#even women who wore their hair short would have it cut by others in the community and have help oiling or styling it

[slverblood]

I think what makes the most sense is if Aylin has extremely short hair for a long time post-canon, almost shaved if not shaved at times, and then eventually grows it out again. Short hair is just easier to manage when she's already struggling and overwhelmed and adjusting to life after a century of torment. She's also trying to reclaim some power over the trauma of it being cut against her will by essentially revisiting what happened except now she's in control, she's holding the shears. As well as ensuring no one can ever take her hair from her again. She's cutting it off and burning it; there's nothing for them to take. It's an imperfect way of coping, but honestly show me a perfect one.

It's a long time — I'm talking years — before she decides to grow it out again. It's part of an attempt to move beyond what's been done to her, to rediscover how she wants to look not how she thinks it's safe to look. It's another way of reclaiming autonomy and power over herself, wearing her crown of hair in spite of those who would take it from her. It's also done in memory of the people, especially the women, she loved in her past. Erlona, the Four Moons, the priestesses in the temple — hair care was a shared ritual. Even Meadowlin brushed and braided her hair. She struggles a lot with physical touch after being freed, and she's hard on herself about that; she used to be so free with it. She used to fear nothing. But, it starts with trusting Isobel to help with her hair and slowly grows to trusting other people. She has a community again; she has family and friends again; she can trust and be safe and be loved.

Maybe there will be periods where she cuts it again and grows it out and shaves half and styles it a different way and dyes it. Ultimately, it's not about the hair. It's not about beauty or even femininity. It's about what the hair means to her. Having control over her own body and how she presents it. Having a connection to the community, to the people, that were her home. Carrying those rituals of intimacy forward into new relationships, feeling safe and loved again.

[painted-flag]

From Eden. Benjicot Blackwood

✧.* masterlist (Part two here)

✧.* pairing: benjicot blackwood x velaryon!oc

✧.* summary: caught in the brewing of war, Daenys Velaryon must forge alliances for her mother's claim to the throne. The Riverlands are paramount and she had the inexplicable luck of meeting Benjicot Blackwood.

✧.* word count: 11k.

✧.* note: this is a whopping long imagine. thank you all for the support on the preview. this is brought to you by instant ramen and my inability to focus on coursework. no beta reader as I live life on the edge (truthfully i do not have any)

A loud clap of thunder followed in succession by the flashing of lightning illuminated the library of Dragonstone. In the late hour of the wolf, Daenys found herself entombed within the walls of parchment, scanning drawn-up battle plans and strategies written by maesters who had nary seen a single battle. The feeling of ever-present stress loomed over her, creeping from the shadows that were not illuminated by scattered candles. That feeling of anxiety - pressing down harshly on her chest - had been a footnote in her life. 

Daenys did not need to be a dragon dreamer, like her namesake, to see the future of her house. War was coming, that much was obvious. She knew at the age of nine that her mother’s claim would be challenged and since then her life had been spent preparing. The intensity of conflict did not matter, Daenys would be prepared regardless. So, like most nights, she had settled herself among the pages of books. Her body, worn from training all day, had relished in the feeling of sitting down in a plush chair. 

The book in her lap, An Analysis of Ground Moves of the First Dornish War, had begun to kill her mood. The maestor who wrote it had no skill of explanation, nor seemed to have care for fighting in general. She cursed his weak analyses on certain moves and more outwardly she cursed the tone in which he wrote when speaking of her Targaryen ancestors - in particular the women. Daenys leaned back in her chair and repressed the urge to chuck to tome across the room. All that access to knowledge and training yet maesters still seemed to fall short. 

The echoes of footsteps sounded between claps of thunder. Daenys glanced up to see her mother. Rhaenyra had her hair down in light waves. The nightclothes she wore were made from black and red fabrics and stitched in the fashion of dragon-influenced style, part of a matching set that the two women shared. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth set in a line. The heir apparent sat down in the chair beside her daughter and glanced at the book in Daenys lap. 

“The hour is late, yet you are out of bed?” 

Daenys’ arms rested on the book, “Sleep could not come.” 

“Or have you run from sleep? Increasingly so, as of late.” Her mother’s observation cut deep. It was true, for Daenys had become antsy. More and more nights were spent reading, and even more days training with the sword. Exhaustion had become her friend and respite her enemy. She felt behind, as her training had only started a few years prior - after years of requesting to learn. Any day a war could break, yet she sat about for most of her life doing nothing but sewing and other pointless tasks to be a good wife.

“Don’t you feel it, mother? That sinking feeling of... something clawing at your feet for that damned throne.” Daenys’ gaze rose to meet Rhaenyra. As her mother's only daughter by birth, they held a certain bond. The ability to understand what one another wished to say without so much as a word. A twitch of the brow, a quiver of the lip, or the tilt of their head was worth more than what any uttered words could convey. Mother and daughter, one unable to live without the other. Like bees and flowers or the moon and sun. A push and pull of exchange. Rhaenyra knew her daughter wanted to help, and it crushed her. She wanted Daenys to live without that fear - to relish in her days as a princess. 

“The burden is not yours to bear alone,” Daenys spoke after a minute of silence. Rhaenyra sported a fleeting smile at her daughter's words. 

“I know, but it does not pain me any less,” Rhaenyra adjusted in her seat, “Is there anything you wish to discuss about it?” 

“We need the Riverlands.” There was not a moment of pause between her mother's question and the answer. “There is loyalty secured in many regions, especially the North, but the Riverlands are important. We do not have a strong enough hold there.” 

Rhaenyra resisted smiling at Daenys eagerness in politics. Had she been born minutes before Jacaerys instead of afterwards, Rhaenyra would have been confident in claiming her as heir. Jacaerys, as dutiful as he could be, was still lagging in comparison to his twin regarding diplomacy. 

“And how do you propose to remedy this?” 

Daenys paused, reluctance flashed across her face for a moment but she pushed it down. “I have to marry.” Rhaenyra tilted her head in a questioning manner but Danys continued, “I know I have been against it, but you need a strong foothold in those lands. Many major battles in history are fought there and if our house is to remain strong, we must command as much of it as possible.” 

“The Tully’s have no available members to marry.” 

“We needn't rely on House Tully. There are other houses there that are sure to have available sons. House Frey, Mooton, Bracken, Mudd, Blackwood, Lothston, and many more. One that is as close to the Tully’s as possible and stocked with a good amount of soldiers.” Daenys’ gaze swept along the darkened room, the bookshelves being illuminated by a small number of candles and the raging storm outside. 

“I want you to be happy-” 

“My happiness is seeing you on that throne. Mother, you deserve it more than any other fat and drunk lord who lives on the continent.” The women giggled, and for a brief moment the storm outside - political and natural - ceased to exist. 

“This is what you want?” Rhaenyra held her breath after she asked. Daenys nodded gently. They once again settled into a silence, their eyes focused on the flames inside the hearth. More thunderous roars from outside continued to assail Dragonstone. “I have some news, of which only a few know.” 

Daenys sat up straighter, intrigued with what her mother had brought up. She marked her spot in the book and placed it on the small table beside her chair. Her body turned to see her mother more clearly. 

“I am with child.” Rhaenyra’s words echoed in the room, “It was just confirmed this morning with the maester.” 

“That’s good news, mother, truly.” Daenys reached out to hold Rhaenyra’s hand. They both smiled, content to last in their bubble.

“I think it's a girl. There is something about this pregnancy that feels different than all the rest.” The heir to the Iron Throne spoke softly, but loud enough to be heard above the raging storm. 

“Good. We’ve been dreadfully lacking women in the family. We are outnumbered.” Daenys looked back at her book, the title of the First Dornish War embossed into the leather binding, “Visenya.” 

Rhaenyra looked at her quizzically, and Daenys continued, “You should name her Visenya.” 

Her mother smiled gently and nodded, “I shall take that to heart. Now,” She got out of her seat, “Get to bed, ñuha prūmia.” Rhaenyra gave Daenys a gentle kiss on her forehead before walking away and out of the library. 

Daenys stayed in her seat, gazing mindlessly into the fireplace. Her heart was heavy. The prospect of marriage never worried her much. Any suitor that wished to court her quickly ran upon seeing her stepfather Daemon, who always seemed to grip Dark Sister tightly when they approached - a signal of warning. She never had to worry about ending up with a foul lord, or even end up marrying any time soon. Yet, her allegiance to her mother was stronger than any distaste for being wed. She got up and blew out some of the candles around her. 

She made her way across the library, down the many winding halls of Dragonstone, and into her bedchamber. Once settled at her vanity, she put her hair in a simple braid to protect it while she slept. Turning towards her bed, she spotted her sword resting against the chest placed at its foot. She walked over and unsheathed the steel. It was not Valyrian steel, unfortunately. But, the piece was expertly crafted at the behest of Daemon. Her hand gripped the hilt and the other gently traced the centre of the blade. 

Daenys swore that she would not make the task of gaining her hand easy for the Riverland lords. If her mother were to gain an ally, he would need to prove his worth. She had built up a reputation over the years. A beauty, that much is true, and the ability to charm members of the court easily, despite what some gossip about her parentage may say. However, upon being taught to fight by Daemon, she had managed to also build up a reputation for sharp wit and even sharper fighting skills. 

