulders.
“Mother is starting her labors. She had just left and even wished to see you before you left the castle,” Jace muttered, though you could see how scared he is for his mother. Placing a short kiss on his head, “I shall stay and company you and your brother until she has come back.” You said as he smiles at your efforts.
Watching Lysanna and Luke play on the floor—both very indulged in the wooden figures that are scattered, you could hear your nephew shouting battle cries as Lysanna merely plays along. But still, you worry for your sister—you wished you came sooner and possibly be there for her during her labors.
Jace suddenly spoke up and forced your attention back onto him, “Aegon had said..that you were to be betrothed to him. Is it true, Princess?”
With the young boy’s confused look, you could only sit in silence and grimace at the fact that your brother had the audacity to spread such gossip to your innocent nephews. Your thoughts were soon to be interrupted by the Prince,
“Please don’t marry him!” he cried out, it brought Lysanna and Luke’s attention, wondering why is Jace getting so emotional. “He said that if you do then I won’t be able to see you again, you will be locked up in your shared chambers and occupied being swollen with children.”
How dare Aegon say such inappropriate things to him!? You would never let yourself be treated with such disrespect, especially by your own family.
Jace continues to plead, you quickly hold him in your arms as a way to calm him down. “What did I say about never believing a word Aegon says?” you smiled down at the boy, you had to put up a front in order to not let him see how hurt you were from those words. “He is only jesting and I promise you, I will not leave you. If he says another word about this then ignore it and don’t let him tease you, alright?”
As the boy nods his head, he spoke up once more, “If I could, I would ask to be betrothed to you, Targaryens do marry each other and that would mean I could be your sworn protector.” the words settled in and all you could do was smile and mess with his curls. You didn’t expect him to answer back but it left you feeling rather troubled.
After awhile of waiting, you felt yourself drift off on the couch but was quick awaken from the sound of the chamber doors opening—expecting it to be your sister but it was only the Commander of City Watch, you gave Ser Harwin a smile when he walked in.
“Princess,” he bowed his head before the boys made their to greet him. You nodded your head and out of respect, you fixed your position on the couch.
“Oh! How could we forget?!” Luke exclaimed before making his way to the counter that held a huge black pot, “Auntie! Ser Harwin had taken us to the dragonpit while you were away, we had collected an egg for the baby! Come Liz, you must see too!”
You wanted to see the color of the egg so badly so you quickly made your way towards the kids with Lysanna, watching Jace lift up the lid and it revealed the egg—it was certainly gorgeous, the whole egg was a dark colored that reminded you of the Black Dread’s scales. The egg must’ve been from one of the several clutches of eggs that Meraxes had laid during this month, she has been laying as much eggs as she can but it only made your father happier than ever.
In awe, you still kept your focus on the egg before Lysanna had nudged your shoulder. “Be careful, my Princess. You will burn yourself if you are too close.”
“We thought of a few names for the dragon! But of course that is up to the baby to decide.”
“Very well. Make sure the egg is placed in the cradle soon,” you voiced out and let Jace put the lid back on before watching them lead the commander onto the floor to play with the toys. They seemed to become even more happier now that Harwin Strong has come back but if they were happy then so are you. He acted more like a father to them and you weren’t the only one to have noticed, almost everyone in court seems to think so—especially the Queen. Unlike the other lords and ladies from court, you do not bother in such gossips about their parentage. They are still Targaryen, that is what matters.
“And, he sees a big scary dragon!” Jace exclaimed, playing with the toys, and you smiled at how invested he was in the game. The door suddenly opened and it revealed to be your older sister. Ser Harwin stood up as your sister and her husband walked in. You watched Jace and Luke quickly run to show mother the dragon egg. Rhaenyra’s hair was damp with sweat and messy, she looks completely worn out.
“Dear sister, I hope the labors went well. Let your mother rest, children.”
“Thank you, young sister. I must admit, it was rather more discomforting than the last.” She smiles, leaning into your touch and you can feel the sweat that was painted on her skin. It felt good to be by her side once again, even if it’s been a few hours that you both were separated.
“Mother..look,” Jace said as she moved to find a seat. Rhaenyra glanced at the dragon egg as she carefully sat down with Ser Harwin’s help. The Commander of the City’s Watch was always so kind to all of you. “We chose an egg for the baby.” Luke finished for Jace. In Laenor’s arms was the new child to your sister’s family. The thought of her having a big family warmed your heart—you felt the possibility that you were experiencing baby fever.
“Ahh…that looks like the perfect one.”
“It’s not everyday a dragon egg leaves the dragon pit, my Princess. I thought it was best to escort the lads.” Ser Harwin explained. Rhaenyra nodded, reassured that there was someone to watch over them, “Laenor and I thank you, Commander.” Jace closed the pot and you focused your eyes back on the newborn child.
“Another boy, I heard.” Ser Harwin softly said, and you watched as Rhaenyra smiled, confirming. As Laenor was coddling the babe, whispering sweet things. You heard him clearly, “You will make a fine knight,” he had said. The thought of the three boys becoming knights once they were more older was a fine one for sure.
“Do not worry, sister. You will soon have a girl, I’m sure of it.” Rhaenyra laughed at your comment, giving your hand a quick squeeze. She had always wanted a daughter and you knew this.
“Might I?” Ser Harwin asked, kindly.
With silence disappearing quickly, Rhaenyra uttered, ”Ser Harwin wishes to be introduced to Joffrey.”
The Velaryon didn’t argue. He simply gave the babe to Ser Harwin before he started to rock the babe gently. “Joffrey, is it?” he asked, Laenor nodded. The name left you a little baffled, it was an unusual name for a Velaryon nor Targaryen but you did not want to voice your opinion.
Rhaenyra cleared her throat and laid her eyes on Lysanna, “Lady Lysanna, I apologize on behalf of the rejection to your wish on riding back home to the North,” from what you heard, your lady-in-waiting had asked to attend back home once again to celebrate with her brother who become the next Warden of the North, “I am sure the Queen has her reasons but I will make sure to speak of it with council on the morrow.”
Lysanna gave your sister a faint smile and nodded her head. You knew she had just come back from the entombment of her father—Lord Rickon Stark, whom had passed away. She received word from her brother, Cregan, not too long that he wishes to see her again. You had no idea why Alicent would even reject the idea, considering they are distant relatives from her mother’s side.
“The Queen knows what is best for me..she had promised my mother that she would look after me during my time here in King’s Landing.”
Even if Lysanna says those words with a grin on her face, you can tell she was still upset. She had missed her family dearly and wishes to be back home permanently but you knew there was a slim chance that Alicent would allow that to happen.
“I assure you, you will ride back to Winterfell. I will talk to the King..his word is above the Queen’s.” You reassured the young lady, Lysanna was truly in debt to you and your sister.
“Father, may I hold Joffrey?”
Suddenly, you spot Luke clinging to the baby, trying to hold him before getting yanked away by Jace and his father. “No, no, no.” Laenor fiercely exclaimed, dragging them both out, “Off to the dragon pit, you two.”
“But I want to hold Joffrey!” Luke whined.
You let out a loud laugh and ushered Lysanna to follow them, “Please escort the princes to the dragon pit. I shall meet you three there, I must talk to my sister on an important matter.”
Lysanna quickly glanced over to Rhaenyra then back to you before nodded and left with the kids as Laenor closes the door behind him.
Once they left, you could only sigh in relief. You had longed to talk to Rhaenyra and she quickly noticed your sudden change in attitude after she had excused the Commander of City’s Watch, holding young Joffrey when he gave him to her before leaving, “What has been troubling you, young sister?”
You fiddled with your thumbs in response, not knowing how to speak about the topic of marriage, labors, and children.
“Father brought it up again.”
With that, Rhaenyra immediately knew. Of course she knew, she was the one who quickly stood to your defense when the Queen had first proposed the idea. She let it be known that she was your voice in court and always stated that you will wed under your own terms. Afterall, your ten-and-fifth nameday was coming up soon and you were at the age of being wedded off, Alicent made sure you had known that.
Rhaenyra snaked her unoccupied hand to hold yours, she wanted to comfort you. Truly, she loves you so much. You were the only thing she now has of the memory of your mother and it was quite known that Rhaenyra was protective of you.
“Listen to me, sister,” Rhaenyra whispered, softly, “you will have the choice to yourself, I will make sure of it. You can put off the decision for as long as you want, I was ten-and-seventh when I was betrothed.”
Her reassurance only helped little. You know she will do her best to keep you safe, she always showed this. But the Queen will always do everything in her power to have it her way. Ever since you were just a babe, she was so persistent to take care of you like you were one of her own children—even referred you as her “eldest daughter” way too many times in court and it had always left Rhaenyra with a sour feeling.
“A wise woman had once told me,” Rhaenyra lets out a sharp sigh before continuing, “that we both have royal wombs and you will lie in that bed soon enough, sweet sister. This discomfort is how we serve the realm and with that, I had now understood what she had said. But of course..merely hours later, that wise woman had died in childbed.”
You could only take a deep breath and breathe out slowly, you did not want to cry but your own body was betraying you.
“Was it mother who spoke those words?”
Rhaenyra only gave you a fainted smile before nodding, “She would’ve been so proud on what you had become, dear sister.” Those words completely broke you and you could no longer hide the warm tears streaming down your cheeks.
Truly, you missed your mother and years after years you had blamed yourself for the death of your twin brother and mother. As though you were named to be the Realm’s Beauty and Undying—you knew deep down the Realm had longed for your deceased brother, not you.
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Oh my gosh, it took me about a month to write this lol! I am honestly going by hotd’s plot and a few of my ideas for the story. I do not want to fully go by fire and blood because I want this story to be less angst hehe. My first time writing, so sorry if it sucks! I apologize 😭
#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys targaryen x reader#jace velaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon x you#jace velaryon x you#jacaerys targaryen x you#jace targaryen x reader#jace targaryen x you#jacaerys x you#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys velaryon#hotd#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#hotd x reader#hotd x you#house of the dragon x you#fire and blood#a song of ice and fire
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There for you {Shinichiro Sano}
A/n: I feel utterly ridiculous for writing this but unfortunately this is the only way to get my feelings out. This whole scenario is literally what I'm going through rn, I wrote it just in case I could sort my feelings out, maybe see a possible answer to my questions but unfortunately I don't. This little vent is literally so uncalled for but I actually have no one else to turn to and talk because I only have one friend
Pairing: Shinichiro Sano x f!reader
Warnings: strong mentions of self hatred, mental breakdown, feelings of worthlessness,
Christmas at the Sano household was definitely the best time of the year. Technically Christmas wasn't there yet but with two young kids, two hyperactive young kids, in the house, decoration time came early.
It was a nice day so far, a little too chilly and with dark clouds approaching, but it was a nice day for mid to late November. It was the reason you had decided to skip your morning classes at university, preferring sitting on Shinichiro's bed to freezing in the auditorium.
You could swear you were walking faster than your normal pace, crossing the street and taking a sharp turn to the left. Your day hadn't started well and getting to see Mikey, Emma and Shinichiro. They were the only people whose laughter and clinginess would definitely not bother you when feeling down.
"I swear the next time I see you not dressed properly..." Shinichiro was leaning at the wall outside of the household, a cigarette lazily placed between his lips. Grandpa Sano would have definitely scolded him about smoking inside the house. "It's cold, baby." He reached up and removed the scarf he was wearing, wrapping it around your neck.
"Thanks." You smiled, getting on your tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his cheek.
But Shinichiro was no fool. Considering it mostly a curse rather than a gift, Shinichiro could easily feel it whenever you were feeling down.
"What's wrong?" He asked, and if you didn't know him any better, you would have sworn he didn't care. But it was Shinichiro's usual laid back tone.
"What happened?" You asked him back, wanting to avoid this as much as possible because the tears in the corners of your eyes were threatening to fall.
"You can't fool me, babe." He removed the cigarette from his lips, throwing it on the street to light it out before picking it up and throwing it in the nearby garbage. "Now what's wrong?" His hands quickly found your waist, not caring about the old lady watching you from across the street.
"Do you want to guess?" It was a stupid attempt really, but if you were going to talk about your feelings then you would very much like to do it in a light-hearted way.
"Your best friend who is not your best friend because you don't know if she feels the same keeps talking about how much she likes her other friends?"
It wasn't that surprising. Shinichiro was always so attentive to whatever happened in your life. In the early stages of your relationship it had really taken you aback, thinking that he actually wrote things down somewhere. But no, he was just like that.
"Close."
An expression that could be translated as one of pure disgust and exasperation replaced the soft and caring one. "What did she do this time?" He looked at the sky, letting out a sigh.
"She called me this morning saying she is heading to this trip with them... I don't mind really, she can do whatever she wants but..."
"But you're tired of always coming second and pushed to the side."
If it wasn't the situation you had been in for the past year, with whom you thought was your best friend constantly talking about her other friends, saying how great and funny they were all the time, then it was definitely Shinichiro's warm gaze that made you cry.
The expression on his face turned into a serious one as you began crying in his embrace, his left hand pressing your head on his chest and his right resting on your face.
It wasn't the first time you had cried in his arms, complaining about your only friend and he was sure that unless you actually stepped up to say something to her it wouldn't be the last.
He didn't mind listening to you. He loved listening to you. What he did mind was the way you were being treated, constantly pushed to the side but then given a second of affection from your friend. He had told you many times that this wasn't what friendship was supposed to be like and you always agreed.
"Am I doing something wrong?" Your voice came out broken. His turtleneck black shirt was now stained with tears but he didn't care. "Am I a bad friend?"
"Of course not-"
"Then why?" You cut him off and just when he thought you were going to stop crying, another fit came again with your hands clenching onto his shirt. "Why do I always have to listen about others but never have someone talk about me? Why am I the friend who always learns things last? Why am I the friend who receives the short end of the stick?"
Before Shinichiro could respond, he felt something hitting his arm. Still pressing his head on his chest, he turned his head around to look towards the direction where whatever had hit him came from.
And there they were. Mikey, Emma and Baji with oranges on their hands.
"I didn't... do anything." He tried to defend himself, his hand moving to caress your hair even though you had stopped crying. "Manjiro go wear a jacket right now."
"You make her cry, you pay." Emma's eyes narrowed, her grip on the orange tightening.
"If you want to throw oranges at the one who made her cry, I can gladly give you an address-"
"Shin!" You hit him playfully on his arm.
"What?" He looked down at you, taking the cigarette packet out of his pocket. "Maybe if they hit your best friend hard on the head she'll come to her senses."
"I want to throw oranges at someone's head!" Mikey turned to look at an equally eager Baji.
"No you don't." You walked towards him, taking the oranges from his small hands.
"Why?" Mikey and Baji asked in one voice, their eyes shining while looking at you.
"Because it's wrong, we've talked about this." Shinichiro joined you, taking the oranges from Emma's hands.
"You've talked about not throwing oranges at people before?" You turned to look at him, almost surprised.
"It... um... has come up... as a subject of discussion before..." Shinichiro urged the kids to go back inside and pulled you in another hug. "Do you feel better now?"
"I don't know what to do..." You mumbled, resting your chin on his chest so you can look up at him.
"Talk to her... and if that doesn't work, just leave." He pressed a loving kiss on your forehead. "It's better not to have any friends than to feel like that. And it's not your fault." You let out a sigh and looked away. Shinichiro quickly grabbed your cheek gently, forcing you to look at him. "No, no, eyes on me. Look at me and tell me that it's not your fault."
"It's not my fault." You mumbled.
"Good girl." With his arm now wrapped around your shoulder, Shinichiro walked the two of you inside, sure that with a cup of hot cocoa and the dance Mikey and Baji had prepared for the Christmas decoration day, you would soon feel way way better.
#sano shinichiro#sano shinichiro x reader#tokyo revengers shinichiro#shinichiro x reader#shinichiro sano#tr shinichiro#tokrev shinichiro#tokyo revengers shinichiro x reader#shinichiro sano x reader#tr shinichiro x reader#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#writing#anime and manga#anime#manga#tokyo revengers fluff#shinichiro fluff
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Noldor hair headcanons (1/4)
With AO3 down, it seems like a good time for some good old tumblr bullet-point pseudo-fic (I'll post it on AO3 eventually).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3
Note: Inspiration for some parts of this came from @mynameisjessejk's wonderful Otter Mayhem series which you should go read when it's possible again.
The Noldor wear their hair in elaborate braids.
Hairstyle is a status thing, so noble Noldor have the most complex styles. They’re meant to show off craft, so there’s a lot of jewellery and gemstones involved, and the nobles’ hairstyles purposefully can’t be self-braided.
But touching hair is a very intimate thing and it’s never done by servants, always by family (spouse, siblings, parents or children). It’s a show of love and respect, if someone has a particularly complex hairstyle it’s supposed to mean that they’re well-loved.
Now Finwë as the king must have the most complex hairstyle of all. Míriel was of course very good at it, she’d weave and sew beads into his hair every morning, making each hairstyle a work of art.
When she fades, Fëanor is still really young, and he has to learn real quick to do his father’s hair, which he of course takes as a challenge. He starts making all of Finwë’s hair jewellery himself, he experiments with dozens of braiding styles. In the early months/years of their grief Finwë finds a lot of comfort in having his hair braided and they’ll both spend entire days beside Míriel’s body, with Fëanor braiding his father’s hair over and over.
Then Indis comes along, and hair braiding is traditionally the spouse’s work. It’s very hard for Fëanor not to feel like he’s been replaced (and not just his mother), especially since Indis has zero interest in it and Finwë’s hairstyles grow markedly simpler. Which is also not great for his reputation.
Nerdanel and Fëanor, once they marry, are extremely competitive and keep trying to outdo each other’s braids. It’s highly entertaining to outsiders, especially since it’s the only remnant of the Crown Prince’s more playful side. When little Maitimo comes out with red hair like Nerdanel’s, Fëanor bitches about having to make even more copper jewellery (he’s secretly overjoyed because he loves Nerdanel’s hair).
