#cis-swap

[rheaitis]

See your Female Arjuna and crave for reverse, what if Karna born girl

“I do not have a son,” Pritha says once her husband has finished his enumeration of the ways in which they could obtain heirs despite the curse keeping him forcibly celibate, just as though she is an ignorant girl in some backwater village. Behind his back, Madri rolls her eyes in what would be brazen mockery from one less graceful, and is still amusing enough to make Pritha purse her lips to avoid a smile.

“Ah,” Pandu says. “Very well, O Blessed One, we will contrive a solution.”

They know, each as well as the other, what solution it is likely to be: one from the getting of a child and the other from being begotten. They look away to the soil, to the sky, both mortified, while fearless Madri glances from one to another, curious.

“I do not have a son,” Pritha says again, “but, O King, I have been blessed by the sage Durvasa and can summon the gods into my embrace.”

Pandu’s head swings up, eyes shining eager, pale face flushing a blotchy red. So eager, her valiant husband, like a boy on his first hunt, a pup on the scent.

It is Madri who says, “May not such gifts be perilous in mortal hands? You may win a son and lose a wife, O Husband.”

It would be heartwarming if Pritha could be certain it wasn’t manipulative instead. Regardless, she reaches out to tangle her fingers with Madri’s, and smiles at Pandu before saying, “I cannot be certain it will be a son, but you will lose no wives to this quest. In my thoughtless youth I summoned Aditya to my bed and he left me a daughter golden as dawn-bright Usha.”

Vasu is conscious of the stares she’s getting, on top of the stares all of them are getting. It is foolish how unprepared she feels for any of it when they had discussed the likely situation every night after the younger children had fallen asleep, she and Yudh shoulder to shoulder facing their mother like disciples, supplicants. Queen Pritha was lovely in the forest, but with every day on the road she has grown more splendid: at the head of the procession now she looks like an idol into which some god has breathed life. Her children and stepsons, Vasu diagnoses with an expert eye, are far less presentable. Vasu is the only one of them to have ever inhabited a city, a palace, and she was only four when outriders from Pandu took her from the arms of the nanny she’d thought was her mother.

“They’re looking at us,” Arjun complains from behind her shoulder, his pony nudging at her geldling. “I don’t like it.”

Arjun is her absolute favourite, a thing which she does not even attempt to disguise. But he is, like all little brothers—and Vasu is an expert in the matter, having five—an annoying brat with a gift for overstating the obvious.

“It’ll be worse when we get to the palace,” Bhim says ghoulishly. “All those cousins!”

“I’m sure they’ll be nice,” Vasu tells him. “Now look after the twins, I need to go talk to Yudh. Don’t hare off on a ride, this isn’t like home.”

It would be home, it would have to be, but for all she’s nineteen and a woman grown, Vasu feels for a moment as shockingly young as Madri’s sons: nine and still bawling for their parents every night.

The cousins are awful. The aunt is fine if remote, the uncles are… Vasu isn’t sure what she thinks of the uncles, for all they make it very clear what they variously think of her: Shakuni a tool, Vidura a protege, Dhritarashtra the possibility for an alliance. Grand-Uncle Bhishma, if he notices her beyond the archery, does not approve. It’s fine, Vasu’s not looking for approval and she is, she knows she is, an aberration, out of place in the neat story of Pandu’s sons, like an extra thumb on a hand.

But the cousins, oh the cousins. The eldest of them is the girl, Dushala, a month or so younger than Yudh and nearly as quiet. Then the unending stream of boys, led by Suyodhan who would be comely if he weren’t scowling and Sushasan whose name is a despairing parent’s fond wish. Vasu felt guilty for not being able to keep all their names in mind, but only a little because Yudh couldn’t either. Probably their mother could, as she’d always known not only the names but histories of all the servants, sages and itinerant mendicants they encountered.To Vasu they’re a river of troubles that Bhim keeps enthusiastically diving into to take on the crocodiles and eels in the depths.

And then the river tries to drown him. Vasu listens dry-eyed to their mother’s reasoning and agrees to keep it quiet. Then she and Yudh go out to their favourite hiding-place—and what a horror it is that they need such a spot, here in the home of her brothers’ father—and drink their way steadily through the last of their year’s stash of honeymead. In the morning she bawls them all out, makes them swear to never venture away from each other, never listen to their cousins, never trust anyone in service to the princes of the Elephant Throne.