Exhaustion had finally caught up to her, so she moved to put the sword away and crawl into bed. Once settled, Daenys fell into a world of dreams. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

Daenys wished, with all her heart, that she could go back in time and club herself over the head for even suggesting a search for a husband in the Riverlands. The conversation with her mother two weeks ago quickly led to plans being laid. Daenys, on the back of her dragon Suneater, and her brother Jacaerys on the back of Vermax, had arrived at Riverrun to be greeted by Lord Elmo Tully. A kind old man, with dark red hair, streaked with the white of age. Daenys did not wish for her brother to accompany her, but Rhaenyra was adamant that she have a member of the family there to make sure she was not completely alone. Rhaenyra also added that it would help Jace’s claim to the throne more if he met and treated the lords of the Riverlands. 

However, the trip to the Riverlands quickly became sour. On the third day there after settling in, the petitions began. She was only a few hours in, and Daenys had already grown frightfully bored by the endless men - young and very much old - that made their case. Lord of this castle or that holdfast, it did not matter. All the men started to blend into one, with a few that managed to stand out. She sat on a raised dias in the grand hall of Riverrun, with Lord Tully to her right and Jace to her left. Occasionally, after a particularly awkward or gross petition, Jace and Daenys would glance at one another in complete awe. Daenys had underestimated the audacity of some men and now she finally understood why Rhaenyra had so many wild stories of overzealous lords making their petitions to her. At first, her stories seemed too odd to be fully real, but now in Daenys’ own few hours of experience, there was no doubt left in her. 

She leaned back and stifled a yawn as the old man in front of her droned on about his experience in some battle long ago. Lord Tully saw the princess's mood and leaned forward, “Thank you, Lord Ryger, for your attendance. It appears we shall end the petitions for the day and continue on the morrow.” 

Daenys resisted letting out a sigh of relief, though the look on Jace’s face showed he was just as relieved as her. Many men in the hall said their proper goodbyes, bowing to them before exiting. 

“Thank you, Lord Tully. It seems that I have many people to consider.” Daenys gave him a flattering smile, hoping that it could mask her previous displays of indifference. 

“That is good,” Lord Tully stood up and bowed to both her and Jace, “I shall you both at the feast tonight.” 

Once gone, Daenys sat up straighter in her seat and turned her torso towards her brother, “There’s to be a feast?” 

“Of course there is.” Jace smiled at the exasperated look on his sister's face. Truly, the whole time he had been rather entertained. A little bored, but ultimately found humour in his sister's expressions throughout the morning of lords' petitions. 

She leaned back in her seat and slid down slightly, sighing loudly. “A whole bloody feast.” Jace began to laugh, but Daenys would have none of it. “Don’t be too quick to humour, brother. All the lords who are already married are bound to have daughters, and as the future heir to the throne, I do believe they will flock to you like flies to shit.” 

“Are you saying I am the shit in your comparison?” The smile on Jace’s face faded. 

“You said it, Jace, not I.” She bounced to her feet and made her way towards the exit. 

Jace called out as she left, “And where are you off to?” 

“To Suneater,” Daenys responded while looking over her shoulder, “Lords cannot follow me into the sky.” She walked away to the sound of her brother's light chuckles. The dress she was wearing had begun to feel heavy on her, the weight of her mission to gain a good husband to aid in any possible future challenges to her mother seemed impossible. From the men she met so far… the outcome was looking bleak. There was one man who was closer to her age, yet every detail about him escaped her. Was it Aken… perhaps Barken… Breaker? The only detail worth noting about him was the garish yellow shade he wore, the rest was all exactly like every other man before. 

Daenys had changed into her riding leathers and gleefully made her way through the halls and to the courtyard. Upon exiting the castle, she glanced around the yard full of many men who were talking and sparring. The bustling laughter continued, with some lords near her choosing to greet her. Daenys pushed off many wishing to start a conversation with the excuse of going to visit her dragon. At the mere mention of her companion, the lords backed off. They are too fearful at the thought of a dragon, why do they think they are fit to marry one?

Glancing around at the fighting people while proceeding through the courtyard, she looked at a group. They were sporting red and black, and a feeling of homesickness washed over her. House Targaryen colours were familiar to her, mixed with Velaryon colours of course - for her father. The hushed voices of her uncles echoed in her mind; Bastard. 

Brushing that thought away, she decided to watch the group. The men dressed in those colours were sparring. A blond struggled against the blows from a dark-haired man, his lean and built form assailing with strength. 

It seemed that whenever the blond one got the upper hand, it only lasted for a short time. Daenys slowed her walking as she passed. While she was many metres away, she could still hear the words of encouragement and jest by the other men around them - dressed in the same colours of black and red. The blond man was facing her, and upon seeing the Princess, got momentarily distracted. The dark-haired man moved quickly, knocking his opponent to the ground in one fell swoop of his legs. The blond crashed to the ground and let out a string of curses, his clothes muddied. 

“Is the ground comfortable, Rickard?” The dark-haired man joked. The men around would have laughed, but their eyes moved to where the blond, Rickard, had his eyes. They all seemed frightened. Daenys could tell they were all around her age and most likely had never seen a member of the Royal family, given the fact that they were frozen on the spot. Rickard got up, albeit in a clumsy manner, and tilted his head down in a subtle bow with the rest of the men following. 

The dark-haired man turned and his eyes met hers. She could not gauge their colour, as she was standing a good few feet away. The grip on his sword slacked. He seemed stunned and a faint red coated his face. Daenys could not tell if it was from his training or her presence. He nodded to her and she hummed gently before nodding back to him and the other men. 

While Daenys was intrigued by those men, all she wanted was a reprieve from the men around her. She turned her body and continued on her previous course, oblivious to the stares that followed. On the other side of a hill - a fair distance from the gates of Riverrun - lay Suneater and Vermax. The two were beside one another, as their personalities blended. Occasionally, the two would clash much like her and Jace, but truly acted as siblings. Daenys felt the weight on her chest that accumulated throughout the day disappear. Finally, she could be free, even just for a while. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The hours had passed in mere moments. Daenys had begun her flight midday and had landed as the sun began to set, giving her just enough time to get to her chambers and have the maids prepare her for the feast. She was delighted that the courtyard was relatively empty, save for a few servants mulling about. No pesky conversations to derail her. 

However, Daenys heard the sound of grunting and the beating of a sword. She turned to a corner of the yard to see the same dark-haired man still training. The others had left, but he lingered on. His back was to her, but she doubted he would even notice her if he was facing in her direction. He seemed completely enraptured in the swings of his sword, as if the world had disappeared and here he remained. 

Daenys recognized this focus. She too felt that, albeit when riding her dragon. It was a feeling of belonging like there was nothing else meant for her to do. No more masking and pretending to feel like the people around her, just free to get lost in something she loved. The process of becoming a different person and getting lost in the way it makes you feel. She believed it must be a similar thing to the way he was fighting. She paused for a moment to study his form. Strong, but sly. With each stroke of the sword, images of the royal painters appeared in her mind. The art of their brush strokes mirrored that of the steel he swung. Calculated and precise, but free. Each time the steel met the straw dummy, it looked like paint hitting a canvas. 

Daenys did not wish to disturb his focus, but the burning intrigue of who this man was had overpowered that wish, “I do believe he is dead.” The man stopped with a jump and swung his body around in quick succession, his eyes alert. It was only upon seeing Daenys and assessing her as no immediate threat that he let his guard down. 

“Yes, princess, um… indeed.” His response made Daenys almost wish she did not disturb him. It was clear that he appeared slightly shy when not engrossed in combat. A part of her related to it. 

“I apologize for my earlier interruption. It was not my intention to have distracted your friend.” Daenys stepped close and leaned against a fence that connected to the large stables. She was within just a metre or two of the man and could now finally see him more clearly. He was a pleasant sight, exceedingly so compared to the dozens of men she met that morning. 

“You need not apologize, princess. It was his fault, he should have been focusing on the fight.” 

“Well, I hope he is alright from the fall, Lord…” Daenys trailed off, hoping to know his name. She thought back to her morning in the hall and meeting all the lords who contended for her hand. She could not remember him. That could not be right, she would remember a man who looked like that. It seemed that he was not there in the morning, most likely to see her in the days to come. 

“Benjicot Blackwood, your grace.” He nodded at her, his dark hair moved gently in the subtle breeze. 

“It is nice meeting you, Lord Blackwood.” Daenys smiled at him. She felt unusual, to be taken by charm so quickly and with so few words. She searched within her brain for any knowledge regarding the family. It was an old house, with roots deep within Westeros spanning back to the first men. Kings during the Age of Heroes. She remembered reading about their ability to field an army larger than that of House Tully, yet still bent the knee to them. 

“You flatter me, princess, but I am not Lord Blackwood yet. My father still presides over Raventree Hall.” Benjicot’s voice was calm, despite his appearance coming off as slightly nervous. 

“I am sorry, Lord Benjicot, for the misunderstanding.”

Ben broke eye contact and gazed around the courtyard for a moment before returning to her, “We seem to be apologizing repeatedly to one another, your grace.” 

“Yes, let us end that,” Daenys situated herself to sit on the fence, a rather unladylike action. She found that she could get away with that type of behaviour the further she was from the court of Kings Landing and Dragonstone. “What brings a member of House Blackwood to Riverrun at this time?” 

“Well, the crown princess happens to be visiting,” Ben answered. 

“I heard she is spoilt and vain.” Daenys joked.