Fëanor is also careful to always have better braids than his half brothers, though Findis starts braiding Fingolfin and Finarfin’s hair as soon as she’s old enough, and she’s pretty good at it, unlike Indis.
Anairë’s hair texture is very different from anyone Fingolfin knows. He’s never been that into hair before, but he learns to do her braids with his tongue poking out. Once she figures out what to do with straight hair, she braids his into brand new styles that Fëanor is terribly jealous of.
Fingon has extremely thick kinky hair that takes a ridiculously long time to braid, and he’s very proud of it, thank you very much.
Thankfully for Fingolfin and Anairë, none of their other children have hair quite as thick.
Eärwen is Teleri and keeps her hair mostly loose. She wants none of that nonsense, especially not gems in her hair, come on. If she puts anything in her hair it’s gonna be pearls. She’ll do Finarfin’s hair if he really insists on it but if he wants the children to follow Noldor rites so much, he’ll have to take care of it himself. (He’s pretty good at it, actually.)
Maedhros and Fingon start doing each other’s hair in secret before Fëanor’s exile.
Celegorm switches from Noldor style to hunting braids when he joins Oromë’s hunt. They’re more practical and involve a lot less metal.
People have whole legends about how great it must be to braid Artanis’s hair, but it’s actually really fine and fragile and a nightmare. She insists that the only one who can do it right is Finrod. He tries to foist that chore on others a lot.
Aredhel and Curufin bond over hating to have their hair touched (sensory issues). Eventually they start doing each other’s hair because they know what to avoid.
Fëanor asking Galadriel for her hair is an Actual Taboo given that they’re not close (by the time Gimli asks, Galadriel has adopted Sindarin hair practices, but it’s also a fuck-you to Fëanor that she accepts).
At Losgar, (lightly-toasted) Amrod has part of his hair burned off. He is, after that, the very first elf to sport a side-cut, as hair won’t grow back over the scars. He never let anyone but his twin do his hair again.
Crossing the Helcaraxë, Fingolfin’s people try to keep up with tradition, but hair-braiding is hard when your fingers are constantly frozen stiff.
Still, Fingon insists on doing his father’s hair every day, even when he nearly loses fingers to frostbite.
He refuses to let anyone do the same for him, though, and he’s the first to start braiding his own hair. That’s when he starts braiding in golden ribbons, because they’re easier to do than beads, and frozen metal can burn skin.
Gradually they move away from long flowing braids and start making up crown-braid styles that protect their ears. As they progress, braiding becomes less and less about status and more and more practical.
Turgon and Elenwë (who adopted the Noldor style upon marrying) still keep to the tradition and braid each other’s hair and Idril’s right up until Elenwë dies. After that Turgon doesn’t let anyone touch his hair again until Gondolin (and then only Idril).
Finrod and Galadriel do each other’s hair. Galadriel’s fine, brittle hair suffers a lot in the cold, and for a long time she’s afraid that it will never go back to its former glory. It does eventually, but it takes decades.
In Beleriand, Maglor’s main contribution as King Regent is the invention of Mourning Braids (and also a slightly unhealthy number of laments).
Let’s be honest, he’s wearing them more for Maedhros than for Fëanor or Finwë, even though Maedhros is demonstrably still alive.
(No one thinks that will last.)
(Maglor can’t go save his brother and the guilt is staggering.)
(For some reason, Curufin is the one who does Maglor’s impossibly complex Kingly Mourning Braids.)
Then Helcaraxë Team arrives with their frozen fingers and their crown braids and It’s A Mess, Actually.
The Sun has just risen and Fingon’s golden ribbons are really blinding, no one can even look at him.
Listen, they haven’t had proper light in about forty years, they’re really light-sensitive now.
Everyone argues, Fingon makes at least two attempts to sneak out to Thangorodrim but he’s caught because he’s just way too shiny.
Third time’s the charm.
The only reason Maedhros doesn’t see him before he hears him is that he’s even more light-sensitive and just keeps his eyes closed. Also he’s tired. So very tired.
In Angband, Sauron took great pleasure in hacking Maedhros’s hair off and messing with it. When he’s rescued, what has regrown is a tangled, discoloured mess and they have to cut it all off.
Fingon stays with Maedhros a lot throughout his (physical) recovery, which in my mind takes at least the 55 years between his rescue and Dagor Aglareb, and he braids Maedhros’s hair every day, even at the start when it’s barely past his ear. Eventually Maedhros stops fighting and crying when someone touches his hair.
Mostly.
Fingon does tone down the golden ribbons eventually. Mostly because he runs out of Valinorian gold and has to do with Beleriand gold, which just isn’t the same.
To be continued.
#silmarillion#silm fic#tolkien#the silmarillion#feanor#maedhros#maglor#fingon#turgon#idril#echo's fanfiction#noldor hair headcanons
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Now that we’re halfway through it what are your thoughts on Kon’s solo?
I've been enjoying it! I think it's been fun so far—I do think that letting Kon have a story where he's out on his own just doing a classic little adventure like this rather than... something super tethered to the greater DCU/its continuity messes is refreshing after the last few years he's had.
Like I definitely don't want him isolated from all his friends in space forever or anything like that, but I think him getting to do this on his own right now is cool. I think the thing Porter seems to be going for with Kon 'chasing after the glory days'/trying to find some shred of his old life to cling onto (even if it's just a space imitation of it) is definitely interesting and like... makes enough sense to me for him and where he's at after The Everything.
I just gave this 'how Kon has changed across the eras' post of mine from a while back (fall 2021, so written shortly after the whole Suicide Squad Match Ordeal™) a re-read and something I was talking about at the end was how after all the experiences he's had he has looped back around to embracing aspects of his old self (that he'd been pushing away for a long time because of 2000's-era Trauma And Angst) and I think this current book is definitely like, playing with that.
What I was talking about in that post ended mostly after YJ 2019 though—his state of mind at that point being more or less 'okay I'm back now let's goooooo!!!!!' before The Horrors of realizing he came back to a world that really had moved on without him for years really set in. Like, he knew about that by the end of YJ 2019, but I think he needed to sit on it for a bit and see it firsthand... also even though I know the book was a mess and not well received, I think we should still acknowledge Dark Crisis: Young Justice—where he got a firsthand taste of the olden 90's 'I hadn't died yet, I hadn't disappeared yet, I hadn't been replaced yet' days in Mickey's dream world. After experiencing that and getting some reality checks from the rest of the team, he knows he can't seriously just go back, you can't go back to the past like that... but...
The new understanding of himself he'd achieved just before/while stuck on Gemworld—where we saw he was making active choices about who he's gonna be based on what he wants rather than Clark-based expectations or anyone else's input, and where he was rolling with the changes and circumstances that had been thrown at him—has been thrown SERIOUSLY out of whack!
So rather than it being that 'he's returning to aspects of who he used to be while incorporating the experience and maturity he's gained along the way over the years' situation from YJ 2019, it's started warping into 'he's regressing back to the safety of being the Metropolis Kid/his 90's era self just out in space this time so TECHNICALLY it's DIFFERENT'. Which I think is an interesting approach! And him acting completely and totally in denial of that being what he's doing (even though it's clear he knows damn well it is) is also totally in line with classic Kon—thinking back to the Young Justice (1998) #7 camping trip LMAO.
But like, the thing is, Superboy: The Man of Tomorrow #1 started with an editor's note clarifying it takes place before Action Comics #1051 which began the new family-focused era of the book... that Kon is very obviously present for.
So we already know he's gonna figure out that there is a place for him back on earth and that he doesn't need to completely regress and try to relive his past somewhere else, he can just be himself and carve out his own path at home and have a place within the family. We're not stuck guessing about what Kon's fate is gonna be after the fact—instead, this book gets to focus on this journey he's going through and we're along for the ride to see how he's gonna finally reach that conclusion! Which is fun!
Anyways, that was a lot of word dumping—Kon just gets me going man, you know he always does—but in conclusion: I'm enjoying the book overall, it has definitely kept me as a Kon fan engaged, and I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes!
+ as much as ideologically I am opposed to DC Round Robin, I'm definitely (at this point anyways) glad that this book got to exist.
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Hello! Here's the 'Revista GQ' interview from GQ in English, translated by yours truly 💖 enjoy!
Gavi, against the El Clásico: “We know the pressure we are under as we wear the Barça shirt and it’s important to have a strong mentality to withstand it”.
To say that Gavi is a promise to Spanish football it’s an understatement. He is young, yes, a little more than 19 years old, but at his age, he already managed to consolidate himself as a reference in the Barça and Spanish National Team midfield. The future is his. So is the present.
The genealogical line of great midfielders from the FC Barcelona youth team that reaches Gavi - the modern one, we are not going to go back to the times when football was played walking -, starts from a now almost forgotten Luis Milla - who signed for the Real Madrid in 1990 did not exactly help him go down in the history of the Blaugrana club—it follows with a certain Pep Guardiola, continues with the current Barça coach, Xavi Hérnandez, and ends with the very young player who stars in these lines: Pablo Martín Páez Gavira or, simply, Gavi (Los Palacios y Villafranca, Seville, 2004).
On that number 6 that the Sevillian wears, and that curiously Xavi also carried on his back, lies all the weight and responsibility not only for the team's victories but also for preserving the style, that intangible heritage of the club that they treasure in the Camp Nou with the same greed as its Leagues or Champions Leagues, and with which the culés like to ruin the victories of others, if they do not respond to that slow play, possession of the ball and touch to the foot. So a player like Gavi is naturally asked to help the team win titles; but, above all, that, like a chef de cave or a master distiller, he ensures that the mix, different each season, of players of different ages and origins that make up the FC Barcelona squad, always has the same aroma and the same flavor. The same style.
Too much responsibility for a kid who is barely 19 years old? From what is seen on the field, both in his club and in the National Team - with which he debuted on September 30, 2021, and in which he also acts as guardian of a style, the famous tiki taka - it does not seem so. While it is true that young players increasingly show greater self-confidence on the field - perhaps because the adolescence and maturity of athletes, like that of the rest of the kids, has come a little earlier - Gavi's performance is from another galaxy. Not in vain, he has been compared since he made his debut in the First Division, on August 29, 2021 against Getafe CF, with his current coach, Xavi Hernández. Both are technical and elegant, although Gavi probably has a tougher profile as well. Unlike Xavi, who inherited a squad at its peak, Gavi has had a club in bankruptcy and under construction, entangled in great sporting and economic difficulties. Which did not prevent him from winning LaLiga last season.
We photographed him just after playing a street party with some kids in a sports center in Santa Coloma de Gramanet (and giving them, in the process, the surprise of their lives), as part of an action by his sponsor Nike. Due to their age, one of those kids could one day replace Gavi himself in the midfield, or even play side by side with him. For now, that future of the club belongs to its current number 6, and it is in his hands to lead another glorious era like that of Messi, Iniesta, Pujol, Piqué and Busquets, under the command of the current Pedri , Ferran, Yamal or Balde. Although what he has in front of him, for the moment, is a very brilliant present.
INTERVIWER: You have relatively recently completed your first 100 games for Barcelona. What assessment do you make? What grade would you give yourself as a player?
GAVI: It is an incredible mark. I always dreamed of playing in the Barça first team and having already played 100 games is something impressive. I hope to accomplish many more. I'm not one to give myself notes. I am still a young player with a lot of room for growth. My goal is to continue working hard to continue improving as a footballer every day.
I: Last year you received the Kopa Trophy that France Football magazine awards to the best young player of the year. What does such an award mean to you?
G: It was an incredible recognition, but even if it was awarded to me it would have been impossible to achieve it without the help of all my colleagues. I am very grateful to all of them, to the staff that helps me continue improving every day and in general to the club that has always trusted me. It is another motivation to win these types of prestigious awards and that invites me to continue fighting to go as far as possible in my career.
I: When you see yourself as a footballer, what do you think you need to improve or learn?
G: As I said, I'm still very young, so both the coach, the staff and my teammates help me in every training session to continue improving as a footballer. I always try to listen to them and put their advice into practice without giving up my personality as a footballer.
I: Were you a Xavi fan when you were a child?
G: Yes of course. Xavi has been one of Barça's best players and one of the best midfielders in the history of football. It was impossible not to be a fan of his... I always loved watching him play and seeing how his play influenced the game.
I: Has having a legend in that position as a coach especially helpful for your progression?
G: It always helps that the coach was a footballer because he understands us perfectly. Furthermore, as I said, he is Barça history and he knows perfectly well what it means to play for this club and do so in the midfield position. His vision of football helps me a lot and he has helped me grow as a footballer since he arrived.
I: Is directing Barcelona's midfield a big responsibility for such a young player?
G: It is always a responsibility to play for Barça and especially for the midfielders, since we have to start building the game from our position. Fortunately we have a very complete squad and great players in the midfield with different virtues. We all contribute to following that style that has always characterized Barça.
I: Because of your age, you're probably playing with or against players you idolized until very recently. What is that feeling like?
G: Sharing the stage with people you dreamed of when you were little is always a nice thing... But once the referee whistles, I'm always focused 100% on the game and I forget about any distractions.
I: Who have been your idols in football?
G: Many. Fortunately, my generation has been very lucky because it grew up with a very successful moment for both the National Team and Barça when we were little. It would be very difficult to stay with just one.
I: Do you remember the Spanish team's final in South Africa well or were you too young?
G: It was small, but I remember it well. Impossible to forget Iniesta's goal …
I: You have lived your childhood in a time of great football and sports joys, instead of great frustrations. Do you think that gives a different mentality to those of your generation?
G: Since I was little I have always enjoyed playing and at the same time I have pushed myself to the maximum to win as much as possible.
I: Do Spanish players of your generation have a more winning mentality, without complexes?
G: Yes, I see that winning mentality in all the teammates who rise to the first team from youth football and also those from the National Team. The world of football is a very competitive and winning world and we all fight for the same thing, to win.
I: How did you start playing soccer?
G: I started playing for my hometown team, Liara Balompié. From there I jumped to Betis youth football where I spent a few years and when I was 10 we received a proposal from Barça and we didn't think about it.
I: Do you miss having a more normal adolescence?
G: When you do what you like, you don't think about anything other than focusing on your career as a footballer. I always dreamed of getting where I am today and I hope to continue enjoying football at this level for a long time.
I: What is your life like in Barcelona? What kinds of things do you like to do when you're not working?
G: I lead a very quiet life. I like to spend time with my family and my friends. When I'm at home I love watching football, both national and games from other leagues.
I: What hobbies do you have off the field? Do you love fashion? Do you have a favorite designers? Do you learn about fashion in the Barça locker room?
G: I like fashion, yes. What I value most is being comfortable. For example, now that I'm wearing these Air Max and this Tech Fleece tracksuit, I feel perfect. I like to dress with style, but without giving up comfort. I don't have favorite designers. It is true that in the locker room you see many styles. Each one has their own.
I: How do you get along with your locker roommates? Who has helped you the most to grow within the team and as a footballer?
G: The truth is that there is a very healthy atmosphere in the group. It is a very young team where the veterans help a lot to those who come up. I have a good relationship with all of them, so it is very difficult to stay with just one. Everyone helps me to be better every day. Just by training with them, one improves.
I: You have had to live through a transition period at Barça. How does such a young player deal with the mental issue of football defeats or disappointments? How do you stay motivated?
G: The motivation is always in the next game. Playing for Barça means always aspiring for everything, so on occasions where that doesn't happen we always have a new opportunity in three or four days to continue fighting for titles. We know the pressure we are under when wearing this shirt and it is important to have great mental strength to withstand it.
I: Who do you lean on in difficult times?
G: In my family and my friends. They never fail.
I: What did the victory in LaLiga mean to you ?
G: It was amazing. I've always dreamed of winning it and doing it after a few years was spectacular. The fans deserved it and we hope to continue offering them titles.
I: What are your personal and collective goals this season?
G: Always try to give their best and continue improving day by day. I try to contribute one hundred percent to the team so that as a collective we always go as far as possible.
I: FC Barcelona has a very powerful women's team. What do you think of the success of the Spanish women's soccer team in the World Championship?
G: It is impressive what they have achieved. Winning a World Cup is the most a footballer can aspire to and the growth that women's football has had in Spain in recent years is spectacular. I am very happy for all of them.
I: Do you think that disciplines such as sports or culture, which have a powerful speaker, should be more active when it comes to giving visibility to social problems (racism, homophobia, gender violence...)?
It is true that we have a very important speaker. Together, we have to help solve society's problems.
｡･:*:･ﾟ★
#gavi#pablo gavi#*interview#a very pr coded interview#as he should#we actually see very little of him not being well instructed following what he learned during media training#e.g the ballon d'or visca el barça asdfgh#hope you like it
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piece of advice for those <15 looking into if they have a personality disorder: stop doing it.
now that that got everyone's attention, let me elaborate. if you're experiencing mental health issues, that is 100% valid and i believe you. but personality disorders are very serious, and do not fully manifest until young adulthood. they're also typically only dxed in those 18+, unless a professional deems the symptoms severe enough to give an early diagnosis.
does this mean you definitely don't have a personality disorder? no! it means you should wait before you start jumping to labels which might not apply in a couple years. fun fact: your brain isn't fully developed until 25 years old*. that's why patients are observed in adulthood before given a pd diagnosis.
anecdotal example: my mom had been diagnosed with bpd as a young teenager, but by the time she reached adulthood, the diagnosis didn't fit at all. that's because she was given a diagnosis that was more accurately explained by environmental and developmental factors.
so what should you do then? don't try to hunt down a label for your symptoms. just make a list of them. determine how badly each effects you. think about what experiences could have led to those symptoms. look for coping mechanisms for those symptoms. if you can, seek out a mental health professional. generally, talk to an adult in your life you feel comfortable sharing with.
final disclaimers: i don't think you need to be over 18 to have a personality disorder, im 17 and have a personality disorder (not self dxed). ive also had symptoms for as long as i can remember, but they never got better with age, they've increasingly gotten worse. this could also depend on the type of personality disorder, i largely had cluster b in mind when creating this post as that's the cluster i frequently see tweens and young teens self diagnosing with.