It should, Vasu knows, be rather a surprise that it has taken so long for anyone to plot her marriage than to find it in her mother's plans, but it has been so long, and she is twenty-one and old for it, that it comes as a shock to have Queens Pritha and Gandhari turn to her one morning while she's doing her best to be unobtrusive, and say

"It is a good match."

"We do need eyes in Kampilya."

Another thing unsurprising, that it is her mother who cares for the politics of it openly and her aunt tries to disguise it with words of care.

It is, and they do. Vasu does not bother protesting that she has little interest in men and less in marriage, or that she would far prefer to watch her brothers grow into the glorious heroes they’re sure to become. She is Pandu’s daughter by adoption and Pritha’s by birth, a woman of the Yadavas far more than of the Kauravas: a political animal from curled hair to painted toenails. Better alliances will keep Yudh’s throne more stable, and their cousins have sent away their only girl.

The boys are gratifyingly miserable, Bhim cooking up a storm and Arjun coaxing her into archery lessons he no longer needs and the twins mutely clinging. With all that it is hardest to bid farewell to Yudh, who takes it all with dry eyes and a clenched jaw. He is seventeen, too old to need or heed her assurances, this brother whose birth restored her to her mother's arms and found her the only father she has ever had.

“You will see me again,” she tells him at last, and prods at him when he mulishly rounds his shoulders. “It is not so far in a light chariot, from here to Kampilya.”

“We met the twins’ uncle last year,” Yudh counters, “and our own never to this day.”

“My sons will see theirs,” she tells him as she gets up to dress, as her maids have been begging her for half the morning. “I’ll come to your coronation, little brother.”

Three years, five months and nine days after she sees them for the last time, a messenger comes to Vasupriya with news of her brothers’ death.

Her husband finds her in the outer courtyard of their quarters, methodically shredding a dropped tailfeather from one of the peacocks thronging the walls.

“We set out at dawn,” Shikhandi says, dropping to sit beside her and taking her wringing hands between his. "It is not so far in a light chariot."

[holly-natnicole]

[Image Description: Uchiha née Haruno Sakura and ciswapped or genderbent Uchiha Sasuke standing with the background being white. Sasuke is on the left and Sakura is on the right. Sasuke has short, black hair which spikes downwards and horizontally at the back yet is neatly combed at the front. She has her left elbow propped up against an invisible wall which Sakura is leaning against. Sasuke wears a black tank-top with a large, vertical tear over the right shoulder (or the fabric has simply been cut by scissors) and another smaller, horizontal one along her right side. The tank-top is cropped short enough to reveal Sasuke's stomach. Her black baggy trousers hang low on her hips, her underwear visible. She wears black shoes. Sakura's light pink, straight hair reaches past her shoulders and she wears a light pink cheerleader uniform with the miniskirt ending at mid-thigh. She has on slippers akin to ballet ones, but without the ribbons. Sakura has a light complexion whereas Sasuke is pale. They seem to be about 17 years old, so they aren't married yet.]

when the hot emo girl you’re always staring at finally confronts you

[tenowls]

double sided standee design i spent forever on. im unwell

[ysther]

twt archive 8/?

alien stage flip flops

[theradiatorhumz]

more trisha stumps. she’s kinda my muse lol

[mmagurro]

wangxian yuri 🫶🐺

[bunhells]

[justdavina]

Raya Lauren: I love her so MUCH!! I just love adorable petite transgender girls! And the dress!!!! OMG She's so adorable ladies don't you just LOVE her?

[solacestea]

[basil-leafeon]

[dailyrebranded]

Need her to kick me

[lwjboobies]

wei ying and bichen at your service 🫡💦✨

[pergogoi]

just got out of art block, have a fem! feng xin ✨

[gnight-tuzi]

"Did you hear? Lady Shen's maids blocked the lord from seeing her again! I've never seen such a willful, disobedient pair...!"

"Did you hear? They spend all day and night shut up in the lady's rooms, making all sorts of noises..."

"Did you hear? Did you hear...?"

[theradiatorhumz]

reposts from the old account. these are months old atp i need to draw gee again😋

[mmagurro]

wlw wangxian 🐰🌷