Ben seemed to loosen up just slightly at her friendliness, “She is not so bad. Rather pleasant if you ask me.” The two stare at one another for a few moments, wondering which one would break the jest first. In a display of synchrony, they both smiled and let out a short burst of laughter. 

Daenys spoke after calming down, “So I am just pleasant, my lord?” 

“Yes, your grace, incredibly so.” Ben’s words sounded more sincere than expected and it caught Daenys slightly off guard. 

“You are not so bad, as well, Lord Benjicot. Incredibly so.” Daenys jumped down from the fence and brushed off her hands that were resting along the wood. “I hope you are not absent from the feast tonight as you were this morning. I should like to speak to you more, my lord.”

“I will be there princess.” 

The two both nodded to one another before Daenys began to walk away. As she retreated, she could not help but feel a little less stressed about the feast. Maybe the idea of being surrounded by boisterous lords, many eager to dance with her, would not be so bad if Benjicot Blackwood was there. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The band was in full swing. The echoes of their instruments, playing a quick jig, bounced off the vaulted walls of the great hall. People sat at multiple long tables and ate from the vast amounts of plated food. There were others out of their seats, conversing with groups or dancing in the centre of the room. Lord Tully was at the centre of a table position in front of all the others. The Velaryon twins sat on either side of him. Jacaerys and Lord Tully were engaged in deep conversation on a topic Daenys had little care for. She stared at her plate of food. No matter how hard she tried, Daenys could not will herself to eat. The nerves of this night and having countless men stare at her made her stomach ache and turn. 

A figure stood up at the table, bowing to all three of them. He was adorned in brown and a muted yellow colour, with the sigil of a red stallion on his chest. While Daenys did think it ugly, she could not say the same for his appearance. He had a slender figure, and his facial structure was pretty for a man. His brown hair reached just past his shoulders, most of it pulled into a tie at the back with some loose strands. 

“Lord Tully, Prince Jacaerys, Princess Daenys,” He started, “It would be an honour to ask the princess if she should like to dance.” 

“I believe my sister would love to join you,” Jace answered. 

Daenys kept her head facing the man while her eyes turned to the side. Jacaerys was looking at her, an amused smile on his face. She focused back on the man and put on a pleasant smile, “It would be my pleasure.” She slowly got out of her chair, hoping for some miracle to prevent their dance. A fire set in the hall, or perhaps the gods could shake the earth and swallow her whole. 

When the man took hold of her arm to escort her, Daenys turned around and mouthed to her brother: traitor. Jace just waved slightly and picked up a mug of ale. The two made their way to the dance floor and joined many others. Her hands clasped hers as they faced one another and began moving. Daenys had to concentrate on her footwork, as her dancing skills were never the greatest.

“Aeron Bracken, your grace. I am sure you remember me from this morning.”

“Ah yes, how could I forget such a memorable petition… with ah… great accomplishments.” Daenys gave him a fake smile. She hoped that response would satisfy Aeron, as she truthfully had no memory of what his petition was. The words he had said sounded the same as all the rest, so despite not remembering, she could guess that they revolved around their accomplishments and house. 

“It gladens me that you have been thinking about me, your grace.” 

Daenys almost scoffed. Where did she ever mention thinking about him? Why would she think of him of all men? There was a brief flash of red and black in her vision, accompanied by a blur of dark hair. Swallowing her frustration down, she continued her womanly facade. 

“Yes, House Bracken is wonderful in their abilities and longstanding position in history.” The few things she knew about the house were their origins with the first men, and their proclivity to engage in petty disputes with other houses. She thought it best to not bring up the latter information. However, it did not seem that she would not have to bring it up as Aeron began to rant.

“There are some houses here that are not as fortunate or kind as mine. Some that are no good to be around, your grace.” Aeron’s face darkened slightly as his vision zeroed in on a group across the hall. Daenys turned and strained her eyes, for she was not as tall as him. Upon seeing through the crowd who he was looking at, her brows furrowed. Benjicot Blackwood stood conversing with a group of men at one of the tables. 

Aeron looked away and back at the princess, “I caution you with keeping the company of Blackwoods. They can be savage and cruel.” 

A flood of information swooped over her mind. A week prior to leaving for the Riverlands, she had tirelessly scanned through books on their history. She suddenly realized why both of the Houses sounded familiar. Out of the countless battles she read about, House Blackwood and Bracken were frequently are the forefront and more often than not the ones that started those conflicts. 

Daenys felt an odd urge to defend Benjicot, “You do not think I did my research before coming here, Lord Aeron?” 

“No, princess, that was not my intention,” He seemed to stumble over his words and his face flushed, “I just wish to protect you.” 

“I do not need your protection, my lord. I do believe having a dragon does that for me.” Daenys was thankful that the song was coming to a close. They separated and both bowed to one another like all the other partners on the floor. “Your baseless attempt at character assassination is just that, baseless. Thank you for the dance, Lord Aeron, but I think I will take my company elsewhere.”

Daenys gave him one last nod and walked away. She wanted to get away from Aeron quickly. She walked in the direction of Ben and his company of men, but an old lord stepped out in front of her just as she made it to him. The lord was old and greying, his wrinkled skin sagged against his stern face. Daenys never gagged at the sight of a person before, but she found herself almost doing so. 

“Princess Daenys, would you care for a dance?” His shrewd voice shattered her temporary relief. 

“Oh Lord–” She began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Lord Mooton,” Benjicot had spotted her approaching and saw the lord moving her way and quickly lept to action, “It is good to see you. I believe it was your great grandson's twentieth nameday celebration that we last saw on another. I have heard that your wife was looking for you.” Ben had his shoulders squared and towered over the old man's form. Daenys and Ben exchanged looks, resisting the urge to laugh in the lord's face at this awkward exchange. 

“Oh, yes, Lord Benjicot. Apologies princess, for I must go.” The man bowed and moved away, his old form moving slowly. 

“I owe you, Lord Benjicot, for saving me.” Daenys smiled at him. Her arms joined behind her back as she swayed side to side. 

“You need not thank me, your grace. Though, I would appreciate it if you would do me the favour of joining me on the floor?” Ben held out his hand. While he seemed confident, Daenys could tell there was still a shy nature being hidden - it was clear in his eyes. The hand that was outstretched shook so slightly it was hard to catch, but she did. Just a few minutes ago she wanted nothing more than to stop dancing, but in this case, she did not mind it. She had just found the right partner. 

Daenys took his hand in hers and the shaking ceased, “I shall.” Ben escorted her to the floor and they began to dance. She was even more nervous, as her lack of talent in dance may embarrass her in front of him. Ben did not seem to mind for he guided her gently before she could make any mistakes. 

“You should have seen the look on your face when Lord Mooton spoke to you. Pure befuddlement, your grace, possible disgust as well.” Ben quickly turned her to the pace of the music. 

“Do not jest of that, my lord. I felt like I would die.” Daenys retorted. 

“You would die? I think it would be Lord Mooton that goes first, considering his age.” 

Daenys let out a short laugh, “I do not know what I would have done if I had to suffer a dance with him.” She almost shivered at the thought of that lord's eyes scanning her body in such a predatory way. 

“Do not worry about it, your grace. All it would take is a stiff breeze to knock him over and it would no longer be your problem. Perhaps I could jump out of nowhere and startle him to death for you?” The dance had Ben pulling her closer with both of their hands connected. 

“I did not take you as a man quick to murder.” 

“Ah, but for you, dear princess, I would not hesitate.” Ben’s words sounded incredibly sincere and he made sure to be looking right at her when he said them. 

“You flatter me, my lord,” Daenys said, “I wanted to mention it earlier, but I must compliment your skills in fighting. Watching you train was engaging.” 

Ben spun them around and kept pace with those around them, “I shall hold those words with me for life, your grace.” 

“I also wished to ask if we could spar together.” Daenys raised her brow at him, hoping that he would like the same as well. 

“I can not even think about attacking you, princess. It would be improper.” 

Daenys knew he would not relent so easily, “I have been learning for a few years now, you need not worry about it.”

One of Ben’s hands reached down to her waist as they had to start walking to the right in a circle with others dancing. “Princess, the moment I even go in to swing at you, regardless of practicing, every lord in the castle would hunt me down.” 

“Then we shall make sure nobody sees. After the morning petitions on the morrow, we can meet up outside the gates and find a clearing somewhere.” Daenys tried to distract herself from the way his hand felt on her waist.  

“After you have been driven to frustration by all the lords? I should be worried you may take that anger out on me.” Ben spun her around again. The two of them released their grip on one another, stepping back a few paces and turning before finally coming back together again.

“With the skills I saw today, I do believe you can handle it,” Daenys said.

“I can handle that and more, princess,” Ben responded and his grip on her hand and waist tightened slightly. Daenys blushed heavily and hoped that it would not be too noticeable. She paused momentarily to figure out how to retort, but no words came to her. They settled into silence for a moment. The music died down and the dance came to a close. Daenys and Ben released their hold on each other and took a step back. 

“Thank you for the dance, Lord Benjicot. You need not worry about attending the petitions tomorrow and putting forth your name. I do not need to hear your case as I already favour your company.” Daenys tried to say what she wanted to say without making it too obvious or breaking any rules of propriety. It would be unseemly for a woman to actively pursue someone, but that would not stop her from voicing her opinion. 

“I favour your company as well, princess,” Ben responded, though he seemed slightly stunned. Daenys smiled at him and went back to the main dining table. 