*have been made aware this fact isn't true, but i don't really know how to omit/replace it. basically my point was your brain is extremely mushy as a teenager and your brain's development may be very different once you're an adult
#hoping this isn't actually that controversial#cluster b#honestly histrionic#actually hpd#hpd#actually borderline#actually bpd#bpd#aspd#npd#personality disorders
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I think that the LoV deserves to win in the Final War because if they win, they will be able to create a world for themselves. The Heroes never meant to deserve to win at all considering the fact that most of them are morally corrupted (like the HPSC) and they are more interesting when they lose all the time.
If Spinner were able to win against Shoji, that would prove that his point will be always right and he would be able to save Shigaraki. If Toya succeeded, it would be the punishment that Endeavor deserves for abandoning his eldest son. If Toga succeeded, she would be able to do anything she wants. If Tomura Shigaraki wins against Deku and destroys Deku along with the entire Hero Society, Tomura Shigaraki would be able to have peace with his friends.
If I may be allowed the opportunity to rant: I'm sure some will say this is crazy at this juncture of the story but honestly? I get where you're coming from. Or at least 90% of it.
I mean for starters, I sympathize with the League far more than the heroes (no surprise from a villain fan). I think they’ve earned the happy endings they want after how hard they’ve struggled against the towering odds they’ve faced, an area which I feel they far surpass the heroes. I want them to win, I want them to prove the strength of their bonds, all that fun stuff for them.
And just logically, if you look at the worlds both sides are trying to make…the villain's world kinda seems better? Because after all, isn’t the plan to just take the current world, tear it down, and rebuild it without a whole bunch of its glaring flaws? The easy world Toga wants where kids like her don’t fear for their lives. Where corrupt heroes like Endeavor and bigots like the CRC aren’t left to their crimes. In a warped way, they’re almost like young All Might.
Compare that to the status quo the heroes want back, the very one that brought us here, which I don’t see much reason to root for. I mean even if you say “but all the people who’ve died”; first off, I swear mha civilians frequently act like horror movie victims so I can only care so much for them. But if I did, they want back the very status quo that led to all that death in the first place so…it feels like it’ll just lead back here again. A return of the status quo? This chaos is part of the status quo by now, you sure you want it back?
(Granted this is all hampered a little bit by Shigaraki’s sudden decision to sink the country and really where did that come from? Did Tomura just say that to appear more inhuman? Did Hori make him say that to appear more threatening? Because that kind of interferes with a lot of the League’s goals y’know. Sure he doesn’t want to give the status quo loving heroes a chance to rebuild what he destroyed, but society still needs replacing as part of the plan. The PLF are still supposed to rebuild according to their desires. I may make a post about just this plot point soon.)
Not to mention that I totally get what you mean about the heroes not narratively earning a permanent win here. Not only have they as a whole not really developed and surpassed their old flaws, but just the fact that they’ve been doing their own war crimes in this arc (when you’re really supposed to stick to your morals and beat villains by the book against make-the-world-better-by-extreme-measures-type villains) really makes me think they just don't deserve the win because they kind of can’t be trusted going forward. I mean the final arc's supposed to show where everyone is ending up; how they'll be in the future. And the impression being left is that the heroes, even the kids to enough of an extent to worry, have shown the same corruption we know the HPSC for.
About the only thing I disagree with out on is that I don’t want Deku specifically to die. He can be, to put bluntly, a self-righteous moron about things he doesn't understand at times, and can be a bit of an AM clone a lot of the rest of the time; but I'd hardly wish his death for just that. Especially since it seems any hope for the heroes side not repeating their mistakes rests on him pulling his head out of his arse and getting a clue on how to be better than All Might. Not that I think that'll happen anytime soon, but that's why I keep insistently hoping for an MHA part 2.
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(Sorry I took so long with this. Mix of being busy with real life and being in a writing funk. Which is why this may not be my finest post either. Hope you understand.)
#ask & reply#bnha#shigaraki tomura#toga himiko#dabi#spinner#league of villains#lov#paranormal liberation front#PLF#midoriya izuku#all might#hero society#anti endeavor#hero public safety commission
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BINDER
Bucky Barnes x Trans!Reader (he/they)
Request: None.
Fandom: MCU.
Genre: Little angst but fluff at the end.
Words: 1370
Summary: You haven't been feeling great lately, you haven't been feeling any positive at all. After a rough day at work someone finally notice your mood.
TW: Faking happiness, intense crying (just the noise of throwing things and groans), old binder not binding enough now, reader's looks like a MESS, and just fluff? idk
This was just awful. Since you woke up you knew the day will suck. You didn't have motivation for anything and you were just sick of feeling like this. You sighed now laying down on the couch of the living room in the Avengers building. You remember the first time you entered hhere, it was like a kid with a bunch of brand new toys. Just that the kid didn't had to fight constantly.
"You okay?" You didn't realize when you had closed your eyes, wow you must be really exhausted. You open them and look up at Steve who had a concerning look in his face.
"Yeah, yeah, just... very tired." You try to smile at him but it's most like a disgusted face. He chuckled. He knows you, he knows you're stubborn and never admit you're dying to have some rest. You remind him of his younger self. Younger in like before he was frozen, but technically he hasn't changed because, again, technically he's still a young man. Never mind, he thinks you look like him when he was trying to join the war, strong, insistent, brave and a little (much) stubborn.
"Go on. Get a shower and sleep. Some rest will do you well."
You roll your eyes as you got up from the couch.
"Yes, dad." He laughs while you're leaving to your room.
You were really good at faking, lying. Everyone would think you're living the best moment of your life while you're internally dying. You're so good to put a fake smile on your face and hide all of your pain. Pain. God, when will you stop feeling pain? When will you feel free, happy.
Steve looked at your way still when you had left. Bucky placed a hand on his shoulder to get him off of his trance.
"You okay?"
Rogers nod. "I am. He's not. They say they're okay but it's just not true. I don't know why he cannot trust me yet." He's sad. Because he really loves you, you're like kind of a little brother to take care of and seeing you this way, seeing you in pain but not telling, faking, hiding it, not trusting him. It hurt his heart a lot. "They will tell you, tho." That's true. (Y/N) is always honest to Bucky. When (Y/N) opens to him, they ask him to remain silence about it. He does. But Steve wasn't born yesterday, he knew they tell each other almost everything. Didn't know what exactly but that's not of his business and he gets it.
"Uh, I can't try." The black haired man left his friend alone in the living and made his way to your room. He wasn't gonna show it, but he was very worried about you. You are really important to him, you take a big place in his heart and viceversa.
Before he can knock, he hears groans and sobs with violently punches to things, not things that can break tho. Bucky sighs and finally knocks, instantly the noise stops.
"It's me."
The door immediately opens and (Y/N)'s hand reaches him to pull him inside the room and closing the door again. When Bucky turns, your eyes are red and swollen from crying, dried tears on your cheeks being replaced by new ones, your hair is all messed up like you just got out of a street fight, but what caught his attention the most was that you were shirtless, scratching your arms without causing any injuries but leaving your skin red and burning, you were in just your binder, in your old and worn binder. Now he knows why you were all shut the entire day, you were having dysphoria the whole fucking day. He understood, being around cisgender men all day could be tough for you, he didn't know you feel, but he understood. Plus you haven't bought a binder in like a year so it's stretched out and old, which means it doesn't tightness like it used to.
No words needed for when he opens his arms and you ran to hug him. He squeezes you and puts his nose on the top of your head. You love that. His hugs are different than the rest. Despite his metal arm, his hugs are comfy and warm, it brings you back to Earth instantly, they make you feel safe and like home. Minutes passed and you just hug. He never let you go making you the one to break the wrap when you feel it's been enough. So he just stays, smelling your hair knowing you just showered and maybe that's another reason why you're like this, since your binder it's not wet you didn't wore it to get showered. Finally you pull out the hug now calmed.
"Do you want to explain it me? If not, that's okay, I understand." He smiles at you, looking directly at your eyes.
You feel your heart warm and you sigh. You've been in the Avengers for like a year now and it's been impossible to not fall for Bucky. You avoided him, all the time! But that bastard always found a way to come back to your life. Until one day you stopped fighting and just gave up to the idea of having him around almost all the time, making you fall really hard. And stuff like this, this situation right now, everytime he comes and calms you down, he gives you a kiss on the forehead, when he hugs you, when you compliments you, stuff like this makes you confuse and it's like playing with your emotions. You know Bucky doesn't realize that so at least you can be obvious about your feelings for him and he will just never know.
"I need a new binder." Being honest? That's the only thing you could say right now. You wanted to explain to him but... you couldn't. It's like if you say how you feel, all the calmness he gave you would fly away like a feather in a rough wind. Simple as that.
"Okay. We can get you one." He smiled again and you felt melting. You adore the way he smiles. He stepped closer and gave you a kiss on your forehead but staying inches from your face.
You looked at him. You wanted to kiss him so bad. So so bad. So you did, excepting that could say all your words can't. For your surprise he responded the kiss with the same sweetness and caring. You both blushed because you understood each other. This kiss speaks more than a million words and you get it. It feels like you both needed it, you both needed to let out all the sentiment you've been keeping and couldn't express. Your hands were at the sides of your body and so his. You didn't want to touch each other, at least not yet. The kiss finally broke and you could look at each other's eyes, another thing you understood.
"So you...?" He said.
"Yes." You answered fast. "You?"
"Yeah." You both giggled and finally looked at each other. You saw his blue eyes that were like a sky in a plenty summer, clear, shining and beautiful. There was love in his eyes you could tell. You smiled for real for the first time in days. You felt happy after so long. You wanted to cry of happiness, not just because Bucky feels the same way about you but because you're finally feeling good, at least for a moment.
"Go on, put a shirt on and we will go out to buy you a new binder." He said giving you a kiss on the forehead and then walking to your bedroom door.
"Really?" You said trying to hide your excitement.
He looked at you and nod smiling before leaving.
You smile got even bigger as you grabbed any t-shirt you liked to put it on then fix your hair to finally come out. You're being happy. Even if Bucky was already there for you before, somehow, now it feels even better, have him by your side like more than a friend it felt different. You felt different. Different good.
#bucky barnes x male reader#bucky barnes#marvel x male reader#marvel#x male reader#mcu#trans reader#bucky barnes x male!reader#bucky barnes x trans reader#bucky x male reader#bucky x reader#bucky x trans reader
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Hello again! It's the anon from the Stan and Cartman younger sibling request :D
How would the relationship between siblings have been in the post-COVID timeline (the not-fixed one yet)? I mean, Cartman got better a little bit, so maybe the relationship between him and his sibling got better or worse haha.
Have a nice day or night! :D
Being Stan and Cartman’s Younger Sibling (Post-Coivd)
Warnings: mentions of drinking/drugs
Notes: Hi Anon!! Platonic relationships, gender-neutral. I have way too much free time.
Stan Marsh
Post-Covid Stan was definitely something.
Since we’re talking about the not-fixed timeline, he was the most screwed up version of himself.
After the farm incident and everything past that, it all just built up mentally which caused his moving away.
As much as Stan hates his family, his dad, you should be lucky he still even cares about you.
After everything, you’re the only one he really has left.. All of his friends were in an argument, his dad couldn’t be any worse, and half of his family members were dead.
So what does Stan do? He takes you with him, to live with him.
He doesn’t trust his dad with you, not after how he treated him all those years.
You were both so young when the pandemic happened, you didn’t really understand the extent of it all.
Stan tries to make the best of it, but he can barely make something of himself. He tries to make sure you can’t tell, but he knows you can.
As you both grow older, it hurts you to see your own brother losing himself to his old habits.
Life wasn’t a fairy tale anymore, you were being prepared for a fake reality, Stan made you realize that..
You couldn’t remember the last time Stan didn’t reek of whiskey, or even the last time he was fully sober.
It didn’t take you long to realize that Stan became what he hated most, Randy.
The more you get older, the more you start to understand, and the more you don’t want to..
Stan promised he would always be there for you, and he was, it just seemed fake.
Stan rarely talked to you, throwing random gifts or items in your face ever so often as compensation, as if he was trying to replace his lack of affection.
You knew what he was doing, and you weren’t a little kid anymore.
If you ever got married or found a love interest, you should he grateful to even consider he showed up at your wedding/party.
Stan still loves you, he’s just so mentally screwed up that he’s slowly screwing you up in the process as well.
He doesn’t mean it, he just needs help..
You wished it would all end, change at the very least, but Stan would never go back to that loving brother you once knew.
“Hey, can you tell Alexa to go fuck herself?”
Eric Cartman
Post-Covid Cartman was definitely an improvement when comparing him to his normal self.
He is definitely more carting and family oriented, considering how he now has a wife and kids.
Cartman still isn’t completely normal, but he’s definitely nicer towards you and his family, that’s the most his kindness really extends out to.
He sends you gifts from time to time, rarely, but also lets you visit him and his family.
Some of the things Cartman has taught you from time to time have actually stuck onto you, some more than others.
Those old habits and little things he taught you to do to be like him still appear in your everyday life, surprisingly he has dropped some of them himself.
He obviously still has parts of his old personality and habits, and that will never change.
I feel that Cartman would actually have you instead of Clyde going into the time machine to go and kill Kyle.
Yes, his hatred for Kyle will never die down, no matter the universe or timeline.
I mean, you’re still his younger sibling, that much isn’t going to change. Of course Cartman is still going to manipulate you into doing things without you realizing, he can’t just not do that to you.
Once you get married or find a love interest, he would surprisingly congratulate you on this turning point in your life.
It was one of the only times where you could actually tell that Cartman wasn’t going to switch up or have a mix of emotions, suddenly trying to sabotage you.
Cartman tells everyone that he’s changed, but he’s your brother, you know him.
Deep down, he’s still that manipulative, guilt tripping, passive aggressive, chili making maniac that you’ve known for your whole literal life.
Part of you wants to tell someone, but you would believe you now or even care when everyone’s on their own in a pandemic?
Eventually, you come to terms with the future and just accept Cartman.
Now that you’re older, you realize the extent of his actions that were blinded to you when younger.
You understand why he’s like this, and part of you even starts going to start blaming Liane for being such a pushover.
Then again, she probably just influenced his behavior by burning the flame more.
Cartman starts being more ‘caring’ in his terms as an adult, but why is he still taking care of you? He’s an adult, with his own family.
Either way, no matter what you do, it’s like Cartman tries to include himself in your life more to make up for those times in your childhood.
“Congrats on the marriage, they’re a little ugly though..”
#stan marsh x reader#eric cartman#eric cartman x reader#stan marsh#stan x reader#platonic#south park x y/n#south park#south park x reader
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Leather and Lace - Chapter 8: All Hot and Bothered
Summary: You wake up to these rather intimate dreams, each more erotic than the last one, with seemingly no outlet
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ readers, please; smut and swearing
**This wonderful image does not belong to me. This comes from @mrskrazy
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Standing looking out over the meadows, the afternoon breeze caresses your face as it gently blows across the fields. It carries with it the scent of wildflowers and the tall grass. You wrap your arms around yourself and hum in satisfaction, happy for the peace that your surroundings offer you in this moment of time.
Suddenly you feel a presence behind you. No need to turn around, you are not alarmed in any way. He is right up behind you now, as you can feel the heat radiating off of him and onto your back. He doesn't even have to touch you and you feel comforted by him simply being there.
Fingers deftly begin to lift the hair from your neck, laying your locks to the side, granting him access to the warm skin underneath. A fingertip traces the graceful curvature of your neck as if exploring the very sight of it. You shudder slightly from it, your skin now dancing with goosebumps, as you slowly close your eyes and focus on the sensation of his touch. His other hand lands on your hip, set upon it like it has always belonged there.
Then, you feel them: his lips as they grace the skin behind your ear ever so softly. You let out just the faintest moan of pleasure, as his mouth hovers over the sensitive area. Sensing your approval, he works his lips down from your ear to where your neck and shoulder meet, leaving of a trail of kisses along the way, the tip of his tongue darting out from between his lips ever so slightly as he does. The hand that rests on your hip finally moves, reaching across your abdomen to encircle your waist, drawing you back into him even more as your backside presses up against his hips tightly. You drop your arms slightly to rest over-top of his as his hand gently kneads the material of your blouse in a grasping motion.
The scent of leather mixing with cigarettes fills your nose now with him being this close to you. Although certainly not unpleasant, but on the contrary, its an exhilarating fragrance, especially when it mixes with the scents of the meadows around you. And then...
Your eyes slowly open, revealing the ceiling of your tent. You blink away the sleep still in your eyes, trying to comprehend where you are. The faint sounds of the Van Der Linde camp rustle outside of your tent, sounds of not-so-distant voices and other banging and commotion filling the still air.
Ugh...it was a dream. Of course.
You lay your arm over your face, covering your eyes in frustration. Such a wonderful dream it was too, even if you don't know who the man was. But its been that way for the last few days. You've been having these dreams over and over again for the last few nights, but never seeing the man in them. Its simply a nameless, faceless contact, generated from your growing loneliness.
Letting out a long, slow sigh, you sit up on your bedroll on the ground. Tucking your leg under you a bit for stability, you stretch your arms out over your head, your joints making a bit of a popping sound as your muscles move. You're certainly not old, but you are not as young as you used to be. The hard ground tends to wreck havoc on your body sometimes.
"Note to self: my next investment is a cot," you mumble to yourself as you absentmindedly rub your muscles. But your discomfort is quickly replaced as your mind recalls your dream, silently wishing it was someone else massaging your limbs.
You close your eyes again, savoring the feeling of contentment that washes over you every time you experience these dreams. You sigh again in disappointment before you can get lost in your own fantasies again.
"No time for such nonsense, (Y/N)," you scold yourself. "Time to get your ass up and moving."