Lord Tully had left, most likely off speaking to some guests, but Jace still sat at the table. He was nursing a mug of ale in his hand and sent her a large grin. 

“What have you done now, dear brother?” 

“Nothing, sister, however, I must admit I did not take you as one who liked to dance.” 

Daenys sat down in the seat beside him. She reached out for some of the ale and swallowed it down. “I don’t like dancing.” 

“Then why did you spend five dances with the same man?” Jace asked. He gave off a tone of innocence to his question, but she could sense the subtle tease.

She paused for a moment to load some food on a plate. It was five dances? She could have sworn it was only for a minute or two. Deciding not to voice that, she continued. “Why did you care to count?” 

“Because you are my sister and it is my job to watch out for you. Tell me, who is he?” 

Daenys was almost reluctant to answer but knew Jace would continue to pry until he got one. “Benjicot Blackwood.” 

“...So?” Jace placed his ale down and showed her his full attention. 

“Pardon?” 

“What do you think of him? You seem quite taken.” Jace nudged her shoulder gently. 

“We met earlier in the day. He seems nice and is easy to converse with. However, the manner of me being taken by him is none of your concern.” 

Jace leaned back in his seat and laughed, “Ah, okay. So it is not my concern that this whole time we have been talking, Lord Benjicot has not stopped looking at you.” 

Daenys froze. Jace held his gaze to her side, where other people were, and must have been looking at Ben. She knew he was there. Now that she was told, she could practically feel Ben’s gaze on the side of her face. She felt herself getting flushed again. That whole night, she felt like she was on the verge of a meltdown with all of the lords looking at her. Their greedy gazes wished to have her solely to claim her blood for their children. Yet, Daenys could not help but crave the gaze of that dark-haired man. She shook her head gently and stood up abruptly. 

“I have become tired, Jace. I shall retire for the night.” Daenys did not wait for her brother's response before she scrambled to get out of the hall. Her feet carried her swiftly out of the large doors and down the stone hallway. She picked up her pace once away from the prying eyes of people. Her hands gripped the skirt of her dress, the palms clammed up.

Upon reaching her guest chamber, Daenys threw the door open before shutting it quickly. Her chest rose up and down with each breath and the bodice felt tighter than it was just minutes ago. Her actions of the day quickly came flooding back at her. This was not supposed to happen. This was never part of the plan. 

Daenys somehow felt like she had failed her mother. She came to the Riverlands to find a strategic match, not find herself relishing in the company of some man. She was no believer. The princess knew from a young age that any sort of marriage was to be one of convenience, one arranged. She felt better having some bit of freedom in choice, but that choice was still dictated by what would be best for securing her mother’s throne if it were to come to war. 

Now, she found herself waiting with bated breath for her sparring session with Ben. As if counting the minutes would make the time go by faster. Logically, House Blackwood would be a great house to align with. They can handle more soldiers than the Tullys despite the Tullys being liege lords of the Riverlands. There is an extensive history of military triumph and a fair amount of wealth - not just monetarily - connected to Raventree Hall. It would be completely fine to connect their two houses, yet her budding feelings for Ben made her feel as though that decision was biased. 

Mother would know what to do. She always does. 

Daenys sat on the end of her bed, gazing out of the opened shutters of a window and staring into the night. The stars looked beautiful, but she missed the familiar sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores of Dragonstone. Homesickness washed over her. She went to the desk in a corner of the room and retired some parchment. The inkwell was full and a quill lay next to it. If there was one person she could vent to and get advice, it would be her mother. 

 ───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The next day, Daenys found herself in the same spot she was in the previous day. In the great hall, with Lord Tully and Jace, watching as dozens of men spoke about themselves. How great their houses are, how great they are, and how extensive their coffers are. Except today felt different than previously. She was more impatient. All she focused on was her meeting with Ben later. The ability to speak to him more freely outside of the prying watch of others. 

To be caught would be scandalous, however, that thought made it more thrilling. 

Once Lord Tully concluded the gathering, Daenys quickly left her chair. She did not run, as it would be unladylike, but she moved as fast as was socially accepted. She went back to her room to dress in the proper attire and retrieve her sword. Once finished, Daenys opened her door and crashed into someone's chest. Jacaerys stood there, barely having been knocked by her slamming into him. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” 

Danys adjusted her clothing, “Out to train.” 

“Alone?” Jace raised his brow. Although he asked the question, it was as if he already knew the answer. 

“Must I even entertain such a question?” Daaenys sighed. 

“Don’t do anything Mother would not approve,” Jace told her. Daenys resisted the urge to laugh. While Rhaenyra did not speak to her sons about her youth, she spoke to Daenys about it. The stories of her sneaking away with Daemon and later her trysts with Sir Harwin were mentioned in hushed voices over tea times. Gossiping together was one of Daenys’ favourite pastimes. 

“Of course, Jace. I will be as pious as Mother.” Daenys answered before moving down the hallway. She was almost skipping with joy at the prospect of spending the rest of the day with Ben. 

Outside the gates of Riverrun, Ben was leaning against a tree as he waited for her. When she came in sight, she sent him a smile and a slight wave. He got off the tree and walked to her as well. Once close, they began moving in the direction of the dense forest. 

“Are you well rested, your grace? You left the feast early last night.” 

She paused before responding. “If I am entirely honest, I miss my home. I left to write a letter to my mother.” She did not feel it necessary to touch on the fact that the very nature of that letter was primarily centred around him. 

“I am sorry to hear that princess. The Riverlands can be overwhelming for those not born here.” Ben paused to step over a high fallen tree trunk. On the other side, he offered his hand to her. 

“I did not mean it as a slight. I’ve found myself to be quite fond of these lands, my lord. It's beautiful here, truly.” Daenys tried not to think about how warm his hand was in hers. How the callouses were strangely comforting despite their roughness. She gently stepped on and over the trunk before coming back down. Her arm went down to her side, but their hands were still joined. She cleared her throat gently and Ben dropped her hand, coming back from wherever his mind wandered. They continued on their way under the canopy of trees. 

“Can I ask you something?” Daenys questioned. 

“Anything, your grace.” 

“Must we exhaust our title in conversation with one another? It would be much better, and easier if I may add, if you just called me Daenys.” 

Ben remained silent for a moment, his vision focused on the ground below him to not trip over a root. “That would not be appropriate, princess.” 

“At the very least, we can do so when we are alone?” Daenys awaited his answer. 

“Then just call me Ben or Benji. Benjicot can be a mouthful.” 

Daenys giggled, “Sounds good, Ben.” 

They both exchanged quick looks and then focused their attention back on where they were going. After walking for a while, they hit a small clearing. The grass was low and there were no objects around that they could trip on. 

“How much do you know of sparring, Daenys?” Hearing her name come from his voice had her dazed for a moment. It sounded good. 

Deciding to deceive him for a moment, she responded. “Only a little bit. Some basic offensive and defensive moves.” 

“Then we shall have a round to see where you are at. We will start with the wooden swords.” 

With his words, they moved into starting positions. Ben lunged first and his strike was blocked. She moved around him, turning quickly and striking him. He too managed to block it, but before he could make another move, Daenys swung again and hit his bicep. It was quick and unexpected, revealing that she may know more than what she stated. He was shocked for a moment and caught off guard. Ben smiled. He was excited by her quick thinking ability. 

“Were you telling the truth?” 

“Not quite, but the look on your face was worth it.” Daenys adjusted her stance, with the wooden sword still in her grip. 

“Who taught you? Many men seem reluctant to teach women these sorts of things.” 

“I begged for years. I was told it was not ladylike and surely not something a potential husband would accept in a wife. But, many months after my mother married my stepfather, I decided to ask one more time. I was ten and three when I did. I marched right up to Daemon and asked him. It felt inevitable that he would deny my request, but he just laughed and told me to be ready on the morrow in the sparring yard. I joined my brothers in their training.”

Daenys remembered that day vividly. She was scared out of her wits. Until then, she never really bonded much with Daemon and was terrified by his reputation. She had clasped her hands behind her back in an attempt to hide their shaking. Her small frame, made even smaller in his presence, stood tall. Years later, Daenys would be confident in saying that her relationship with her stepfather was solid. 

“As in Prince Daemon?” Ben was bewildered, “Like the Rogue Prince?” 

“Yes, him.” 

Ben shrugged his shoulders, “I doubt you could learn anything from me then.” 

“Are you the one of those men who are ‘reluctant to teach women these sorts of things’?” Daenys used his words against him. 

“There are many things I could teach you.” Daenys pretended not to catch on to the other meaning of his words. She did not even know if that was intended by him. 

The two resumed their stances before going back to fighting. It was amazing how quickly time flew afterwards. Their bodies moved together in tandem. One moved forward, the other moved back. They bumped into one another multiple times. Daenys struggled to keep her beating heart under control when they would brush. It was occasionally hard to focus, as Ben looked increasingly better when he was in his element. She also pretended to not see the somewhat longing gaze he would send her way occasionally. 

During a moment when he was particularly distracted, she used it to her advantage. She swung forward, moving her wooden sword in a circle and disarming him. The move caused her body to be closer to him, and his reflexive move grabbed onto her wrist holding her sword and pulled her close in a grip hold. 

They were exhausted from the hours of movement. Daenys chest moved up and down at a rapid rate. The fog from their breaths intertwined in the air as their faces got close. Her free hand had somehow landed on his chest. There was no denying the lean muscle under his tunic and vest. 

“I thought you did not like it when people got easily distracted?” Daenys teased him. 

“Well, it is hard not to with you here,” Ben responded. His eyes stared into hers, an intensity hidden in them. 

Daenys could not for the sake of her life find a response. It was bold, his compliment. It would not be considered appropriate had they been anywhere else, but they were alone. The realization of that struck her. They were completely alone. Ben leaned in slightly but stopped. Due to their height difference, his nose brushed the top of her cheek. His breath was haggard. 

“Please tell me if I have misinterpreted any of your advances. Tell me and I swear I will leave you alone. I will go back to Raventree Hall and give you peace.” He voiced in a low whisper.

Ben began to pull away, but Daenys used her free hand resting on his chest to grip the fabric and hold him in place. 

“Don't go,” She began, “You have not misinterpreted me.”

“I will not do anything without your permission, my princess.” Daenys did not wish to correct him on addressing her by her title, for the use of the word ‘my’ before it lit something in her chest. He leaned back to where he previously was, his breath fanning her face. She nodded to him before leaning in and connecting their lips. 

It felt feverish, the unbridled heat that surged through her. She had the blood of the dragon, yes, but this was something else entirely. The wooden sword in her other hand, which was held at the wrist by his, dropped to the ground. He moved his hands, one going to her waist to pull her close and the other settling on the small of her back. His lips were chapped but felt soft nonetheless. His nose pressed into her cheek as he deepened the kiss. They both were unskilled in it, and they were slightly out of sink, but the passion was there. Daenys hands moved to his face, cupping it. Her thumbs brushed over his high cheekbones. The kiss gave her more warmth from the mild frigid weather around than any coat she could wear. There was a safety to it, an assurance of protection. 

For a brief moment in this foreign piece of land, Daenys felt at home. 

They pulled away, but only slightly so. Their noses still touched and she was grateful to feel any part of him. His hands squeezed gently, giving her some positive affirmation. 

“You are better at this than your swordsmanship.” Daenys joked. 

“You speak as if you have experience, Dany.” Her heart stopped for a moment at his nickname. 

She breathed in and out slowly, “You’re the first.” Ben nodded at her words, a breathless smile sweeping across his face. 

“For me as well.” They both were stuck in an embrace, eyes staring back at one another. 

“I…” Daenys paused to gain courage, “I would not mind if we could do that again.” She felt terribly shy by her request, and images of her younger self being rejected whenever she asked to learn how to fight flashed in her mind. Ben leaned forward and rested his forehead against her. An amused groan left his lips. 

“You will be the death of me, my princess.” He leaned forward and kissed her again.

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

Daenys sat in her bedchamber with a parchment scroll gripped in her hands. It had been a few days since she sent her letter to her mother and she had finally received a response. The petitions only lasted two days, with the rest being spent mingling among the lords during the day and feasts at night. It was the early hours of the morning and she had just finished bathing. She lounged in her room in a robe and ate from a platter of meats and cheeses to break her fast. 

The letter she had sent her mother had been filled with her worries. How she had met many lords of the Riverlands and some that may be of help. Largely, the contents centred around her blooming companionship with Benjicot Blackwood. Daenys revealed her troubles about feeling that she would be failing if she found herself attached unnecessarily. She felt that her judgement had been compromised by her affinity to Benjicot’s company. She may be overlooking another house that may be better for them come the outbreak of war. 

Rhaenyra’s response was just what she needed. Despite her mother not physically being there, her words soothed Daenys. The heir assured her that House Blackwood would be a good fit, not just strategically but for her happiness as well. She kept reading a section of the response over and over. 

I was never fully happy with your plan. Sending my only daughter off to pick an arrangement that would surely make her miserable. I of all people can relate. Let yourself feel, ñuha prūmia. You are allowed happiness, so pursue it. Many women of the realm would give anything to be in your position. Do not waste it for me and my troubles. 

Daenys sighed. It was the confirmation she had been waiting for. Over the last few days, she had slipped away from Riverrun and joined Benjicot in the woods to spar. Though, more often than not, the sparing would be accompanied by fleeting touches and fevered kisses. Despite the dropping of formalities, he still treated her as his princess. Which, if Daenys was honest, was not a bad thing.

All the time spent with him, the voice in the back of her head had filled her with worries about failing her mother. Now, with confirmation that her choice was not wrong, Daenys felt the urge to rise from her chair and keep running until she found him. Jump in his arms perhaps. But that would not be appropriate and she cursed the realm for their stupid rules. 

Daenys got up and changed into her gown for the day. She had dismissed the maids earlier, wishing to have some semblance of peace. When she was situated in her attire and sat at her vanity to style her hair, a knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in!” Daenys called out gently as her fingers moved to meticulously form a braid. 

Jace walked in. His hand rested on the sword at his hip as he sauntered over to her vanity. “Good morrow, sister.” 

“Good morrow to you,” Daenys pinned up the finished braid and moved to work on another, “What brings you to my chambers this morning? Normally you would be out hunting with one of the lords.” 

“While that is true, I did just have to most interesting conversation while I broke fast,” Jace paused, “With Benjicot Blackwood.” 

Her fingers halted their movement and she looked at him through the large mirror positioned in front of her. Jace was smiling, but it was not the usual smirk as a warning of him teasing her. It looked genuine. She tilted her head in curiosity. 

“And, pray tell, what were you two meeting for?” Daenys feigned a casual attitude. She did not want to reveal her nerves.

“He invited me to break fast together. It would be rude of me to deny him.” Jace answered. 

Daenys pinned another braid up, “You did not answer my question, brother.” 

“I believe it is Ben’s right to share.” 

She finished her hair and turned in her seat to face her brother. She narrowed her eyes at him. Why did Jace address him so informally? Her hands rested on the seat and she resisted the urge to grip them tightly. Daenys was confused and she did not like it one bit. She relaxed her shoulders and maintained a pleasant resting face. 

“I did not know you two were so close.” 

Jace was picking up and inspecting the bottles of oils and serums on her table, displaying a sense of casualty. “Oh yes, one may say we could be brothers.” 

“Enough, Jacaerys. Tell me now.” 

Her brother set a glass vial down and backed away. He continued to smile while going to her door. “I will be out riding for the morning. Have a good day, sister.” Jace then opened the door and left Daenys to sit and mull over their conversation. 

“Bloody halfwit.” Daenys huffed. 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

The princess found herself strolling through the halls of Riverrun. There were no particular activities she planned for the day, so her mind was distracted. It was near an alcove that a hand shot out and grabbed her forearm. She was pulled in with another hand covering her mouth. Her shout of surprise was muffled. Daenys found herself in a secluded area with her back against the stone. There was a tiny window giving the area a hint of morning glow. 

 Fear flooded her veins and she cursed herself for leaving any means of a weapon in her room. She brought her leg up to knee the assailant in the crouch. A shout of pain came from the figure, a voice so familiar. When the man crouched over the ease the pain, the streaks of light from the window illuminated his face.

“Ben! Oh, I am so sorry.” 

Daenys moved to hold his shoulders but he just held up his arms while still in visible pain, “No, Dany, this was my doing. Not the wisest decision to sneak up on you like this.” Benjicot was doing everything to show he was not in pain, but failing. He breathed in deeply. 

“Great strength and good form, my princess.” Ben tried to laugh it off, but his chest still heaved. 

“Dearest, what in the seven hells was that?” Daenys crossed her arms. 

“Oh, if I knew what it would take to be called such a sweet nickname by you, Dany, then I would have injured myself sooner.” Ben beamed at her. He managed to get over the pain quickly and stood straight. His arms moved to wrap around her waist and pull her from the wall towards his chest. 

Daenys arms rested on his shoulders. “What if I had my knife on me?” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’d have been stabbed,” Ben responded. 

“It is not funny. I could have seriously hurt you.” Daenys felt his thumbs making circles as he held her hips. 

Ben kissed the crown of her head, “I have no doubt you would have done serious damage, my princess.” 

They stood in their embrace in the dimly lit alcove. It seemed as though the only time they could spend together was during fleeting moments of isolation. Despite the worry of being caught, Daenys would not wish it to be any different. 

“My brother visited me this morning.” She began speaking, “Jace informed me of your shared meal.” 

Ben’s face dropped. Nervousness etched its way across it. “He told you what we spoke about?” 

“No,” Daenys answered. His unease cleared at her confirmation, “It was rather aggravating, what little information he gave. Is it something I should be worried about?” 

“Nothing to worry about, Dany.” One of his hands lifted to cup her face. He moved his thumb up and down her cheek.

“Can I be privy to it? Or is it some man thing?” Her hands, which were resting on his shoulders, moved lower to settle on his chest.

“No. I planned on making a show of this, but truly I cannot wait any further.” 

Daenys tilted her head, “And what can’t you wait for?” 

“Well, I went to ask your brother first, as I am a gentleman who does not wish to compromise you and-” Ben began, but was swiftly cut off by Daenys.

“You? A gentleman? You may not have compromised my maidenhood, but that thing you did with your tong-”

“My love, please, I cannot be distracted by such a memory.” Ben closed his eyes and breathed in deeply to calm down. “I wished to ask your brother for permission to court you.” 

Daenys waited with bated breath. “And my brother?” 

“He is a very agreeable man. He acquiesced but noted that ultimately, the decision remains with you.” Ben tightened his hold on her. 