After getting yourself cleaned up and dressed, you make your way over to the common tables. You slowly shuffle towards the coffee pot that is percolating over the fire, your hands busying themselves with the last hap-hazard touches of a loose braid to contain your hair.
Grabbing yourself a cup of much-needed coffee, you gingerly sit with the cup cradled in your hands, staring down into the dark liquid, watching the steam rise and dance in the air. Unbeknownst to you, it takes Ms. Grimshaw several attempts to get your attention, as your mind is somewhere else completely this morning.
"(Y/N)!" she calls your name sharply. "Girl, have you gone deaf all of a sudden?!"
Your head snaps up to attention to your right side when you finally hear her, looking up into her stern face as she stands hovering over you.
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Grimshaw. No...no, I'm not deaf," you stammer. "I'm just-"
"Well I don't care what you are! Get yourself moving and over to those laundry tubs," she points off into the distance with an annoyance that never seems to ebb. "There's plenty of work to do today and no time to be wasting, staring off into oblivion." You concede immediately, nodding to the woman's incessant badgering, knowing its useless to even try to argue or explain yourself.
You stand up from the table, refill your cup before heading off, and carry your precious coffee over to the washing area where the other girls are already working. The sight of your friends sitting there, laughing and talking, brings a smile to your face as you approach the group.
"Ladies", you greet them.
"Hey, (Y/N)!" replies Karen, who is doing more sitting than washing at the moment. "Was wonderin' when you'd be gracing us with your presence today," she teases you.
"Sorry about that. I over-slept a bit again this morning," you answer her sheepishly, drawing your hand over your face. You set your cup down next to you as you take residence upon one of the low stools, grabbing a handful of the laundry, and quietly begin working, offering no further discussion.
"What the hell is with you, lately, (Y/N)? You’ve been acting all weird," asks Abigail, eyeing you up as she brushes a lock of her own hair out of her eyes.
Sighing, you look at Abigail with an almost pitiful expression on your face, pausing your work as you try to explain. "I’ve been feeling a little…"anxious" lately…if you know what I mean. I’ve been having these dreams…"
"Oh, is that all?" she asks dismissively, waiving off the topic.
"Oooooo, dreams you don't say? Anyone in particular in these dreams?", smiles Mary Beth, leaning in towards you, pushing a little more as she giggles. Mary-Beth is the resident romance specialist and is always up for a discussion on the subject. And of late, she has been hinting at pairing you and Arthur together, so she is just chomping at the bit to dig a bit further into your confession.
Admittedly, you and Arthur are good friends, but that's all. That's all it is, all it will ever be.
"No," you say sheepishly, slightly embarrassed to be talking about it, your face turning red at the inquisition. "I don't know who it is, to be honest. I…feel him more than I see him….if you catch my meaning," you say as you run your hands over the top of your thighs nervously, avoiding eye contact with any of the girls. "Ugh, its so frustrating!" you finally break. You roll your eyes in annoyance, before planting your chin firmly in your hand in a huff as you lean out on your elbows which sit in your lap.
"Oh hell, honey, that’s easy enough to take care of, you know," Karen jokes, tossing an article of clothing at you, hitting you in the face playfully.
Shaking your head, you mull over her suggestion. "It’s been so long since I’ve lain with a man." You pause as the reality of your situation floods your senses all of a sudden. "You girls don’t understand, I need to feel the weight of a man on top of me!” you quietly whine, trying not to be too loud for nosy ears to overhear.
"You know, there’s a few men here in camp who, I’m sure, would be more than happy to help you out with your little problem," says Karen, raising an eyebrow at you.
"One in particular I’m sure," whispers Tilly to Mary Beth with an impish grin.
With that conversation eventually put to rest, you get yourself to work, trying to distract yourself with the labor of scrubbing laundry. Sitting with your hands in the hot water of the wash tub, your eyes eventually lift up to look around the camp.
Everyone else has occupied themselves with something, as there is always something to do around here. Your attention eventually turns to the sounds of slight grunting and the cracking of wood.
Off in the corner of camp, your eyes land on Arthur, who is cutting up more firewood. Its early in the day, but already warm, so he has the top few buttons of his shirt open, revealing his robust collarbone and beginning trail of chest hair, already glistening with sweat. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled-up to his elbow, highlighting his burly forearms.
You do not notice that you've slowed down your work to a snail-pace, now that you've found this "distraction". You try to discreetly watch Arthur as he swings the ax up over his head, bringing it down onto the chunks of wood with incredible speed and force.
Each time that he does, you can't help but notice how the muscles in his arms flex, his strong legs firmly planted into the ground with each motion. As each piece of wood splits and falls over, he reaches down with a gloved hand, roughly grabbing the piece and tossing it aside into the pile as if it were feather-light.
He doesn't notice you watching him, thankfully, as you quickly realize that you are staring. Catching yourself, you blink yourself out of your stupor, shaking your head slightly, and try to refocus on the soapy water and soggy garments in front of you.
"You OK over there, (Y/N)?" Abigail asks with a knowing smirk on her face as she catches you.
"Just fine. Don't worry about it," you shrug-off her inquiry quickly.
"Uh,huh. Sure." she laughs.
Over from where he's working, Arthur pauses a moment to wipe his face of the sweat that's starting to drip down his forehead. His gaze involuntarily turns towards the wagon area where you are working. For whatever reason, he always knows where you are at all times. He observes you and the girls talking and laughing about something. He can't hear what it is that you are carrying on about, but it makes his heart happy to see you smiling, the sound of your laughter crossing your lips always bringing him just a touch of serenity to his own pessimistic existence.
--------------------------------
The flame of the lantern glows warmly as it reflects off of the woodwork of the hotel room. Your hands are set upon the wall, palms flat with your arms extended out, elbows slightly bent, as you lightly brace yourself. Your head bows slightly as you feel someone behind you.
Large hands, calloused and rough, come up along side you, landing over-top of yours on the wall. His powerful arms cage you in as you feel his chest against your back again. He leans forward slightly as he buries his nose into your hair, inhaling your beautiful scent.
His hot breath is blowing onto your scalp as he slowly exhales with a shuttered breath, causing a ripple of excitement to cascade over your body. His touch leaves you for a brief moment as he pulls at the bottom of your shirt, wading the hem of it up into his capable hands and carefully lifts it up over your head before tossing it to the floor to land next to your skirt which was discarded long ago.
He hums in contentment as he watches how the movement causes your hair to become disheveled, almost wildly landing around your shoulders. He places his left hand back on the wall over-top of yours, as if holding you in place, as his other hand reaches around to your stomach. His hand splays open, fingers spread, as his hand almost covers your entire middle.
He presses his chest right up against your back again and you can feel the chest-hair with your heightened senses, his own shirt having been removed already. The rugged hand on the wall moves now to gently wrap around your neck, cupping your chin and pulling you back further to him, while the other hand snakes from your abdomen slowly downward towards your heat. You let out a delightful moan as you tip your head back into him, rolling it to the side to expose your neck to his mouth, which he firmly plants there, kissing and sucking with just the right amount of force.
Your breath catches as fingers begin to dance along the delicate folds of your heat. He curls them, one after the other, raking across the sensitive skin there, causing your legs to go weak. And as a strong digit pushes into you with such a euphoric pressure... you jolt awake.
You sit up abruptly on your bedroll with a sharp gasp of surprise as you wake up from apparently yet another dream. With your chest heaving slightly, you thrust the palm of your hand into your eye-socket, trying to form a coherent thought. "Sweet Jesus, come on!" you huff out loud in frustration.
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Sitting at the fire later in afternoon, you're thinking over the latest dream you've had, as you can’t get it out of your head. The dreams are getting more and more intense every time, yet you still cannot tell if its someone specific in them or not.
You nervously chew on your thumbnail as you sit in deep thought. It could just be a nameless face, no one in particular, conjured up from your "lack of attention" lately. Or, it could be anyone you know at this point.
And then a horrible thought enters your mind: What if it’s Micah? Oh God, please not Micah. Your face involuntarily twists up in disgust. Maybe that's why you can't see his face in the dream, you rationalize. Maybe you're blocking it out?
Groaning, you roll your eyes back into your head, dropping it backwards in annoyance. You'd rather it be Hosea at this point, than Micah. This idea makes you snort out a laugh before you cover your mouth at the thought of that one. "Well, he is handsome for his age," thinking to yourself, shaking your head.
“Uh, hello?” You hear a voice out of nowhere, pulling you out of your stupor and realize that it’s Arthur. You have been so distracted with your thoughts that you didn't even notice the man walking over and standing next to you.
“Huh?”
"What’s the matter with you?" asks Arthur suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at you. "Been talking to you and you ain’t even flinched." He stands with his hands on his hips, looking at you expectantly.
"Oh…sorry. Got a lot on my mind. Just thinking, I guess," you answer him softly, still distracted.
"Hmm" he answers, rolling his eyes. "Well don't wear yourself out too much doin' that," he snickers, pleased with his own joke.
"Shut it," you reply with a grin at Arthur's teasing.
He sits down at the fire, same as you, and pulls his gun out of its holster and starts to clean it. With a sigh, you tear your gaze from the fire in front of you and casually look over to watch him work. Arthur is always so meticulous with his guns, always making sure they are cleaned and cared for. You suppose its an occupational habit.
You look at Arthur’s hands as they work over the metal, rubbing the bit of cloth he has over the piece. And suddenly, you freeze, eyes going wide. You know those hands.
"Oh Hell," you whisper to yourself, as it immediately becomes clear who you've been dreaming of this whole time. Not sure what to do, and suddenly very nervous, you bolt up off of the log that you are sitting on, startling Arthur half to death.
"What the hell?!" he asks out loud. "What's the matter with you? You tryin' to give me a heart attack?!" His eyebrows furrow both in concern and annoyance.
"I...uh...excuse me," you manage to sputter out, hands fumbling nervously, as you quickly walk away, palm coming to your forehead, and head to your tent. Arthur's gaze follows you, confused and speechless, wondering if he's offended you to make you leave so abruptly.
------------------------------------------
Laying on your back, your legs fall open to the man laying on top of you. His arms are hooked under your shoulders as you wrap your own arms around his back, holding onto him tightly.
You feel shock waves of intense pleasure as he repeatedly pushes his cock into you. He is not harsh with you, but the force of which he is ramming into you causes his shoulder to repeatedly knock into your jaw.
Delicate fingers dig into the sweat-covered muscles of his back, grasping desperately to him. Your moans and broken cries are music to his ears, as his own grunts of pleasure fill the air. He places kisses and love bites along your neck and collarbone, as one of your hands leaves his back and finds residence in his hair, curling and pulling slightly, causing him to pant excitedly as you cradle his head to you even tighter.
The blissful sensation of him filling you so completely with each thrust pushes your mind to the brink, losing all sensibility in the moment. He finally lifts his head from where it was nestled under your ear to meet your gaze...and you see the most beautiful blue eyes...Arthur's eyes, staring back at you.
Jarring awake suddenly, and sitting half-way up, you pause for a few moments, catching your breath as you slap your hand to her forehead before falling ungracefully back down onto your bedroll, arms sprawling out to your sides.
"Nope…uh uh…can’t happen," you reprimand yourself. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly in an effort to calm down. "Son of a...." your hand hovering over your eyes again in irritation.
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The next few days are so awkward for you. Ever since you realized Arthur is the one in your dreams, you can't even look at him without turning red and embarrassed, so you've been trying to steer clear of him ever since.
But this is proving to be a hard task, as for some reason, he keeps seeking you out. But what you do not realize, is that Arthur is concerned about your behavior. The two of you are friends, always talking, but for whatever reason, you seem to be avoiding him and he is not sure what he's done to offend you.
Because truth be told, you are the last person that Arthur wants avoiding him. And it seems everywhere you turn, there he is. It seems that the universe is mercilessly taunting you, too. Normally, nothing would make you happier than seeing Arthur. But in light of recent circumstances, it is proving to be a difficult task to keep your urges under control.
In an effort to somewhat distance yourself from company this morning, you sit under one of the trees on the edge of camp, a favorite place for you to go when you want to sit quietly and read or whatnot.
Your current chore of late is stitching. You volunteered for this one, hoping to keep your hands busy and your mind focused. You have a few articles of clothing in your lap that need tending to as you currently push a needle and thread through a hole in one of the shirts. You pick up the garment, shaking it out, and look it over for a moment. And you realize that its one of Arthur's. Its the black one, the one that he was wearing the other day when he came back from the latest bounty job.
Staring at it, you smile to yourself as you remember watching him ride in that day, watching as he swung his leg over Buck's saddle and lowered himself down to the ground. He was quite pleased with himself, as the job went off without any incidents for once, and he was happy to report a full bounty paid and a large one at that.
Your eyes had followed him as he walked through the camp with a swagger in his step that made him that much more handsome. For he is quite handsome, as far as you are concerned. You know that he doesn't think so, has even told you so himself.
Dropping the shirt back down to your lap, you sigh. Looking around the camp, you find Arthur working, as usual. This time, he's helping Mr. Pearson unload the wagon after this morning's supply run. He has a large wooden crate sitting up on his shoulder as he carries it over to the tables.
He only needs one arm to effortlessly hold the crate, leaving his other arm to swing slightly at his side. This posture accents his broad chest and massive shoulders that are pushing slightly against the blue fabric of his favorite shirt, the one that he wears all of the time...and makes his eyes simply pop with amazing color...
"Oh come on, seriously?" you whine to yourself, hanging your head down in frustration and annoyance at yourself for the little self control that you have.
Later that afternoon, after you have all of your work done for the day, and Arthur is safely out of your sight, you decide to go for a walk to clear your head. Normally, Arthur doesn't like for you to wander off on your own, but you tell yourself that you'll keep close to home and follow the river. Maybe you'll even dip your feet into the water.
"Hopefully the cold water will settle my ass down a bit," you reprimand yourself with an exasperated sigh.
You've been walking for a bit, keeping quiet just in case, and listen to the sounds of nature around you. Birds are chirping off in the distance and the white-noise sound of secadas whiring lets your mind wander.
Eventually, you pickup on the sound of water splashing slightly. Your heart catches in your throat for a moment, as you hope to God that the one time you do not heed Arthur's instructions does not lead you into trouble. As your footsteps become slower, you see the source of the noise.
Speak of the devil, this is where Arthur has wandered off to. He's standing naked in the river, his back to you from where you are walking.
You freeze mid-stride when your eyes land on him, but quickly manage to get your head together to hurriedly throw yourself behind one of the tree trunks so that he doesn't see you. You do not move for fear of being caught, but it doesn't seem like he's heard you, as he makes no effort to move or cover himself. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you are in such shock that you can't even blink. And you also can't tear your eyes away from the sight of him either, as you cautiously peer around the side of the tree at him.
Arthur is standing in the river, wading in so that the water is up to about his mid-thigh. He has a rag in hand, washing himself up, dragging the cloth over his tanned skin. You cannot see the front of him, 'thank God' you tell yourself, but get a good view of his backside.
You know he's well-built and strapping, but seeing him in his natural state only confirms it. His legs, from what you can see of them, are thick and muscled. Your eyes rake over his back, wide and strong, littered with hair, like his chest.
You can see scars along the skin, even from this distance. You've had to stitch him up a few times since you've been with the gang, but have never really taken inventory of his features before, always fixated on the task at hand in the past. But now...
Your gaze follows the trail of his spine, down over his buttocks, perfect and round, and down his strong legs. Your breathing quickens as you bring your hand up over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.
But then, you go and do something stupid. You inadvertently step on a twig, causing the ever so slightest sound to carry through the air. You watch in horror as Arthur's head snaps to attention, now realizing that he may not be alone out here.
"Shit!" you damn yourself internally and quickly duck back behind the tree again, pressing your back up against it and holding your breath, eyes squeezed shut tight. You hear the sloshing of water as Arthur quickly makes his way to the river bank.
"Hey! Who's out there?!" he demands in a threatening tone.
You panic. You bite down on your bottom lip, eyes open now but staring ahead of you, trying to decide what to do. Do you try to hide? Do you try to run away? Do you come right out?
"I said, who's out there?!" Arthur asks again, but this time, you hear the hammer of his gun click back. You close your eyes again, realizing that you have to do something. And taking a deep breath, you decide to play innocent.
"Arthur, is that you?" you call from behind the tree. "Where are you?" feigning ignorance.
Instantly, Arthur releases the gun, recognizing your voice. "(Y/N)?" he calls out, confused. He'd already thrown his pants on in a hurry as soon as he landed on the bank again, but now realizing that it is you coming towards him, he hastily tries to put his shirt on.
You step out from around the tree, playing off that you've just come down the path and are just now stumbling upon him. "Arthur! Jesus, you startled me! What are you doing out here?" you ask, your hand placed over your chest as if he had just given you the fright of your life.
"What am I doing here?! What are you doing out here?!" he challenges you, flustered and waiving his hands about. He is so self-conscious of being half-naked and disheveled in front of you right now, that he doesn't even seem to stop to think that you may have been there for awhile.
"I decided to go for a walk, is all," you say quietly, your eyes diverted, looking around elsewhere other than at his face at the moment. "I thought I heard a noise from this direction so I froze. I wasn't sure who was out here or what I was walking into." Your explanation seemed simple and forthright enough that Arthur doesn't dwell on it too much. He drags his hand over his face and rolls his eyes.
"You could've gotten a bullet between the eyes, you know" he lectures you.
"You'd shoot me for taking a walk?" you challenge back, a smirk on your face now.
"Ha, ha very funny. Don't get cute with me! I was out here gettin' cleaned up. Don't sneak up on a man like that!" Arthur's face is stern and harsh, but you know there is no real malice there towards you.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know that I was." you reply, smiling at him in an effort to calm him down a bit.
After a few more moments of awkward silence, "Well, I'd better head back to camp and let you finish what you were doing, then," you offer.