She smiled widely, “I believe you already know my answer.” 

The two broke into laughter before quickly leaning in to kiss. They pushed against one another. Desperation, earnestness, and care poured out of them. Most of all, pure relief. Daenys shivered at the intimacy of his hold on her. One of Ben’s hands cradled the back of her head as he pushed them back to the wall, cushioning her from the jagged stone. A groan slipped from his mouth as Daenys opened hers. The kiss was possessive, and his grip tightened. The hold on her waist warmed, and his fingers threaded through her hair. 

“You are so beautiful.” Ben voiced between kisses before moving back to devour her again. His lips trailed from her mouth, across her cheek and to her neck. He stopped at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Daenys sighed at the contact, heat flaming through her body. 

“Ben, someone may come.” 

“Damn them. I do not care.” He seemed intent on kissing her, with his mouth moving to her collarbone. 

“I would rather not have my honour questioned, my love.” 

He paused and lifted his head to look at her. His eyes held an intensity she had scarcely seen from him before, “Say the word and any man who questions you will be dead.” 

“As much as your words are comforting, I could not put you in such a position,” Daenys gave him a chaste kiss, “I am just happy my brother gave his approval.” 

“If you were only there. He did try his best to be intimidating.” Ben said. 

“Jace was never good at threatening people. Were you scared?” She joked. 

“I feigned some bit of fear,” He began, “I find men to be more pliable when they feel better about themselves.” Ben stood proud of himself. He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth to lay small kisses on her knuckles. 

“So you manipulated my bother?” 

“I would not call it that. Moreso gentle encouragement to achieve the answer I so desired.” Ben skirted her question and began to rock them gently side to side, “But even if he did manage to scare me, no amount of fear would stop me.”

Daenys pulled back from his embrace, “No amount of fear would stop you?” 

Ben paused his movements and looked her in the eyes, “I don’t like that look on your face, my dear. You’re up to something.” 

“Well, since you wish to court me, there is one such condition from me.” Daenys tried to ease his piqued curiosity. Ben awaited her explanation. “Meet Suneater.” 

His face fell immediately. His eyes darkened and the muscles in his body tightened. Daenys saw his reaction and worked to soothe him by grabbing his hands and rubbing them. 

His voice came out strained, “You want me to meet your dragon?” 

───── ⋆⋅⋅⋆ ─────

Daenys giggled as she led Ben through the muddy pathway outside of Riverrun. Her dragon and Vermax were perched outside the castle, as it was not a large enough estate to hold the both of them. She held his hand clasped in hers as the two made their way to the sleeping dragon. They came across a clearing that was surrounded by a low stone wall. Jace had taken Vermax for a flight, so Suneater was alone. She lay curled and sleeping peacefully. Her strong breath came out of her nose. 

Suneater had dark grey scales. However, upon closer inspection, there were subtle gold flakes throughout her body, intensifying at the base of the scales before being covered by the black of a next one layered above. Daenys had never known a bond such as the one she held with her dragon. Her closeness to her family was strong- especially Jace since they were twins. But her dragon was entirely something else. 

Now that Benjicot wished to be with her, he must know all of her. Suneater was the other part of her soul. Despite hatching in her cradle and being of the same age, Daenys view her as a daughter. 

Daenys let go of Ben’s hand and walked to her dragon, “Sȳz ñāqes, Suneater.” Good morrow. Suneater’s eyes blinked open and her head lifted to see her rider approaching. Ben had stopped walking and stood by the entrance, unsure of whether or not he should get closer. “Hilago, sagon sȳz. Nyke hae bisa vala.” Please, be good. I like this man.

She reached out to scratch Suneater’s chin. The dragon let out a near purring sound at the contact and closed her eyes. Daenys continued her movements and turned to Ben. 

“Come here. She won’t hurt you.” Upon seeing Ben still standing, Daenys continued. “I swear she will not do anything. You have my word.” 

After that, Ben moved towards her. His steps were slow and calculated as he wadded through the low grass. Once he was about a metre near her, Suneater’s eyes snapped open to stare him down. A puff of air left her nostrils and Ben seized his movements to a halt. 

“Gīda. Rȳbagon.” Calm. Listen. Daenys assured her. Suneater calmed down but kept her eyes on Ben. He was an unknown man who stood too close to her rider. Daenys used her other hand to grab Ben and pull him closer. Once he was beside her, she spoke up, “You can touch her.” 

Ben swerved his head and gave her a look muddled with alarm and uncertainty. He breathed in and out slowly to stay calm next to such an intimidating beast. 

“Touch her?” His voice dripped with fear. 

“Calm down, Ben, its not like I am asking you to fly with me.” He seemed to ease at her words, “Not yet, at least.” 

Ben sputtered but went completely silent when Daenys grabbed his hand and placed it on the dragon's side. Her hand, in its small size, barely covered his. Ben felt the scales and the subtle breathing of the beast. His fear swept away and was replaced with awe. As a boy, he had heard of many older men around him who had seen dragons, but never himself had he ever seen one. The stories in his books growing up were filled with him, the history books even more so when covering events after the Conquest. In all his dreams, never did he think he would be standing so close to one and touching it. 

“See, it is not so bad.” Daenys laughed gently. She grabbed his shoulder and rubbed it gently. 

“Yes. It is not so bad.” Ben was still breathless. 

He removed his hand after a while and, with a surge of confidence, leaned down to kiss Daenys. It was a calm one, not as heated and passionate as the others. His strong arms pulled her against his chest. Daenys melted in his hold and kissed him back. She did not believe she could ever tire from kissing him. Her heart swelled. 

For the first time in many years, Daenys prioritized her own happiness. 

Ben pulled back and looked her in the eyes, “You are a wonder.” Their foreheads connected. The two closed their eyes and relished the sounds of nature around them. The steady breeze brushed the branches of trees and the crows spoke as they flew around. The rumbling of breath from Suneater produced a steady beat to focus on. 

The lovers stood in that field, each far from their homes - one more so than the other - and felt nothing but a sense of belonging. 

A budding love became solidified in their bond that day. Each mirrored the other. Their gentle demeanours were undercut by their cunning in the ways of fighting. Both a ticking bomb of violence, who would gladly follow the other into any battle. 

_______________

✧.* endnote: apologies for any typos or terrible grammar. i did come up with a couple more ideas centred around these two, so if it is wanted i could write (much shorter) pieces about these two. thank you all for the support that has been given. i appreciate it more than you know <3

[gatheringbones]

[“It was only after I came out as a dyke that, for the first time in my life, I felt ready to celebrate being a girl, and I did. Actually, I overdid. Armed with Esther Newton’s Mother Camp, Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble, and Joan Nestle’s A Restricted Country, I embraced femme. I dressed up in short flowery dresses, pushup bras, satin panties, and lacy stockings. I paid great attention to my long, curly, perfectly-coiffed hair, my glamorous makeup, and especially my pouty lips. I spritzed Lola’s smell on my skin—Estee Lauder’s Private Collection—and painted my nails. I wore all of it with black combat boots and a brilliant sense of irony. I reveled in my girliness, went over the top, learned how to tweeze my eyebrows and line my lips with a lip pencil.

My gender presentation was unmistakable: blatant female sexuality. I was a proud, in-your-face, take-no-prisoners, uppity, don’t-assume-I’m-straight-because-I-wear-lipstick-and-dresses femme dyke. Because femmes are always assumed to be straight or sleeping with men, and I do sleep with men, I made sure to always have a butch on my arm so I’d be read as femme. Even though I was sure I’d be mistaken for straight, the boys took one look at me and steered clear. It was as if I was too much of a woman for them to handle, like I was a handful, and I was. But butch girls love a handful—a handful of tits, a handful of ass, a girl who needs to be handled, a girl who can handle herself.

How I figured out I was a femme had a lot to do with the women I was attracted to and the dynamic between us. When I was in junior high, I used to mess around with a friend of mine named Angela. Angela was one of those girls who developed early; I remember she had big breasts in like sixth grade. We mostly kissed and touched over clothes, and we played out various boy-girl scenarios. I was always the girl—my early femme roots. My favorite of all our little scenes was the one where she was my male boss and I was the secretary. The boss made me have sex with him and told me if I didn’t I would get fired. Now this was all before Clarence Thomas, Anita Hill and the media awareness/obsession with sexual harassment. I remember she’d tell me to suck her dick and push my face unmercifully into her crotch, which smelled amazing,. The drama of it all—the force, the degradation, the power games—really got me off. After that, there was no going back to simplicity. I was hooked on the power.

Jen really epitomized all the girls I was attracted to then and still am. Being with a butch girl, I was valued for my combination of strength and vulnerability, for dressing up, for wanting an arm to hold onto, hips to wrap my legs around, being able to give my body over to her and say, I trust you, I’m yours. My butch loved me in low-cut dresses, appreciated my sexual voraciousness, worshipped my inner slut. I reveled in the fact that I could be strong and submissive all at once. Surrender and still be a feminist. Being a dyke is not just about who I fuck and love, it’s about being a girl who doesn’t play by the rules.