"Yeah, I think that would be best," he says sheepishly as his nerves settle a bit now, but still rather embarrassed. He's still standing with bare feet, and shifts his weight awkwardly from one hip to the other, not really sure what else to say or do. And with that, you hastily turn on your heels and high-tail it back to camp with the intent of going straight to your tent.
Fortunately, no one stops you or tries to talk to you as you make your way through the camp, but all the same, you keep your head down and avoid eye contact as much as possible.
Reaching your private little tent, you quickly enter and pull down the sides to enclose you in. The sun is setting now, and the rest of the crew has settled in by the fires on the other side of the camp for the night, so odds are, you'll be left alone for the evening.
Its a good thing, too, as you are mortified about what just happened with Arthur. You can only pray that Arthur truly believes that you did not see him in the water. He seemed to be just as flustered as you, so with any luck, he will pretend that the whole thing never happened.
Sitting in your tent by yourself, you try anything to get your mind off of Arthur. A little time soon goes by and its dark now. You sip on a glass of brandy that you have in your stash and try to read a bit, looking for any sort of distraction. The lantern light is casting an amber glow about the canvas-enclosed space with the encroaching darkness. You snap the book in your hands closed and lean over to gently toss it upon the wooden box in the corner where you store some of your things.
Standing, you stretch your arms and legs and begin to change into your nightgown to get ready to sleep. The cool air graces the skin of your legs as you unlace and drop your skirt to pool at your feet. Next, you slowly unbutton your shirt and pull the cotton off of your shoulders, leaving you in just a corset, chemise and bloomers.
Goosebumps prickle up over you chest at the sudden temperature change. You tiredly pull off the rest of the undergarments before tugging your nightgown over your head, smoothing it down over your abdomen. Your hands linger over your stomach for a moment as your thoughts drift off.
Images begin to dance through your head again, replaying your previous dreams and visions, culminating with flashes of Arthur in the river from a few hours earlier. A slight groan leaves your lips as you lower yourself onto your bedroll, settling in to get comfortable for the night.
Laying on your back, your eyes stare up at the top of the tent, your breath slowing as your chest rises and falls serenely. And once again, the images of Arthur flood your mind's eye.
Your pulse starts to quicken as you think of his muscled body, wet and glistening in the water. Your hand slowly inches down over your nightgown and gently rests over-top of your heat. You can feel the delicate nub buried within start to throb as you imagine Arthur's strong arms and broad back, imagining what it would be like to run your hands over them, dragging your fingertips through the hair that decorates them.
Remembering one of the dreams from the other night, you mimic the movements of his hands as your own fingers roll over the lips of your heat, rubbing with increasing speed. Your back arches slightly as you part your knees a bit more.
You picture Arthur's hands stroking along your body, his lips planting a trail of wet kisses from your neckline down your collarbone and over one of your breasts. Your other hand comes to rest on one of the soft mounds of flesh, your fingertips rolling the hard tip of your nipple. Your head rolls back slightly as you part the folds of your heat and you slide a digit of your own inside. You bite your lip, stifling an exhilarated gasp as you begin to pump your own fingers in and out of yourself, imagining that it is Arthur's hand there instead.
Your pace quickens as you buck your hips upward, chasing the exhilarating feeling. It has indeed been too long for you, as it almost seems like you forgot what this feels like. Or maybe the inspiration behind it is just too tantalizing. Either way, you can feel the velvety muscles within start to spasm around your fingers as your climax is building within your belly.
Another vision of Arthur cutting that firewood, his shirt partially unbuttoned, his chest contorting with the force of bringing the ax down, brings you almost to the edge. You thrust your fingers into yourself deeper, faster, until the palm of your hand rubs against that nub.
Almost there now.
And then, its just the simplest thing that you need to finish. You imagine his hands. His large, strong hands wearing those black leather, fingerless gloves of his...and that does it.
Your climax hits full force in that moment, causing you to let out a broken whine, which you quickly cover your mouth with your free hand to quiet. You hold your pose for a few moments, back arched and head still tilted back, milking the heavenly sensation before finally letting your body relax and go limp, melting into the bedroll beneath you.
"There, now...that should do it," you whisper to yourself with a gratified smile, still panting a bit.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, you are more content than you've been in weeks. You sit yourself at one of the fires which is still smoldering from yesterday. You poke at the embers with a stick, trying to resurrect the flames again to ward off the morning chill.
You've already gotten up early before anyone else has risen and made coffee for everyone, grabbing yourself the first cup. You sit calmly in your chair, slowly sipping the hot coffee in your hands and simply look about the camp with a serene and tranquil look upon your face. If someone were to take notice, one could say that you have a glow about you this morning. You smirk to yourself, as you think upon just why it is that you are so relaxed this morning.
Before long, Karen and Abigail have awoken and made their way to sit next to you. Karen has a mischievous smile on her face, an excited presence about her this morning.
"Listen!" she says in a hushed tone. "I have an idea. I've been thinking and I thought maybe we’d go into town today and see if we can find you 'a friend'." Her eyes widen a bit to exaggerate her meaning for you.
"No need. I handled it myself," you reply definitively.
"Oh?"
You look over at Karen and raise your eyebrow at her, hoping she gets your meaning.
"Oh," she says simply after a moment, understanding you. "Well, where’s the fun in that?" asks Karen, almost disappointed that you have declined her idea.
"Well, I needed tending to and I know the area better than anyone else," you chuckle, bringing your coffee cup up to your lips to sip again.
"So…you “handled” it yourself, then?" smirks Abigail, trying to stifle a giggle as she swats playfully at your arm.
"You know," you roll your eyes with a bit of a snort, "it kills me sometimes that you two are my best friends."
#arthur morgan#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x female reader#arthur morgan x fem reader#arthur morgan x f! reader#rdr2#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x reader smut
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Sneaking around
Shelby family x sister!reader
warning: period typical homophobia
context: set before season one, reader is a few years younger than Ada.
I know this isn't an original idea and is kind of overdone, but I figured since I am very very queer I might as well give it a shot.
WC: 4.1K
MASTERLIST
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
It took awhile for everyone to recognise, but it was clear as day now. The youngest Shelby girl was slipping away.
Finn saw it first. The young boy idolised his older sister. Though less than a year was between them, Y/N was his world. You were there, day in day out, to offer support, advice, or generally cause trouble; until one day, you weren't.
Arthur, bless his heart, took a long time to come around.
"But I fuck off all the bloody time and I don't see any of yous all stressed"
"This is different Arthur, it's y/n" Tommy, the replacement voice of reason.
You were barely a teenager when you first realised you were different. You had a playground boyfriend who you adored, but not in the right way. You always looked at him like a best friend, but it became painfully obvious he was dealing with some serious puppy love. He kissed you. You hated it.
You promptly ended things after that embarrassment.
As you got older, it clicked. You didn't like boys, not in that way. You looked at women the same way many men would.
I'm fucking delusional. A looney.
The Shelby boys would tease your lack of romance, but deep down appreciated that you being single gave them one less thing to worry about.
You was all alone with these thoughts of self-loathing, until you met her.
Emma was a few years your senior and worked as a seamstress on the other side of Small Heath. You were caught in the rain together one evening, and the rest was history. You and Emma became close friends, both craving female companionship in your male-dominated lives. Your relationship escalated one drunken night in the snug of the Garrison. Most of the Blinders were in London doing god knows what, leaving the private room of the pub to you and her friend.
"Truth or dare?" Emma slurred
You hummed, "truth!"
"Who was your first love?"
"That's a big question." you pondered
"I've just never seen you around any men! You never even talk about them, you literally have your pick of every man in Birmingham." Emma giggled, her inhibitions getting the best of her.
"I… I just haven't found the right person yet." you quipped defensively, pouring yourself and Emman another glass.
"Maybe you're looking in the wrong place?"
You choked on her gin. "What's that supposed to mean?”
Emma leaned back into her chair and stared you down. "I saw the way you look at the barmaid." she smirked.
shit. shit. shit.
"I think she's cute as well" Emma continued, swirling her drink around her glass.
You felt like all of the air had been ejected from your lungs. Did Emma feel it too?
"Wait. You also like women?"
"Yes. I think they're rather more attractive" the older girl replied nonchalantly.
—
Ever since that fateful evening, you had been "best friends" - more accurately, you were sneaking around each other's houses, stealing kisses behind buildings or under tables, and fighting the urge not to show any physical affection in public. You were enamored by each other.
This new arrangement made you fear your family, quite simply because they ran the entire city - the walls may as well have had piercing eyes following your every move. Though if the you were exposed, you didn't worry for yourself, you worried for Emma - an unmarried 20 year-old living in a bedsit above a cobbler who had no family (or gang for that matter) to come to her defense.
Y/N was certain this was one of the only laws her family hadn’t broken, and now you were walking all over it. Homosexuality, as Emma had taught you, was fully natural, but extremely illegal. Sometimes the you wished you could just be normal, but then you wouldn’t be able to spend hours gazing into your girlfriend's glowing eyes - a truly impossible predicament.
—
The sun peaked up over the dense bog of factory smoke, darkened rays illuminating the dusty streets. Y/N took a deep breath in, halfway between a slumber and reality.
That’s a nice smell.
Only a few minutes later did you realise that that nice smell was, in fact, Emma’s perfume and your head was, in fact, buried in Emma's chest.
“Morning, sunshine.” The older girl whispered, resting her hand on your knotty h/c hair, attempting in vain to comb through it with her fingers.
“What time is it?” you yawned and relaxed into Emma’s gentle touch.
“Just turned seven, the bird’s woke me.” She spoke softly but the you were thrown into a panic. This was your first time sleeping in your bed and you'd slept in.
“They'll be up.” You shot up from Emma’s embrace. This revelation ruined the tranquillity of your night together. Emma hastily slipped on one of your frilly blouses and long woollen skirt, abandoning last night’s evening dress for the sake of blending in outside. You then helped your lover out of the window and onto the fence, then down to the alleyway beside the Shelby home.
“Em I’m sorry, again. I’m just scared, I don’t want anything to happen to you.” You apologised profusely, feeling ashamed that you went to such lengths to hide.
Emma smiled sadly “No, I get it. We can’t have our fun end now can we?” She giggled playfully “I best be off, you should sleep over in my room tonight.”
You blushed as Emma waltzed down the alley and onto the bustle of Watery Lane as if nothing had just happened.
—
“Aunt Polly, guess what?” Finn giggled, skipping into the crowded kitchen. The whole family, except you, were crowded around the table eating breakfast. “I heard someone in Y/N’s room!”
“Finn, that’s not funny. Go and cause trouble elsewhere.” Tommy scolded, glancing up from his newspaper.
“No!” the boy protested, grabbing his Aunt’s arm as she walked past, “I heard her talking! And I heard lots of footsteps! And the window!” he blabbed
The chorus of murmurs that filled the room ceased.
“Y/N’s finally gotten herself a man!” John cheered, slapping an angry Tommy on the back. Across the table, it looked as if steam was pouring from Arthur’s ears.
“Boys, I say it’s a good thing. It’s time she found someone to have fun with.” Ada sighed, sensing one of her brother’s was about to blow up.
“I agree with Ada.” Polly announced, “Y/N is an adult now, she can do whatever the bloody hell she pleases”
“She’s barely 18!” Tommy slammed his paper down “she should NOT be having men sharing her bed.” Ada glared daggers into him. A floorboard creaking across the hall meant that you had accidentally announced yourself sneaking back to bed.
“Speak of the devil.” Arthur tutted.
You apprehensively stepped towards the stairs.
Maybe if I walk slowly, they won’t see me?
“Y/N! Y/N! Who was it? When can I meet him?” Finn sang, bounding up to you, Tommy hot on his heels.
“Who was the man in your bed?” Tommy demanded “Do we know him? Or will I have to introduce myself?” He snapped, a menacing undertone in his voice.
“THIS is why she felt the need to sneak him out!” Ada shouted over her brother, “you could at least pretend to be supportive!”
Tommy let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Okay, how was your secret fuck last night?”
“THOMAS! Cut it out. Now.” Polly could have broken glass with her shriek. “Girls, I suggest you leave. Your brothers need educating.”
You fled up the stairs to her room. Ada followed close behind, stopping her sister from slamming the door and locking herself away. You threw yourself on the bed in despair.
“That’s a nice dress. Did you wear it last night?” Ada tried her best to be friendly, inspecting Emma’s crimson dress hung over a desk chair.
“That’s not my dress.” You rolled over to face the wall, “it’s my friends.” you huffed defensively.
“You know, you can always borrow my dresses?” Ada settled down at the end of her sister’s bed, misjudging the situation.
“No Ada, it’s just that she wore it last night and left it here.”
“So if one of your friends slept over, can’t you just tell everyone so they’ll shut up?”
An unfamiliar knot tied itself in your stomach. It was one thing sneaking around behind the backs of your family, lying to their faces was not something you'd considered. You opted to remain silent.
“What’s going on with you lately? You keep shutting everyone out.” Ada leaned over and looked down over her little (adult) sister with concern.
“I’m just so fucking tired of hiding.”
Ada’s the least likely to kill me.
“From what?”
“Everyone. I am sick of living life like this.”
“Y/N, who was here last night?” Ada asked softly, catching on.
You snapped. “My girlfriend. My girlfriend was here and we slept in my bed. We didn’t have sex, we just talked.”
Ada silently gasped and took a moment to compose herself. “Look, I don’t care what you’re doing with her-”
“No, it’s not that.” tears began to well in your eyes, “it’s the fact they all probably think I’m no better than a common prostitute despite the fact they sleep with every woman they find.”
“Oh Y/N…” Ada mumbled with a smile, “Polly will sort them out. You shouldn’t be sneaking around us.”
You was taken aback by Ada’s lack of anger.
“Now…” Ada jumped up and picked up Emma’s dress from the chair, admiring the quality “tell me about her!”
—
“Look Thomas, just because she is a woman and you are a man, it doesn’t mean you have more rights than Y/N.” Polly snapped, towering above her nephew.
“You just can’t seem to get it through your head, Pol.” Tommy retorted, standing from his seat, “men are bad, they can’t be trusted.”
“Yes, and you would know all about bad men Tommy, since you yourself run with the devil.” Polly squared up to him and snarled, staring into his dark eyes.
John joined the pair standing and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. “Eva is a smart girl, she probably picked someone who’s the total opposite of a Blinder. He’ll be nothing like Tommy.”
“At least if he’s a fuckin’ Blinder we can finish him off quickly.” Arthur chimed in, gripping his glass so hard it could have smashed.
“There will be no finishing of anyone off. You boys cannot sentence an innocent man to death for sleeping with Y/N. How do you think she will take that? Will she thank you? Or will she leave this God forsaken city and never come back?” Polly snapped, “It’s your decision, but it’s one you should take in a fucking heartbeat.”
As Polly berated Arthur and John sat back with indifference, Tommy stormed into the hallway and ascended the rickety stairs to your room. His mind was running at lightning speed, anger and guilt both clouding his rational brain. He had to know who this man was before he decided on his next step. Your jubilant voice and Ada’s giggles stopped him from bashing her door off its hinges.
“And when Emma kisses me, I swear my heart is going to explode.”
“Does she treat you well?”
“She’s so thoughtful. On the anniversary of Mum’s death, she brought flowers for us to throw in the cut. We sat on the edge for hours and she just listened to me ramble.”
“Oh my gosh! You lucky girl Y/N!”
Tommy kissed his teeth and looked up at the ceiling before opening the door.
If there is a God, he thought, then please tell me what the fuck is going on.
Both yourself and Ada jumped as your older brother entered, his expression was impossible for either of you to decipher.
“Tommy, before you yell at her, can you at least think about this!” Ada begged, standing between him and yourself.
“Ada. Out. I need to talk with Y/N alone.”
Ada stepped forward “If you upset her Tommy, I’ll fucking kill you.” she threatened through gritted teeth.
Begrudgingly, after bickering some more, Ada left your bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Thomas sighed, listening to the rapid rhythm of his pulse. Wordlessly, he picked up your desk chair and placed it next to your bed, sitting down and staring at his sister who was leant against the headboard, your knees to yourchest. You refused to meet his gaze.
“So,” He coughed, “Who is Emma?”
You traced circles into your thigh as you took a shaky breath in.
“My friend.” You mumbled
“Your friend who you shared a bed with and kissed?” Tommy raised his eyebrows. He needed to hear you say it for yourself, though, as Ada did, he’d caught on.
“I - you know, Tommy.” You sniffed your tears back.
“I need to hear it from you, Y/N. Use your words.”
“Fine. I love her Tommy! I love her more than all the girls you sleep around with. I know you don’t want me to be happy but I don’t care because I love her.” You lost it, you sat up and faced him, shouting with tears streaming down your face. The only thing stopping you from attacking him was the iron grip you were keeping on your bed sheets.
Tommy didn’t reply. He rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands.
“I know you’re pissed but quite frankly I’m sick to death of being a prisoner to the men in this family. For once, I have someone who loves me for me and who doesn’t treat me like a child. If you don’t like it, I’ll fucking leave and you can be rid of me.” The words flew out of your mouth without much doubt and you couldn’t figure out if they were empty threats or if you were ready to run. Your brother’s reaction would decide that.
Silence. “So?” you spat, “when do you want me gone?”
Tommy barely registered what he had heard. He was stunned, sifting through his racing thoughts: She could be arrested, or even killed. Her reputation would be finished. What if she wanted her own life and career? Would she even be able to find a job?
He was so engrossed, in fact, that he didn’t even notice you leave in floods of tears.
—
You were running on fumes. You hadn’t woken up prepared for any of this anguish. Your legs carried you to the one place where you knew you’d be safe - Emma. Before long, and after lots of odd looks from people around you, you'd ended up at the door of the dress shop where your girlfriend worked.
“G’morning! How can I help?” The woman behind the counter looked up from her work at you, a fake smile on her face.
“Emma.” you panted, catching your breath, “Is Emma here? I’m her friend and it’s an emergency.”
After studying your face, the woman’s smile faded. “Emma!” She poked her head through a door behind her and called, “There is a Miss Shelby here looking for you.”