Butch girls don’t play by the rules either, and I love butch girls. Girls with hair so short you can barely slide it between two fingers to hold on. Girls with slick, shiny, barbershop haircuts and shirts that button the other way. Girls that swagger. Girls who have dicks made of flesh and silicone and latex and magic. Girls who get stared at in the ladies room, girls who shop in the boy’s department, girls who live every moment looking like they weren’t supposed to. Girls with hands that touch me like they have been touching my body their entire lives. Girls who have big cocks, love blow-jobs, and like to fuck girls hard. Every day, it is the girls that get called Sir that make me catch my breath, the girls with strong jaws that buckle my knees, the girls who are a different gender that make me want to lie down for them.

Someone else said it about me recently and it’s right on target: “She gets off on all different sorts of people sexually, but she falls for butches.” Like the poet who bought her first strap-on with me and then wanted to sleep with it on. The shrink-in-training who got harassed every time she drove down South. She did look so much like a fifteen-year-old boy: blue button-down shirts, neatly-combed blond hair. The ad exec who had names for her dildos and used to love for me to spit-shine her wingtips. The photographer whose face was so mannish she could pass almost anywhere. The writer who wanted a body like Loren Cameron’s. The telephone repairwoman who drove a truck. The cook who had a boy’s name. The academic who got cruised by gay men on Castro Street. The cornfed farmboy from the Heartland with arms so hard and strong you swear they’ve been working the land, not the iron at the gym.

And there’s the one who’s got the James Dean stare down, and dresses like a clean-cut fag, and looks at me like she could look at me forever and never blink or grow tired or move from the spot she’s in. She’s a girl who loves girls like me—girls in velvet bras, girls who want to surrender to her mouth. She’s a girl who isn’t afraid to throw a femme down on the bed and fuck her. Possess her. My kind of girl. This girl is different.”]

tristan taormino, from this girl is different, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[marzipanandminutiae]

random question based on the dracula hair post, but if most women wore it up anyway, why not just cut it shorter? even with the western world's gendered perception of hair length (which i don't think was quite as common back then,) practicality for Working Peasantry had overcome that other times

An amazing question! And one that various people actually asked throughout at least the 19th century.

I've read an early French source (translated) wondering why more women didn't adopt the "coiffure a la Titus" trend- think Curly Pixie Cut -because their hair would just be up if it was long, anyway. I've read dress reformers in the Victorian era wondering something similar. I've read one particular late 19th century man who seems to have had some sort of fetish- to my mind -expounding about the glories of women with approximately shoulder-length hair.

And yet, with a very few exceptions, most women historically...did not do that. Even if they had to do physical labor in the fields and such.

I really couldn't tell you why. I have a few theories, ranging from Biblical guidance in a letter from St. Paul saying that women should have long hair (though realistically, that doesn't seem to be something anybody brought up often as the reason they had or admired long hair- it mostly comes up against various short-hair trends that tended to be brief and isolated until the 1920s) to just long-held beauty standards. For one thing, various ways of dressing long hair pinned up went in and out of fashion, and served as a means of self-expression even for working-class people. For another, the idea of letting one's hair down for a spouse or lover as an expression of sensuality/intimacy carried a LOT of weight in many times and places- you can't do that if it's not long.

Personally, when asked why I have very long hair if I just wear it up, my answer is pretty much that: I can't pin it up in ways I like if it's not long, and I enjoy taking it down as a way to relax (and when I'm in a relationship, to express intimacy and comfort around my partner).

Humans are not always logical creatures!

[justawritterwithideas]

"Let's get started," Aaron commented, letting Jennifer take over to start showing the case.

"Wait, two of our geniuses are missing." Emily turned to look at the two empty chairs across from each other.

"Reid and L/N are coming late." Rossi turned to look toward the door. There was no sign of one or the other showing up. They waited a couple of minutes before Hotch signaled J.J. to initiate or they would lose a lot of valuable time saving a woman.

"Okay, this is Dorris Archer. The third woman to go missing this year in Boise, Idaho." He paused to flick through the other images. "Along with Paula Renmar and Samantha Rush, they disappeared within two months of each other." He paused to notice in the distance a shadow approaching. "Well... Hello."

It was Spencer. But it wasn't the Spencer she knew.

His long hair had been cut short and, now, he wore his hair quite fashionable, a bit tousled, but giving him that youthful air that attracted the attention of all the women in the office.

The boy gave her an elongated smile, left the notebook he was holding on the table and sat down at his desk. His gaze wandered from Hotch, who was next to him, to the empty chair in front of him, where you sat.

Where was it? Spencer wondered.

The boardroom table was surrounded by silence, everyone focusing on the youngest of the group and his new haircut.

"Did you join a boy band?"

"No."

Laughter joined Hotch's sentence, causing confusion on Spencer's face but that didn't last long as the attention quickly dissipated as a new shadow approached, at great speed, all the way to the boardroom.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry" The sole of your tennis shoes echoed in the room and was soon silenced as you situated yourself in your seat across from Reid. Your hand went to your hair, combing it before you could look straight ahead and feel the anticipation of the team for your reaction.

It was an open secret that the two of you had a clear attraction to each other, even more so coming from you when flirting was your way of responding to every comment Spencer gave you as flattery.

Your gaze lifted, stopping on the young genius and his new style. Your mouth opened slightly and, without thinking, you blurted out.

"Ay papi, who are you and what did you do with dr. Reid?" The rest of them laughed again at seeing the blush of his pink cheeks take over even his ears. "It looks good on you, very good. My compliments to the hairdresser." You gave him a wink and turned your attention back to the front when Derek muttered "Turn off Reid, or I'll have to call the fire department."

Spencer smiled as he felt his cheeks burn, perhaps his way of getting your attention had been a complete success.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

a/n: A tiny boyband!spencer x reader blurb, because I've been obsessed with boyband!spencer for weeks now, my tiktok is full of it everywhere.

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

[ghostselkie]

So, angsty nevermore wish fulfillment concept

What if Nevermore had upper classmen? Like students that are at least a semester ahead of the others, and that when the main cast finishes their first semester, they are free to mingle with the upper classmen.

What if one of these upper classmen was Theo?

We know he went to Nevermore. And if they get to mingle, Theo would likely get to reunite with Lenore.

Like they would be happy to see each other, but it would be very tearful and bitter sweet. Like Theo would find out that Lenore died young like he did and be very sad about it. Lenore would be apologizing profusely cause she felt responsible for his death. Theo would have to reassure her that it wasn't her fault. It takes a long time for her to accept that.

Once the shock wore off, Theo would have a lot of questions. He's quickly be able to figure out that it wasn't the tree that killed her, given Lenore's short hair, but he likely wouldn't immediately aske her how she died.

Theo: Lenore, what have you done to your hair?

Lenore: I cut it, obviously.

Theo: I know but why? You know mother and father would have never approved.

Lenore: Long story. One I'd rather not share so publicly.

Obviously, Lenore would take Theo to meet her friends. The misfits would wonder how he is even related to Lenore. Like Theo is extremely polite and a gentleman, and Lenore is, well Lenore. But after talking to him for a while, seeing how he and Lenore interact, and well the resemblance, they would go oh yeah these two are defiantly related.

After a while, I think Lenore would actually tell Theo what happened after he died. They are siblings, they tell each other everything.

Theo: You burned down our cottage at the Finger Lakes?!

Lenore: For my plan to work mother and father would have to think me dead. Besides, it's not like we're short on houses.

Theo: You committed arson, and fraud!

Theo would defiantly be annoyed, but also very impressed with all the shit Lenore ended up pulling.

In my little wish fulfillment world Annabel And Lenore have made up by the time they see Theo. So Lenore would definitely introduce Theo to Annabel. Theo would defiantly give Annabel the shovel talk.

Theo: Look, I know this is a death game, but if you do any thing to hurt my sister, you will have hell to pay. Annabel: I would expect nothing less.

Theo: ???

The funniest interaction would defiantly have to be with Ada. Why? Well nearly everyone in the fandom agrees that Ada is a disaster bisexual with critically high levels of comphet. So this polite, high society person who looks a lot like Lenore (some one who is already very attractive) and they are a man, and therefore a safe person to have a crush on.

What makes this funnier is that I hc Theo as gay. The shenanigans that ensue would be impeccable

Ada: If I had a nickel for every time I had a crush on some one who wasn't in to women I'd have two nickels. Witch isn't a lot but it's weird that it weird that it happened twice, right?

These have just been my silly little thoughts. I don't actually think any of this will happen. It's just fun to think about

[spookypete-94]

I Know You

Vampire!GhostxFem!reader

Follows the old wives tales and legends of vampires.

Reader makes friends with Ghost, but does not realize he is hunting her in a game of cat and mouse.

SFW for now, and perhaps make a NSFW chapter later down the road.

CW: blood, biting, swearing

Happy Halloween!

It was not a common thing that Y/N visited a bar after work by herself, but after the shift she had just completed at her job, it was more than deserved. Holding her head in one of her hands, she swirled her drink, mixing the liquor in further with the base. The burn satisfied her throat on the way down. She set down the empty glass waiting before she got up to get another one.

Before she can even stand to approach the bar, another drink is sat down next to her, and a large man is sitting down in the seat next to her.

"Hello?" She asked, not expecting someone to join her.

"Saw yours getting empty, brought you another."

Turning to fully look at this man, she sees that he is rather large. Fit for sure, his arms looked tight in his long black shirt. He wore a black mask to cover his face, thick blonde hair on his head. The skin she could see was almost a milky white. So very handsome.

"Thanks. I think?" She said, still confused. "I honestly did not come here looking for someone or a hook up if that is what you want."