A crash, a slam, and then Emma appeared, rather flustered. If it wasn’t for your panic, you would be swooning at the sight of your lover in your clothes.
“You should step in the back for a minute - I don’t want customers seeing you girls chit-chat.” The woman, who you had now deduced was the boss, spoke quietly. Emma didn’t respond and grabbed your forearm, leading you into the back room and closing the door.
“What happened? Why’re you crying?” Emma fretted, sitting you down at a desk.
You held back your tears in fear of getting your girlfriend in trouble. “They know.” You whispered, “My little brother heard someone in my room and they’ve all found out.”
Emma cursed under her breath, holding onto your hands so hard her knuckles went white. “Are they angry?” She whispered back, her eyes flicking to the door cautiously.
“I - I don’t know. My sister was really happy but I don’t think my brothers are. I asked Tommy if he wanted me to leave and he didn’t even say anything. I don’t think I can go back.”
The older girl walked over to a set of pegs and took a key out of a bag, handing it to you. “Go back to my room. I’ll finish at six today, then we can come up with a plan.”
“No!” You snapped in a hushed voice “You don’t understand how crazy my family are. You should leave me here and go somewhere else, it won’t be safe in the city for you anymore.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you. If you don’t think it’s safe here, then let’s both get out.”
After that exchange, you were sent on your way back to Emma’s bedsit. Luckily everyone else was at work so no one saw you run in. You were originally planning to spend the day figuring out what you and Emma were going to do come the evening, but you instead collapsed from exhaustion and slept.
—
“Thomas Michael Shelby!” Polly bellowed, practically picking him up by his collar. “What in God’s name have you done?!”
Tommy snapped out of his haze. Y/N was gone. Polly was out for blood. Ada was crying. Arthur was having a drink - at 8am. John was gone, too. What the fuck happend?
“You were meant to comfort her! Not drive her out of the fucking house!”
Tommy ignored his raging aunt. “I’ll get every bloody man on the street to find her.” His voice was monotone as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
Ada chuckled sarcastically, “John’s already onto that, got all the Blinder’s after her. He was being a brother while you were sitting on your arse.”
“SHIT” Tommy stood up and threw the pile of books from Y/N’s desk into the wall. “Shit shit shit.” And he was gone.
—
The three brothers were out all day looking for their sister, while Polly, Ada, and Finn stayed home waiting in case she returned. She didn’t. As the night approached, the trio returned and handed over to a group of their associates who planned to search all night.
On the other side of Small Heath, you and Emma were getting ready to head out. Your plan was to sneak back to Watery Lane, get your things, leave a note, and get out. You was intending to hide in Emma’s room until you could both figure out where to go next. You took the reverse route that you had that morning, seeing that all the lights were on downstairs, but no one appeared to be upstairs. Down the alley, up the fence, onto the roof, then through the window. The one thing that you'd forgotten to consider was that somebody could already be in there.
Ada was laying on your bed in floods of tears. The second your feet hit the floor, she shot up and screamed, bounding over. “Y/N! I thought you were never coming back!” She grabbed you and smothered her in an embrace, “Tommy didn’t mean it. He was just being an idiot. Good god Y/N I thought we’d lost you.”
Emma awkwardly slid in through the window, extremely embarrassed. At the same time, a pair of footsteps sprinted up the stairs and into the room and the door flew open. John. He looked exhausted and was too shocked to even speak, he assumed Ada was having a nightmare. On her guard, Emma stormed over to him and backed him in a corner.
“Are you Thomas?!” She snapped, seething with anger.
John let out a sincere chuckle and smiled. “So Y/N did pick someone tough after all - I’m John, not Tommy.” Emma retreated in embarrassment.
“Sorry, I thought he’d made you cry.” She mumbled to you “I couldn’t help myself.”
“I like her, Y/N.” Ada smiled, taking a good look at the new woman in the room.
You walked over to Emma and took her hand. “You don’t need to protect me, it’s ok.” You whispered, wrapping her in a calming hug. You could feel her pulse pumping across her body.
“So you’re the girl who stole my little sister’s heart?” John enquired, relieved.
“Emma.” You spoke into the girl’s chest, “You’re hugging me too tight.”
Emma immediately let go “I’m sorry, I’m just tense.” You pecked her lips, “Better now?”
Ada awed at the interaction and took in the sight of her baby sister in love, John could have sworn his legs had turned to jelly. The moment was destroyed by another set of footsteps, Tommy entered drearily.
John ceased his opportunity to wind his brother up. “Emma.” He announced, turning to her, “This is Thomas. Tommy, meet Emma.”
The loving embrace between you both ended as Emma stormed over to the doorway and pinned Tommy against it. Ada covered her mouth, trying not to laugh at the exchange.
“You. You fucking made Y/N cry. She’s been in my room all day crying because you couldn’t talk to her, after demanding that she ‘use her words’ you fucking prick.” she spat. Tommy lifted his hands up in surrender, shocked at this new girl’s confidence.
“Ay, no need to shout. I came to apologise to my sister for being an arse.”
“Honest to God Tommy, I don’t think an apology will cut it.” John folded his arms and walked towards the door.
“No. I’ll listen.” You piped up, pushing past John. “Emma, it’s ok, I promise.”
Emma shook her head and stood back. Ada took her out of the room begrudgingly and John followed, the three of them waiting outside of your door.
“Tommy, I-” You began but you were cut off by your brother engulfing you in a hug and practically picking you up.
“I’m so sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry. You can be angry at me but I’m just so happy you’re home.” He rambled, gripping you as if you were about to disappear again.
“I’m not angry, I’m hurt.” You stepped back from the hug and looked into his glassy eyes. “Why didn’t you say something, anything Tommy? I thought you were mad, I thought you hated me.” You spoke as tears fell down her cheeks.
“I - Y/N I was thinking about you. I was scared. You’re too good for this world and people won’t understand this.”
“I just wish you could have said something. Tommy you fucking terrified me.” You sniffed.
He took your hand in his and held it to his chest. “I don’t care who you love, Y/N, as long as you love. I don’t know where all that talk of me hating you came from. You could scream and shout at me, but I will never, ever, hate you. I got scared that you’d met some man like me who wouldn’t treat you well; but now I see you’ve found yourself a woman who will fight me over your feelings - a brave woman.”
“So… you don't hate me? I thought you’d want me locked up.”
Tommy scoffed “Locked up, eh? You don’t have shell shock. You aren’t crazy. And even if you were, I'd look after you, I wouldn’t shut you away.”
You burst into relieved tears, prompting Emma to open the door. Tommy immediately stood to face her, his arms yet again up in a surrender.
“I don’t know if you heard that, Love, but I was apologising, so please don’t cut me.” He spoke, locking eyes with her pleadingly.
“Ok.” Emma sighed. “You’re forgiven, for now.” She warned. John skipped through the door cheering. “Tommy brother, we have found your match!” He laughed, “Aunt Polly will love you!”
The rollercoaster of a day came to a crashing halt as night fell across Watery Lane. You apprehensively introduced Emma to your family. John was right, Polly adored her: “Finally, another woman to help me control these feral men.”
Arthur was less expressive: “D’ya want a whisky?” Emma obliged - immediate friends.
Finn, bless his heart, was very confused - “Y/N, your boyfriend is a girl.” but he eventually figured it out.
—
“You know,” You started, looking into the fire surrounded by your family with the woman you loved, “sometimes Em and I joke that the Shelby’s have now broken every law in the book.”
“No, I’m sure your brothers could find a few others.” Polly chuckled, leaning back into her seat, a smile plastered across her face.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
please drop me a comment or message with any feedback or suggestions! I'd love to hear from you ♡
Vee x
MASTERLIST
#peaky blinders#peaky fucking blinders#thomas shelby#tommy shelby#shelby#finn shelby#angst#hurt#comfort#shelby sister#peaky fookin blinders#cillian murphy#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinder imagine#imagines#peaky blinder imagines#shelby sis#lesbian
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Magdalena Eriksson on taboo in the sports world: "Working for many"
It is 2023 and we are still working to remove the stigma and taboo around talking about periods, Magdalena Eriksson tells a group of 15-year-olds one afternoon.
A stigma she herself did not wish existed when she grew up as a young soccer player.
It is during a training session in the middle of June that Sickla IF's 15-year-old girls are visited by Magdalena Eriksson. The Swedish national team player, who plays for Bayern Munich every day, grew up in a time where periods were somewhat embarrassing and therefore not discussed. Something she wants today's young girls not to have to go through.
- We must dare to talk about this. We must educate girls and coaches in how the menstrual cycle can affect girls' sports performance, says the 29-year-old.
The subject has been on the table for a few years, but despite that, Eriksson believes that we are "far from finished".
- Clubs and associations must start taking responsibility. You have to understand as an association that you have a big responsibility in training your coaches.
The Sickla team's coach Olle Linder, who is surprised that there is not much talk about the subject, felt that the training initially had a "closed atmosphere".
- Even if a famous woman comes here and says the word period, the girls still think it's shitty. It just shows that it is important to dare to talk more about it, says Linder.
Magdalena Eriksson's experiences of talking about periods changed when she came to Chelsea. The English team has been at the forefront by adapting training to the players' menstrual cycle for a few years now.
This is thanks to the team's coach Emma Hayes.
- I was 24 years old when Hayes made me understand how all these things are connected. When we started talking about Chelsea, we were very unique. We were probably among the first to start talking about periods and sports performance.
The national team star believes that the topic is still taboo, even though you can see that more and more national team players have raised the issue and more teams have embraced the topic.
- It's probably old habits and customs that live on in our culture. Menstruation is also taboo in many cultures.
Research shows: Many people stop playing sports
By collaborating with Libresse's initiative Befriend your body, the national team star wants to participate in the fight for increased self-esteem as well as breaking taboos and normalizing menstruation for young girls in the sports world.
Through several different surveys, the initiators of the project have been able to see that many girls stop playing sports when they are around 15 years old.
- It is important to become friends with your body, accept it and hopefully love it so that you can continue playing sports, says Oda Mustorp, brand manager at Libresse and one of the initiators of the project.
The goal, according to Oda Mustorp, is to be "the big sister who guides how to get to know your body and can maximize training during the four phases of the menstrual cycle".
More and more club teams and national teams have also chosen to replace their white shorts with other colors, so that the players don't have to worry about bleeding through. It is something that 29-year-old Magdalena Eriksson sees as the simplest solution of all.
- Changing from white shorts should not be a problem. Many have thought it was difficult but did not dare to say anything, and now they have finally done it.
Something else that more and more club teams and elite athletes have begun to understand is how injuries are connected to the menstrual cycle.
- We have had serious injuries in women's football that can even be linked to the menstrual cycle. We need more research so we know how to both train and treat women, says the national team star and continues:
- We need to make society better for girls to live in.
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how do you personally manifest?
This is a fun question! Lately I have been thinking a lot about my past successes and trying to figure out the common thread between them. When I break it down, I can see the most successes I’ve had (especially the kinda crazy instant manifesting type) have happened when I decide I want something, know I can have it, and not give up until I get it.
I mean, it’s kinda just basically assume/affirm & persist in a nutshell 😭
I didn’t know about conscious manifesting or the law when I was in high school, but nevertheless I achieved everything I wanted, and actually manifested my “dream life” at the time. It seems like nbd to me, but people are often amazed at the things I accomplished at a young age.
When I analyze why, it comes down to two things: Self concept (belief it’s possible for me) and persisting (determination not to give up until I get it).
I notice when I have no resistance to something, I really can manifest instantly without having to do anything at all. For simple stuff like pizza, seeing a green car, or skin care, it’s like:
Decide I want something.
Know I can have it and I will get it.
It appears shortly after.
But with stuff I have more resistance to, I have to put more effort into it. I’m a very overthinking, stuck-in-my-head kinda person (working on it 😭) so the major thing for me is policing my monkey mind, otherwise it will run off on its own repeating old stories, intrusive thoughts, and identifying with being a victim.
So to combat the overthinking I work on replacing the negative thoughts with positive ones. In that case it’s more like:
Decide I want something.
Watch my thoughts & beliefs coming up around that topic, especially negative thoughts saying it’s not possible or I can’t have it. (Mental diet)
When I notice limiting beliefs, I neutralize them immediately. Majority of the time I use EFT tapping but I sometimes use SRT, or witchy rituals like writing stuff out and burning it.
Replace the negative beliefs with positive ones: tapping with positive affirmations, listen to affirmation tapes & subliminals that align with what I want, affirm throughout the day and before bed (sats/lullaby).
Rinse & repeat until the new story feels natural.
During my law of attraction era, I tried all the things, and did what I now call “manic manifesting” you know like writing things 555 times hoping that the universe will grant your wishes. That kinda stuff just kept me in a state of lack and did not help. I now try to use any methods just to remind myself of the new story, that it’s already mine and already done.
I’ve also had success with simple “imaginial acts”, not visualizing cuz I’m not very visual but thoroughly imagining a scenario with as many senses as I can and narrating it in my head. This seems to be most successful for me with sp scenarios.
Since I’m thinking about all this now, I’m gonna make a list of some of my biggest/favorite manifestations for another post to remind myself and maybe inspire others as well. 💕
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13 in 'The God Complex'
I saw a Reddit post a while ago asking 'what episode would you like to see a different Doctor tackle', and now it's been ages but i had some thoughts, and can't stop thinking about it, and just desperately need to write them down somewhere so here if you're seeing this: sorry, you've got to deal with my ramblings now.
This could replace ‘Legend of the Sea Devils’ wholesale. It was most people's least favourite centenary special, so hopefully we’re not losing much. OR, if you want to wrangle 4 specials in that year, it comes between ‘Eve of the Daleks’ and LotSD, which I’ll elaborate on later.
Arrival:
13 genuinely intends to follow through with “that moment on the beach where you tell me everything”, directly says as much at the end of EotD. Instead of fobbing it off with “whatever happened to the lost treasure of the Flor de la Mar”, they ARE going to San Munrohvar, which Yaz is ecstatic about.
In the OG God Complex (quick reminder: 11/Amy/Rory originally), it’s Amy’s faith in the Doctor which brings them there, and it’s the same now. Except it’s not just the generic faith of a particularly attached companion, it’s the exact specific moment of Yaz knowing she’s about to get that conversation.
Her faith is both restored, and about to be rewarded. After years of asking, and wondering, and being fobbed off, finally the Doctor is opening up. And right after Yaz’s coming out to Dan? Wow - what if!
They aren’t there because Yaz “has faith in the Doctor”, they’re there now because in the exact moment the TARDIS launched, that faith was higher and more intense that it has ever been.
Dan:
Common complaint is that Dan’s a bit of a blank slate – Diane, Liverpool, nice bloke. Fun moments, but not enough time to really develop as a character. I’m not going to make a spectacular reveal here and give him an amazing arc, but at the very least we have a chance to make that blank-slatedness really work. He takes on Rory’s role in the story:
13’s Room:
We never see 11’s room, only hear the TARDIS’ cloister bell as he looks in. The implication, of course, is that he’s afraid of dying – permanently. Trenzalore, no more regenerations. Very nice and subtle for 11’s arc/personality – the old man disguising himself as a 20-something.
13 has a very different problem: she’s the Timeless Child, she’s been alive for potentially a billion years before her memories begin, and she’s still regenerating. 11 is afraid of regenerations running out; 13 is afraid they’ll never run out.
It’s harder to convey my idea here with just a noise, not showing the inside of the room itself, so I will describe what I imagine the room to look like, but if there’s a way to do this without showing the viewer, that’d obviously be great.
Her room is a field of graves: “Susan Foreman”, “Sarah-Jane Smith”, “Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart”, “Donna Noble”, “Amy + Rory Williams” (an exact copy of the grave from ‘The Angels take Manhattan’), “Clara Oswald”, River('s Screwdriver/Neural Relay sitting on a Library server?), “Bill Potts”, “Yasmin Khan”, even one written in Gallifreyan (could be inferred to be the Master, but not directly stated). Only a brief look, but enough for someone to pause it and read a bunch of companions’ names.
Many are faded, symbolising a fear that one day she’ll be so old with so many lost loved ones, there simply won’t be room for all of them, and she’ll starting to forget their names and faces. Thousands more we can’t read, the people she’s yet to meet across all her future lives, and they will age and die all the same. In the centre, she’s still there. Alive, young, never dying. Maybe it’s not even Jodie standing there – maybe it’s Ncuti Gatwa, or some completely other actor: ‘generic future self’.
This is the moment of tragedy for her. After her own chat with Dan, the fireworks, seeing Sarah + Nick happy, she had decided to give it a try with Yaz. But seeing this room is what changes that. This is the moment she says to herself:
In OG, this happens immediately after 11 effectively invites Rita to join the crew, but maybe we can swap these around. So 13 sees this, completely psyches herself out of pursuing a relationship with Yaz, knows in her heart that her biggest fear is losing more and more and more people, but seeing Rita being a little bit brilliant again makes 13 invite her along anyway. She can’t help it – a clever little human working their way in, no matter what. Bittersweet.
Speaking of:
Rita:
Another young Muslim woman who’s a little bit brilliant and a little bit too brave? In all of time and space, it’s a bit weird for a bottle episode to have someone who, on the face of it, is basically a carbon copy of our main companion, right? We’ll see.
13 gets along with Rita just as 11 did. Maybe Dan is the butt of the ‘with regret, you’re fired’ joke. Maybe in a moment alone, Dan can crack a line to Rita that ‘she’s got a thing for clever Muslim gals’. But of course, most importantly, Rita and Yaz have a bit of bonding over their shared faith. Rita mentions ‘Jahannam’ in the OG, and we can use that to get some insight to Yaz’s faith. We know she’s practicing-enough to visit a Mosque (mentioned in Rosa), but really we get very little exploration of what Islam truly means to her throughout Chibnall’s run. Give Yaz something personal that isn’t tied to the Doctor, y’know.
Then, the phone call when Rita is about to die. Like 11, 13 tries to talk her into coming back: maybe she can save her, she really wants to save her. She can’t convince Rita, but Yaz takes the phone off of her. Two young women of the same religion have a heart-to-heart about faith and rapture and Jahannam. They both start off thinking Yaz was brought here for the same reason Rita was (and the viewer does too) – stealing their religion from them.
BUT, Rita gradually realises that isn’t true for Yaz. She realises that Yaz’s faith in the Doctor is stronger: “if you come back, the Doctor can save [you/us]”. That brief, shining moment of beauty that Yaz felt when the Doctor confirmed she would follow through on ‘tell[ing] you everything’ was so powerful, it eclipsed her religious faith. Not forever, she hasn’t become an atheist, but the novelty, the cocktail of love, and rewarded patience, and anticipation, and trust – for a tiny moment, it out-shone her other faith, and that’s why the TARDIS was pulled in by the eponymous God Complex.
Maybe Rita says it explicitly, or maybe she doesn’t. Either way, Yaz also realises what Rita has seen, but the Doctor isn’t privy to Rita’s side of the conversation (because… phone). They hang up, turn off the cameras, and Rita dies. If Yaz hadn’t let the Doctor take over her life and heart, could she have saved Rita? Did someone die because she failed as a Muslim? (Obviously the answer is no – that’s not how faith/religion works, and Rita was dead anyway because that is how the minotaur works, but the point is Yaz has a total crisis here)
As with the OG, the very next scene is the Doctor’s ‘I figured it out’ moment.
Yaz is hit with a whole fresh wave of guilt. The whole reason they’re here, the thing that killed Rita – and the Doctor agrees with that assessment (the Doctor couldn’t hear Rita, so this obviously isn’t actually the Doctor saying ‘you’re right, you got her killed’ – the Doctor would never think or say something like that – but that’s what it feels like to Yaz).
Yaz’s Room:
Now this is what’s really beautiful about the change from 11 to 13. Amy and Yaz’s rooms are the same thing. Amy’s is a little girl waiting by a window for her Raggedy Man to come back; abandoned. Yaz’s is a young woman in a basic white TARDIS console room, surrounded by sticky notes and sheets of paper, after hundreds of failed attempts to make it fly, waiting for the Doctor to come back from Gallifrey; abandoned.
[Quick side-note: the moment between Amy and Gibbis where she says ‘I thought that room was for me’ about the Weeping Angels still works for Yaz. In her only meeting with the Angels, what was the result? They took the Doctor away from her for 3 years]
11’s speech to Amy, tearing down the image of him in her head – saving her life by pretending he can’t – absolutely stunning. But 13 has even more to work with here: Amy/Rory, Clara (died because she became too much like the Doctor – hello Yaz), River. The added tragedy of breaking not just a friend, but someone who is actively in love with her and who she shares those feelings for, and the only way to save Yaz’s life is to shatter those feelings.
AND: Bill. "Remember that man who tried to kill you, Graham, and Ryan in a plane crash the instant he met you? The man who tried to kill us all on Gallifrey, and is ultimately the reason I left you, vanishing for 10 months? The man you’re most afraid of, of every villain we’ve met together? I TRIED TO HELP HIM. I put his redemption above Bill and Nardole’s safety because ‘[he’s] the only one person that I’ve ever met who’s even remotely like me’ (direct quote, btw(!) – ‘World Enough and Time’), and it got her mercilessly killed and converted. That’s the sort of person I am, and now I’m about to get you killed too."
Falling Action:
Because Yaz is a little bit brilliant, and coming into her own as “becoming like the Doctor”, like Clara did, she later works out that the speech in her room was ‘the plan all along^TM’ to get rid of the minotaur, and starts to patch herself up by telling herself that the Doctor didn’t really mean not to trust her. So Yaz presses, once again, asking for the Doctor to tell her something about herself.
The Doctor, of course, actually was being genuine, because her own room – the field of graves – scared her that much. 11 rebuffs Amy’s question, continuing with his exposition about the prison. 13 does the same to Yaz. The episode started with Yaz being elated that the Doctor would finally open up, and ends with 13 reverting back to closed-off, and refusing to answer a personal question. Because 13 saw what was in her room, and decided, against everything they both wanted 45 minutes ago, that she can’t fix herself. So back in the box it goes.
Then:
From 11’s perspective, this could be perceived as bittersweet. He’s still afraid of death, but at least there’s someone here and now commiserating with him. Maybe it would be a gift, and maybe he can accept it in time, and go to Trenzalore in peace. But for 13, it’s just bitter. 'Yes, it would be a gift – if only I could ever have it. But at least I can grant it to you.'
We can either do the beach scene now, ‘can’t fix myself’…
(and then in my ideal world, alter Power of the Doctor to give us a slightly happier end / opening up / explaining 13's hotel room / Thasmin kiss, because god knows us gays need someone to throw us a bone – but that’s not important right now, not relevant to 13!GodComplex)
Or this is where the Doctor goes ‘let’s fuck about looking for the Flor de la Mar’, cue LotSD. Again we see the contrast between her genuine intent to be honest with Yaz 45 minutes ago vs fobbing it off now. Yaz’s heart is broken for real, just after she managed to convince herself that the Doctor’s speech in the hotel room was all a trick.
I can't stop thinking about it, because Doctor Who has consumed my every waking moment for the last 2 months...
#13th doctor#yasmin khan#thasmin#11th doctor#amy pond#the god complex#eve of the daleks#legend of the sea devils#power of the doctor#doctor who
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Ethan's Christmas Wish
Merry Christmas, Everyone! May your holidays be filling as you enjoy this Christmas Tale! 🎄
Chapter 1: The Unlikely Santa
In the quaint town of Pine Ridge, nestled between snow-capped mountains and sprawling evergreen forests, the local mall buzzed with the onset of the festive season. Amidst the flurry of decorations and holiday cheer, an unlikely figure stood out.
Ethan Turner, a junior at the state university, was the embodiment of a collegiate athlete. His towering frame, a solid six feet two inches, was chiselled to perfection, a result of countless hours at the gym and on the football field. Broad shoulders tapered into a sculpted torso, each muscle defined as if carved from marble. His arms, the pride of his physique, were the stuff of legends on campus – powerful and imposing. With jet-black hair cropped close to his head and piercing blue eyes that contrasted starkly with his tanned skin, Ethan was often the centre of attention, albeit reluctantly. He had taken on the job of playing Santa at the mall for the holiday season, a decision driven more by financial need than desire. The idea of concealing his athletic form under the bulky, red velvet suit of Santa Claus seemed almost comical. He couldn’t be more different from the traditional, jolly old man in red. His friends had laughed when he told them, unable to picture the buff jock as the iconic bringer of Christmas joy.
As he stood in the staff room, staring at the Santa suit hanging on the door, a sense of irony washed over him. The suit, with its ample padding and fake white beard, was a far cry from his usual attire of fitted tees and athletic shorts. Ethan ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he had when contemplating the absurdity of life’s twists.
Taking a deep breath, he began to don the costume. The fabric enveloped his muscular frame, hiding the physique he worked so hard to maintain. As he looked in the mirror, he barely recognised himself. Gone was the intimidating athlete, replaced by a cheerful, round-bellied Santa. Little did he know, this role would challenge him in ways he never expected, pushing the boundaries of his identity and forcing him to confront aspects of himself he never knew existed. As he adjusted the beard on his chiselled jaw, Ethan Turner, the campus Adonis, stepped out to embrace his role as Santa, unwittingly stepping into a journey of transformation that would redefine his very being.
Chapter 2: The Feast and Reflection
The final echoes of holiday cheer faded as Ethan concluded his shift at the Pine Ridge Mall. He trudged towards the staff room, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. The Santa suit, a farce of merriment, felt more like a shackle by the end of his gruelling 12-hour shift. Inside the dimly lit staff room, Ethan began the process of shedding his Santa persona. The suit, which had engulfed his athletic frame, fell away piece by piece, revealing the stark contrast of his true self. As the layers peeled off, Ethan stood in front of the full-length mirror, pausing to take in his reflection.
His body, a sculpture of discipline and effort, was toned to near perfection. Broad shoulders rolled into well-defined pecs and a flat, muscular abdomen. His biceps, sculpted and prominent, flexed unintentionally as he ran a hand through his hair. In the mirror, Ethan saw not Santa but a young man in his prime, a stark juxtaposition to the character he played in the festively decorated halls of the mall. The rumble of his stomach broke his contemplative reverie. Realising he had hardly eaten all day, Ethan made his way to the food court, now quiet and nearly empty as the mall neared closing time. The aroma of various cuisines intermingled in the air, tempting his heightened hunger. He ordered copiously - a burger here, a slice of pizza there, followed by a serving of Chinese noodles.
Sitting alone at a table, Ethan devoured the feast before him. Each bite was a blend of flavour and relief, a stark contrast to the forced joviality of his Santa role. The food court, with its lingering festive decorations, was both a dining hall and a stage for his solitary banquet. After his meal, feeling sated yet physically drained, Ethan returned home. The quiet of his apartment was a welcome change from the constant din of the mall. As a treat to himself, he indulged in a few Christmas cookies, the sweet richness a perfect end to the day. The cookies, homemade and delicious, were a small yet significant rebellion against the strict diet of his athlete's regimen. Lying in bed, the events of the day replayed in his mind - the smiles of children, the weight of the suit, his reflection in the mirror, and the surprising satisfaction of his indulgent dinner. Drifting off to sleep, Ethan pleasured himself; his muscles tensed—he managed to climax, finding himself in a liminal space, caught between the persona of Santa and the reality of his own existence, ready to face another day in the red suit.
Chapter 3: Dreams of a Festive Transformation
As the mantle of sleep enveloped Ethan, his mind wandered into the realm of dreams. A Christmas dreamscape unfolded before him, more vivid and enchanting than any reality he'd known. He found himself in an ethereal workshop, bathed in a warm, golden glow that seemed to emanate from the very walls. The workshop was bustling with activity but not with the usual toy-making frenzy one might expect. Instead, it was filled with elves, each more striking than the last, their shirtless forms adorned with sparkling body glitter that caught the light with every graceful movement. They were the epitome of festive charm and allure, moving with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic.
Among them, an elf named Chris stood out. A playful glint in his eye accentuated his chiselled features, and his well-defined abs shimmered under the workshop’s golden light. He approached Ethan with a confident stride, his presence commanding yet warm.
"You're quite the unit, Ethan," Chris said, his voice rich and melodic. "It's our honour to assist you in becoming the biggest and best Santa Claus, full of Christmas cheer." Ethan, taken aback by the dream’s vividness, looked down at himself. He was still clad in the red suit, but it felt different in this dreamscape – less like a costume and more a part of his identity. The fabric seemed to hug his form, accentuating a physique that felt both familiar and strangely altered.
The elves moved around him in a dance of festive preparation, their laughter and chatter creating a symphony of holiday spirit. Ethan was drawn into their rhythm, feeling an inexplicable connection to their mission. Chris led him through the workshop, showing him the magic of Christmas. They passed rows of candy canes, mountains of glittering ornaments, and beautifully wrapped gifts. With each step, Ethan felt a growing sense of belonging, as if he were meant to be part of this mystical world. Inevitably, Chris and Ethan found themselves alone; it was only a matter of time before Ethan’s muscular arms were embracing Chris as the dream turned passionate. Just as Ethan managed to unbuckle Chris’ elf attire, the dream began to fade, Chris's voice echoed, "Embrace your new role, Ethan. Let the spirit of Christmas guide you, I’ll be in touch soon.”
Ethan awoke to the dim light of dawn, the remnants of the dream lingering in his mind. The vivid images of the workshop, the glittering elves, and his transformed reflection stayed with him as he lay naked in bed, pondering the surreal experience and what it might signify for his journey ahead.
Chapter 4: Embracing Christmas
The chill of the winter evening nipped at Ethan's skin as he collapsed into bed, utterly spent from another day of donning the Santa suit. The fabric had chafed against his skin, a constant reminder of the facade he maintained. In the solitude of his room, he shed his clothes, seeking the comfort of his bed in nothing but his skin, a stark contrast to the layers he bore all day. As sleep claimed him, he was once again transported to the Christmas wonderland of his dreams. The world was a tapestry of twinkling lights, shimmering snow, and an air of enchantment that could only belong to a place beyond reality.
Chris, the elf who had become a familiar presence in these dreams, greeted Ethan with a warm, inviting smile. His shirtless form seemed to radiate a festive glow, his muscles glistening under the soft, ethereal light of the wonderland. In his hand, he held a cookie, intricately decorated and emitting a mouth-watering aroma.
"Welcome back, Ethan," Chris's voice was as comforting as a crackling fireplace. "I thought you might enjoy this."
Ethan accepted the cookie, the rich taste exploding on his tongue as he took a bite. It was like tasting Christmas itself – a blend of spices, sweetness, and warmth. As they strolled through the wonderland, Chris's question hung in the air like a delicate snowflake. "Are you ready to embrace being Santa, Ethan?"
Ethan, with a mouthful of cookie, looked perplexed. Chris," he began, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "why am I here? Why do you keep asking me to grow into Santa?"
Chris looked into Ethan's eyes, his own reflecting a depth of ancient wisdom. "Ethan," he said, his voice soft yet resonant, "Santa Claus is more than a person; he's a spirit, an embodiment of Christmas joy and generosity. But he can't carry this essence alone. Each year, we choose someone to share in this spirit, to help spread the joy and magic of Christmas. This year, I chose you., Ethan, personally chosen to be part of this legacy."
Ethan absorbed the words, a myriad of emotions swirling within him. "But why me?" he asked, a mix of honour and disbelief colouring his tone.
"You have a heart that resonates with the true spirit of Christmas," Chris explained. "Your transformation isn't just physical. You're becoming a vessel of the Christmas spirit, a partner to Santa in bringing joy to the world."
Ethan paused, the weight of the revelation settling upon him. He had started this journey reluctantly, seeing it as a role to be played. However, he was part of a timeless tradition, a continuum of joy and giving that stretched far beyond himself. Ethan's brow furrowed in confusion.
"And what's in it for me?" he asked half-jokingly.
Chris's smile broadened. "After Christmas, you can have us change you into the physique of your dreams."
Ethan chuckled, playing along, half expecting to wake from this vivid dream. "Fine, then I want quads the size of a grown man's torso, thick muscular quads that turn heads.”
With a flick of Chris' fingers and a smirk on his face, Ethan felt a sudden, overwhelming sensation. His quads began to swell, the muscles expanding with a supernatural rapidity. They grew more massive, so large that his thighs were forced apart, straining under their newfound bulk. Ethan stumbled, unprepared for the shift in his balance. He fell, a mix of shock and awe on his face, as he looked at his disproportionately muscular legs that continued to thicken. He tried to step forward, and his massive quads made him fall backwards. Chris hurried to his side, helping him to his feet. "You see, Ethan, dreams do come true here."
Ethan, still reeling from the transformation, nodded warily. “Alright, I'm in," he agreed, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Chris's smile was triumphant. He placed a hand on Ethan’s stomach, and a tingle coursed through Ethan’s abs, and with that, Ethan was jolted awake. He lay in his bed, his heart pounding, the surreal dream still vivid in his mind. He touched his thighs, half-expecting to feel the exaggerated muscles from his dream. But they were the same as they had always been, strong yet human. The dream left Ethan with a sense of foreboding and excitement. As he lay there, contemplating the dream's meaning, he couldn't shake off the feeling that this Christmas was going to be unlike any other.
Chapter 5: A Magical Transformation
As the days passed, Ethan's life settled into a peculiar rhythm. The role of Santa Claus at the mall was exhausting, yet he couldn't deny the sense of fulfilment it brought him. The smiles of children, the festive atmosphere it all added a warmth to his life that he hadn't expected. However, with this new role came an insatiable hunger, one that seemed to grow with each passing day. Ethan found himself gravitating towards the food court during every break, devouring meal after meal as if he could never be sated. Pizza, burgers, fries – no amount of food seemed enough. By the end of the third day, his concern grew; this hunger was unlike anything he had experienced before. That night, as he collapsed into bed, a pizza box still open beside him, he drifted into a deep sleep. In his dreams, he found himself back in the enchanting Christmas wonderland, a realm that was becoming increasingly familiar.
Chris, the enigmatic elf from his previous dreams, was there to greet him. "Welcome back, Ethan," Chris said, his voice echoing with a warmth that filled the air. He approached Ethan and gently touched his stomach. "I see your hunger is growing. That's good. You're embracing your potential." Ethan, caught in the surreal beauty of the dream, nodded. "It's like I can't stop eating," he admitted, a mix of wonder and concern in his voice. Chris smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "Christmas is only twenty days away. I want to help you grow into your role, to become the Santa you're destined to be."
Ethan felt a surge of excitement mixed with a hint of apprehension. "How?" he asked. In response, Chris waved his hand, and a lavish feast appeared before them. Tables groaned under the weight of festive dishes, each more tantalising than the last. "Eat, Ethan. Let the magic of Christmas fill you." Ethan began to eat, and to his astonishment, he found that he could not get full. Plate after plate, the food seemed to vanish, and with each bite, he felt his body responding. He looked down in shock as his midsection began to round out, softening and expanding. Even more shocking was the raging hard-on Ethan found himself harbouring. Chris continued to encourage him, gently pushing more delicacies his way. Ethan, caught in the whirlwind of the magical feast, surrendered to the experience. As the dream continued, Ethan's transformation became more pronounced. His once athletic body softened, rounding out with the magic of the feast. As Chris's hand gently brushed against Ethan’s expanding midsection, the juxtaposition was clear. Where Chris remained toned and firm and defined, Ethan was becoming softer, rounder. It was a physical manifestation of two worlds colliding.
Ethan lay back, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the feast he had consumed. His body, especially his midsection, had transformed significantly. What was once a toned and athletic stomach had now become a soft, bloated spare tire, rising and falling with each of his laboured breaths. The sensation was a mix of discomfort and an odd sense of satisfaction, marking the journey he had embarked upon. Sensing Ethan's discomfort, Chris placed his hands gently on Ethan's expanded stomach. His touch was soothing, offering a comforting pressure that helped alleviate the tightness. At this moment, with Chris's caring gestures, the sharp contrast between Ethan's burgeoning form and Chris's lithe figure became a source of reassurance. Chris’ presence and the gentle rhythm of his hands on Ethan's belly brought a sense of calm, easing the physical strain of Ethan's indulgence.
Chapter 6: The Transformation
In the cool, pre-dawn light of Pine Ridge, Ethan awoke with the lingering images of his dream still vivid in his mind. He found himself facing a new reality. As he tried to rise from bed, he felt a weight he hadn't before. His midsection, now noticeably softer, pushed him back. Lying there, Ethan was filled with a sense of wonder and curiosity. His hard-on remained, and as Ethan pleasured himself, his new gut wobbled, and he blew a load harder than he ever had before.
Arriving at the mall, Ethan entered the staff room to don the familiar red suit of Santa Claus. However, today was different. As he slipped into the costume, he realised that the usual padding wasn't necessary. The suit, which had once hung loose on his athletic frame, now hugged his gut in a way it never had before. Standing before the mirror, Ethan took a moment to absorb his reflection. His physique, once the epitome of fitness, had undergone an undeniable transformation. His abdomen, previously adorned with chiselled abs, now sported a noticeable paunch. He grabbed at his newfound softness, his fingers sinking into the flesh. It was a surreal experience, feeling the weight and give of his midsection, a stark contrast to the hard muscle that used to be.
His thighs, once powerful and lean, had thickened, rubbing together as he moved. Even his chest, which had always been firm and sculpted, now had a subtle softness to it, the contours less defined. Ethan shook his head in disbelief, trying to reconcile this reflection with the image of himself that he had always known. Throughout his shift, Ethan's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He pushed himself to interact with the children and their families, the role of Santa now feeling more real than ever. But underneath the jovial exterior, Ethan was preoccupied with his physical changes and the dream that seemed to be becoming a reality.
Determined to embrace this transformation and make Chris proud, Ethan found himself visiting the food court during every break. He devoured meal after meal, his appetite seemingly insatiable. With each bite, he could almost hear Chris’s encouraging words, urging him to let go and embrace his new role. As the day drew to a close, Ethan felt both exhaustion and a strange sense of fulfilment. The mirror in the staff room now reflected a different man – one who was slowly but surely stepping into a new identity, one bite at a time. The journey was far from over, but Ethan was committed to seeing where this path would lead, driven by the mysterious promise of his dreams and the transformation they foretold.
Chapter 7: Embracing the Transformation
Ethan found himself once again enveloped in the dreamlike world that had become his nightly escape. The surroundings were draped in the soft, ethereal glow of Christmas magic, with snow gently falling outside the frosted windows of a quaint, cozy cabin. Inside, the warmth of the fire crackled in the hearth, casting a comforting light over Ethan and Chris. Chris, with his ever-present elfin grace, listened intently as Ethan recounted his day's work as Santa, his voice tinged with both fatigue and a growing sense of wonder. Ethan lay reclined, his head resting comfortably in Chris's lap, feeling a sense of peace he hadn't known before. Chris' hand, delicate yet assured, held a freshly baked cookie, bringing it to Ethan's lips. As Ethan savoured the cookie, Chris's other hand gently rubbed his fattened stomach, which had grown noticeably rounder over the past few days. The sensation was new and strange to Ethan, yet there was a certain comfort in the softness that had begun to envelop his once rigidly toned frame.
In a moment of surprising boldness, Ethan looked up at Chris, his eyes reflecting the fire's gentle flicker. "I want to embrace this change," he said, his voice low but resolute. "Help me grow even larger." Chris's eyes sparkled with a mix of joy and something more profound. "As you wish, Ethan," he replied, his voice echoing the magic of the winter wonderland that surrounded them. Chris smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "it's time for you to try Santa's special eggnog." With a flourish, Chris produced a large, ornate jug filled with a creamy, rich liquid that seemed to shimmer with a light of its own. Ethan, already feeling the weight of his indulgence, hesitated for a moment. But the allure of the magical world he was becoming a part of was too strong to resist. As Ethan drank the eggnog, he felt a warm sensation spreading through him. It was as though each sip was filling him with the essence of Christmas itself. The thick, sweet liquid coated his throat, and with each gulp, he could feel his body responding. It was as if he was inflating, his frame expanding softly but persistently under the fabric of his dream-self's clothes.
With each sip, Ethan felt a gentle expansion, starting from his core and radiating outward. It was as if the very essence of the holiday season was filling him, softening his once rigid and athletic build into something more akin to the legendary figure of Santa Claus himself. His abdomen, previously toned and firm, began to round and soften, gradually losing the definition of muscle in a slow, mesmerising change. This transformation was not abrupt but gradual, like a slow and steady filling that was both visible and palpable. Ethan's arms and legs, once the epitome of strength and discipline, began to take on a fuller, softer appearance. The fabric of his dream-self's clothes stretched a little more with each passing moment, accommodating his changing form. The most notable change was in his chest and midsection. His pecs, previously sculpted and prominent, were now becoming enveloped in a layer of softness. As Ethan attempted to rise, shifting onto his hands and knees, he found himself pausing to gather his bearings amidst the bewildering transformation he was experiencing. The weight and feel of his body were so different now, profoundly unfamiliar. As he steadied himself, preparing to stand, he felt a distinct sensation – his stomach, rounder and softer than it had ever been, made contact with the ground; a golden glow seemed to intensify around him, casting a radiant aura upon his now oversized form.
Chris, with an enigmatic smile, beckoned other elves to join them, each bearing a glistening pitcher of creamy eggnog. The liquid flowed in a continuous stream, cascading into a colossal goblet before pouring into Ethan's eagerly awaiting lips. Hours passed, yet time in this dreamscape felt elastic, stretching on as Ethan continued to imbibe the rich, frothy concoction. With each gulp, he could feel his body growing heavier, his belly expanding like a living, breathing balloon. The sensation was overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and discomfort, as the eggnog seemed to infuse him with the essence of Christmas itself. Chris observed with fascination as Ethan's transformation unfolded before his eyes. His once-toned body had become an undulating sea of flesh, rippling with each gulp. The contours of muscle gave way to soft, pliable curves that swelled relentlessly. His limbs, once lithe and agile, were now ponderous and laden with the weight of indulgence. Chris couldn't help but notice how Ethan's skin, stretched taut over his expanding girth, took on a luminous quality as if it held the very radiance of the holiday season. Ethan's moans of pleasure mingled with the chorus of the workshop, where the other elves continued their joyful preparations. The goblet's contents seemed endless, and as the scale approached a staggering 300 kilograms, Ethan's laughter filled the air, a deep and hearty sound that resonated with the essence of Santa Claus himself.
Ethan's transformation was nothing short of extraordinary. The relentless flow of eggnog continued to feed his insatiable appetite for Christmas spirit, and his body responded in kind. His gut surged forward like an unstoppable force, expanding with a voracious appetite of its own. It hung heavily between his legs, creating a pendulous mass that now eclipsed even his knees. His once-defined pecs had long lost their athletic form, now transformed into enormous, fat-laden breasts that jiggled with every movement. They pressed against his burgeoning belly, a cascade of soft, supple flesh that defied gravity. The voluptuous curves of a Santa-in-training now supplanted the power and strength that had once defined his physique. Ethan's limbs, once agile and muscular, had become unwieldy masses of plumpness. His arms, which had once lifted weights and carried him through athletic feats, were now flabby appendages that swayed with each ponderous step. His thighs, once powerful pillars of strength, had ballooned into colossal columns of adipose, encasing his lower body in layers of luscious fat. The transformation was relentless, and Ethan's very identity seemed to blur with each passing moment. The former athlete was now becoming a living embodiment of indulgence, a blob of holiday merriment. His laughter, once vibrant and athletic, now had a deeper, more resonant quality, echoing the spirit of Santa Claus himself.
As Ethan's body continued to swell, the once-joyful atmosphere in the workshop began to take on an air of urgency. The other elves, their faces flushed with excitement, pushed him harder to drink more eggnog. What had started as an exhilarating journey into holiday indulgence now began to fill Ethan with apprehension. He could feel his mobility diminishing as the layers of fat encased him, rendering his once-athletic physique immobile and cumbersome. Just when Ethan thought he couldn't take another sip, Chris stepped forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. With a flick of his wrist and a whispered incantation, Chris's magic surged through the workshop. Ethan's eyes widened in realisation as he felt the transformation intensify. His body expanded at an alarming rate, his flesh seemingly inflating with each passing moment. Ethan's joy quickly turned to apprehension as his body swelled uncontrollably, he was growing large, taller even as his body accommodated the influx of fat. Encasing him like a living cocoon, growing fatter and fatter with each heartbeat, Ethan was positively giant. Chris watched with a knowing smile as Ethan's form expanded, his eyes filled with a mix of pleasure and desire. The once-svelte elf had orchestrated this dramatic change, and he reveled in the sight of Ethan becoming a living embodiment of holiday indulgence. With each passing moment, Ethan grew larger and rounder, his body encased in layers of plush, creamy fat.
Chris, driven by desire and curiosity, climbed up the treacherous terrain of Ethan's expanding body. The ocean of fat seemed endless, and every step was a thrilling challenge. His fingers sank into the soft, yielding flesh as he ascended, and he couldn't help but revel in the intoxicating sensations. Finally, Chris reached Ethan's grotesquely swollen breasts, their immense size a testament to the extent of his transformation. Chris settled there, gazing down at the mesmerising scene below. With a playful smirk, he produced a plate of cookies, each bite laden with dark magic that fuelled Ethan's insatiable appetite. Ethan, moaning in a mix of pleasure and excitement, devoured the cookies with a ravenous hunger that only grew with each bite. With every morsel, his body expanded further, his skin stretching and straining to accommodate the rapid growth. The sensation was a heady mix of pleasure and anticipation, and both Ethan and Chris were eager to see just how far this transformation could go.
Chapter 8: Ethan’s Christmas Wish
As the clock struck midnight, the workshop fell into an eerie silence, signalling the arrival of Christmas Eve. All the bustling elves froze in their tracks, their work suddenly halted. It was a moment of anticipation, a pause in the enchantment that had enveloped the workshop. Ethan, now an inconceivable mass of gluttony, lay somewhere within the colossal ball of lard that Chris perched upon. He was indistinguishable from the ethereal mound, a stark contrast to the fit man he had once been. The transformation had reached its zenith, and he was now a living monument to indulgence. The elves, lined up in a solemn row, seemed to shimmer with a mystical energy. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, and a sense of wonder filled the air. It was as if the very essence of Christmas magic had descended upon the workshop.
With the workshop bustling and the enchantment of Christmas Eve filling the air, Chris turned to Ethan, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "It's time, Ethan," he said, his voice a melodic whisper. "Make your wish, and let the magic of Christmas do the rest." Ethan, now an inconceivable mass of gluttony, found his voice amidst the sea of lard that enveloped him. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and made his wish. Ethan, lost in the sea of his own excess, suddenly felt a surge of ecstasy wash over him. He sensed himself floating downward, his essence flowing like a river into the waiting elves below. It was a sensation beyond words, a union with the very spirit of Christmas itself. As he wished, the elves around them began to change. Once shirtless Adonis-like figures, their bodies rippling with muscular definition, they now underwent a remarkable transformation as they absorbed Ethan’s Christmas Spirit. Their skin took on a soft, velvety quality, and their chiselled physiques gave way to plump, rounded forms. The transformation was a mesmerising dance of indulgence as each elf swelled with newfound curves and delightful softness. The elves' bodies grew fatter and fatter, their once-athletic builds now obscured beneath layers of lush, creamy fat. They seemed to revel in their newfound indulgence, their eyes sparkling with delight as they became living embodiments of holiday cheer. As the elves absorbed the essence of Ethan's wish, he felt himself growing smaller, the excess fat that had encased him flowing outward and into the waiting elves. He watched in amazement as they absorbed his transformation, their bodies expanding even further as they embraced the joy of holiday excess.
Chris's skin took on a glossy sheen as it stretched to accommodate his expanding girth. His chest, once flat and toned, blossomed into a pair of plump, soft mounds that strained against the fabric of his shirt. The shirt itself groaned under the strain, buttons threatening to pop as they struggled to contain the burgeoning expanse of his belly. His arms, which had once possessed a graceful, athletic elegance, became thick, flabby appendages laden with layers of luxurious fat. They swayed with every movement, a testament to the rapid transformation overtaking him. Chris's legs, once lean and agile, now thickened with luscious padding, and his thighs brushed against each other as he shifted his weight. His once-narrow waist expanded into a generous, round midsection, a sphere of holiday excess that defied imagination. His face, though still recognisable, had taken on a rosy flush, and his cheeks swelled with the delightful plumpness of holiday cheer. Even his ears seemed to have grown rounder, nestled beneath a layer of soft, inviting flesh. As the transformation continued, Chris seemed to revel in his newfound form, his eyes twinkling with the delight of holiday indulgence. He laughed heartily, a deep and joyous sound that resonated with the spirit of Christmas.
Ethan marvelled at the enchanting sight before him. Chris, once a svelte and confident elf, had become a living embodiment of holiday excess, his frame inflating with the very essence of the season. The workshop shimmered with the magic of their shared transformation, and as the clock ticked closer to the midnight hour, they prepared for the festivities that awaited on this most magical of Christmas Eve. Ethan found himself lying on his back in the workshop, exhausted from the transformation. A fattened Chris came into his vision; he leant down and kissed Ethan on the lips/
“Thank you.” He said, “You’ve given us more cheer than we could have wished for; this Christmas is going to be a magical one.” Ethan kissed him back before his eyes opened, and his Christmas dream ended.
Chapter 9: Christmas Morning
Christmas morning had arrived, and as Ethan stirred from his slumber, he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and anticipation. The vivid memories of the enchanting dream and the remarkable transformation lingered in his mind. He sat up in bed, and as he looked down at himself, his jaw dropped in awe.
His once-bloated, rotund form had been replaced by a physique that defied imagination. He was now a hulking titan, his muscles sculpted and defined in a way that rivalled the mightiest of warriors. Each bulging muscle seemed carved from granite, and his sheer size was awe-inspiring.
Ethan swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hopped up, unbalanced by the sheer bulk of his newfound titan muscles. As he made his way to the kitchen, he quickly realised that his expanded frame posed unexpected challenges. When he reached the bedroom door, he found himself wedged in, his massive shoulders and chest too wide to pass through. With a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation, Ethan ducked under the doorway, the muscles of his back and legs rippling with power as he maneuvered through the narrow space. He finally emerged into the kitchen, where he spotted a plate of cookies on the table.
Ethan couldn't help but grin as he approached. He picked up a note, and there, in elegant handwriting, were the words: "See you again next year. Chris."
A smile spread across Ethan's face as he realised that the enchanting adventure he had embarked upon had indeed not only been a dream. It had been a journey of holiday magic, indulgence, and transformation, and he knew that he would carry the spirit of Christmas with him throughout the year waiting until next Christmas where he hoped he’d be asked to don his Santa suit again.
#gainerfiction#fittofat#weight gain#bhm#male weight gain#fat gut#fat story#male bhm#exjock#fat ffa#Christmas weight gain#bhm fiction#bhm weight gain
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As someone who grew up in a very recently post 9/11 USA and had to do this myself, I'd like to hear how the rest of you started deconstructing the islamaphobic rhetoric we've been fed our whole lives.
I remember one specific incident, I dont remember anyones name, where a young girl had written a book and was invited on the news to talk about it. She sat down, all excited and happy, about as young as I was, maybe a few years older (I was about 8 or 9, this would have been 2008 or 2009) all ready to share her story and how she had written it with the world. And the woman who interviewed her started it out by asking her "do you condem 9/11"
All the happiness instantly leaked out of her face and was replaced by genuine fear. THEY (the adults) were scaring HER (young child) and everyone expected me to believe they acted like that because muslims are scary and evil. Even at that young age I understood why she would be scared. By asking her if she comdemned it, they subtly implied she has something to do with it. She now has to defend herself against random, unrealistic, ludicrous, unfair claims about a terrorist attack shes too young to personally remember. I knew she HAD to respond to these things calm and measured, she HAD to keep her cool or they'd have painted her as some crazy pyscho. She tried to explain she was to young to remember or have had anything at all to do with this, but the interviewer threw a large and noticeable bitch fit demanding she condemned it verbally. And so she did.
Never once did that interviewer though. Never once do any of them. The grown adults, old enough to have had something to do with it. Old enough to have sent support to Osama Bin Laden and Al-Qaeda. Old enough to have been an informant or a spy. They never condemned him or his actions. In fact as I grew to notice, it was only okay to ask muslim people that, and deeply DEEPLY offensive to even suggest that they the interviewers do.
She never got to talk about her book. The demands of the interviewer wasted all the time.
In less specific examples, I remember random muslim people I saw asked this question on the news or random street interviews would answer calmy and concisely even if their anger was obvious. In an admireable show of self-control they'd keep their cool and not go off on the interviewer.
I always felt it was disrespectfull to the dead to do that. Dragging their memories up and waving them around in the face of these random people because they shared a religion with someone evil. They died horrificly, some people burning, some jumping, many being crushed to death. It didnt need to be treated like a Q&A moment everytime someone had an obviously muslim person in their presence.
Eventually it just began to click that the fall of the twin towers, the hijacking of the planes, the deaths of all 2,996 people wasnt the issue these people had. They cared about loudly hating muslim people and the deaths of those people provided a nice excuse to do it for 20 years publicly.
#text post#long post#questions#filistin 🇵🇸#gaza strip#islamiphobic#anti muslim#palestinians#9/11#deconstruction#unlearning
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