"Didn't say that's what this was." Eyebrows lifted at her boldness, smiling cheekily under his mask at her response.

Realizing maybe that come off wrong and rude, she sighed. "Sorry, I had a shitty day and don't mean to take it out on you."

"Yeah? Need to talk about it?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "got into it with my boss. Might not have a job yet, I don't know." Her shoulders shrug arms crossing across her chest, trying to show that she wasn't worried about it.

"Looking for a job then?"

Her eyes narrowed, not sure she liked what he was implying. "Watch yourself," she warned, "I already told you I'm not here looking for a hook up, even if you would pay me for it."

This made him chuckle, her warning amusing to him from someone from her stature. "Not a job like that, sweetheart. I need a maid." The way he called her made her squeeze her legs together tighter, and her mouth went dry.

"A maid?" Her voice hoarse.

"Like a house maid. I'm not home all the time and need someone to clean and take care of my home. I'd pay you, and depending on what your living situation is, you can stay with me."

"With you?"

"There is a guest home you can stay in."

This offer was appalling, to say the least. She didn't even know this man... but pay and some place to live? It would cut her expenses nearly in half.

"I don't know you."

"Then get to know me. If you would like, you could come see the property."

"What is your name?"

"You can call me Ghost."

"Ghost? The fact you won't tell me your real name isn't helping you here. There are plenty of other women here that could be your maid."

"None of them as beautiful and bold as you. Your name?"

He was so smooth, so persistent, made her heart sing. But the fact he was flattering her and flirting with her as well made her flush. She rushed her name out to him.

"Just come look at the property and decide. You don't want to, I'll leave you alone."

Maybe it was the liquor... maybe it was the way he spoke to her, but she agreed.

"Fine," she said, finishing the drink he set down beside her, setting the glass down and sliding it across the table so she could stand up. Before she can fully lift herself up, Ghost had pulled the chair out from behind her, allowing her to better turn herself out to leave.

"Thank you," she said, looking to him. Who said chivalry was dead? But the real icing on the cake was the hand on the small of her back that guided her out the door of the bar and towards his blacked out car in the parking lot. He even opened the passenger door for her? A girl could get used to that... she thought.

"So, why do you go by Ghost?"

"Just a name I was given a long time ago." A short answer that still seemed to suffice her. It was like he had her under a spell... Things she would never let anyone else say to her being enough, let alone getting into a mans car, she had no idea his intentions.

In reality, Ghost had been watching her for a long time now. Waiting for his moment to swoop in and use his ability to charm and captivate her. Calling in to her job today and making a fake complaint about Y/N to her boss, knowing it would start an argument and make her vulnerable. Stalking her, following her on the way home, delighted to see her walk into a bar where he could cause a somewhat normal interaction that would not alert her. Y/N's smell was delightful, sweetly blended with her blood, but now anxiety leaked into it from her hard day, making her scent that much stronger to him. His heart pounded, excited to be able to taste her in his own home. The idea of his teeth piercing that tender flesh of her neck replaying in his mind over and over on the drive home. Satisfied that his charm spell was still working in making her passive in his passenger seat, like she had zoned out.

Y/N watched as they left the city, driving out further into rural area. Trees turning colors and leaves blowing across the road from the turning season distracted her.

"Pretty out here," she said looking out the window.

"Sure is," he said looking at her out the corner of his eye, tongue dancing across his teeth.

They pulled up to a large black gate that opened for him, allowing him in. It looked like a beast welcoming her into it's mouth as it shut behind them... if only she had a fucking clue.

"Wow," she said, stepping out and looking up at the large cathederal type building. "You live here?" Gargoyles guarded the peaks, their faces watching her every movement as if they were alive.

"For awhile now."

The tour started outside the property, him leading through what looked like an over grown garden.

"You haven't had help for a while..." she stated, looking around. Again, another realization that would have raised a red flag for her... but this seemed alright given by his next answer.

"Haven't found anyone I like or trust enough." His voice purring next to her ear.

"Let me show you around inside, and then maybe we can discuss your contract."

He opened one of the many doors on the house, letting her in.

"Let me take your coat," he said, slipping it from her stepping forward, inhaling her sweet scent one more time. She complied, letting him slip it off of her and down her arms, hanging it on a dusty coat rack behind her. She sure would have her work cut out for her if she took him up on his offer.

He seemed to cut the tour off of the house early. It was a lot of ground to cover anyway, and he was starting to get antsy.

"Let me show you my office," he said, opening a door and leading her in. "Have a seat." He said, gesturing to a couch. "Would you like a drink? I can grab you one."

"That would be nice," she said, sitting down on the couch, arm swung over the side, turning to face him.

"I will bring you one, be right back," he said, carefully closing the door behind him and disappearing towards the kitchen.

She looked around, noticing that this room, his office, was by far a little bit cleaner than the rest of the house. Telling her he spent more time in here. There was still dust and cobwebs, but it seemed less due to him using more of the space. Looking around, she noticed a sheet over what looked to be a mirror, making her more intrigued about the place. Standing, she strided over to his desk, fingers running over the top to wipe away then thin layer.

Maybe he really wasn't here all that often... she could stay here and have all this space to herself and not have to deal with this strange man daily. Unable to control herself, she opened the drawer of his desk, the very top one in the middle. In the drawer, she found a picture of a group of men in military attire. The largest she could tell was this man that had brought her here. She turned the photo over.

To Simon, it was addressed. Thank you for your courage and duty to the Task Force 141. - John Price

Next to it was an old piece of paper. Something that looked important, like it belonged in a frame.

Simon Riley January 1st 1885. It read at the top. Was it a birth certificate? Finally, her heart and fear rushed up. Placing the items back inside and closing the drawer quickly, she approached the sheet and pulled it off the mirror, leaving it exposed.

Hearing the door knob turn, she rushed and sat down on the couch, looking up at Ghost - hoping she didn't look surprised. Two drinks in his hand, she could see a startled look on his face.

"You alright?" he asked, her smell changing to him.. laced with adrenaline and hearing her heart pound faster. He was going to have to make his move and fast, the urge rising again within him.

"I'm fine... I'm just worried about my current job is all still. Keep thinking about it," she lied, looking up at him through her lashes, hoping he would buy it.

"Oh." he said quickly, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot. Approaching her, he set the drinks down on the table, taking the seat next to her on the couch. The close proximity of Ghost, next to her, made her rise from the couch walking across the room. Choosing to not raise his suspicions, she made it look like she was looking at the artwork on the walls.

"You collect paintings?" Noticing a lot of the works on the walls were old.

"Family started a long time ago, just been adding to it."

She heard him get up off the couch. Turning her head, she watched the mirror out of the corner of her eye. And just as she assumed, there was no figure, no reflection. Her heart spiked again. Ghost noticed the fear, noticed the fear of wanting to bolt, and before she could, he had her pressed against the wall.

"Where you goin' love?" He asked into her ear, making goosebumps raise on her skin. His hands guided her hair off her neck gently.

She whimpered, trying to push him back, unable to do so. He leaned above her, the mask hiding his malicious smile. He tugged it down, exposing it... and his long canines that glimmered. How pretty... she thought.

He leaned forward, kissing her, pushing her back into his spell. It worked... making her love dumb once more. He baited her with his tongue slipping in out, wrestling with her own. Ebbing it as he pushed her further into the wall, craning her neck carefully with his hand, prepping her to place his mark.

His tongue left her mouth running over her jaw line, heading slowly in the direction of her neck.

He placed a careful bite, tasting his meal before sinking his teeth.

"Such a shame, because you really are a smart and beautiful woman," he taunted getting ready to drain her of the life force running through her veins.

"Simon Riley." she said. His taunt relighting the fire that burned in her.

"What?" he asked stunned and frustrated.

"Simon Riley." Just like that, he could no longer mark her. It wrote among the old testaments, old enough they are now considered legend, just like himself. He leaned back to look down at her, her smile wide knowing she had won.

"How-"

"I found your name in the desk. You're a vampire. That's why you wouldn't give me your actual name. It holds power over you, doesn't it? I hold power over you now. I know you." she taunted.

He growled, teeth still pronounced. How could he of failed? How did she see through it all?

She chuckled this time, matching how he did earlier at the bar.

"I find it funny, really. A vampire that goes by Ghost. How interesting." Her hands ran up his arms to his face, stroking over his cheeks now. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. Sympathy struck her, feeling bad for him.

"Bite me if you must. Just don't kill me." She said, her voice quiet, putting trust into him.

With that, he was over her again arms on either side of her head on the wall. "You sure, love?"

"I'm sure. Just don't kill me." She repeated.

"You really are something else..." he said, biting her neck lovingly, this time making her give a small moan. He inhaled her smell again before he disgraced her neck. He placed his teeth slowly against the skin before sinking them in. Y/N winced, the feeling intense at first. She fisted his shirt, pulling him closer and looking for comfort. He slowly drank from her, watching as he did to make sure to honor her wish of not killing her.

His hands left the sides of the wall, gripping at her waist, holding her up as she started to feel wobbly against him. Just a few more gulps, he thought, before carefully letting her go.

"You alright, love?" His voice raspy, panting as he tried to catch his breath from greedily draining her.

"Uh-huh," she said, slumping against him.

Grabbing underneath her legs, he picked her up and carried her over to the couch, laying her down on it to rest and replenish herself.

"Thank you," he said, leaning down and kissing her again. Allowing her to taste her own blood. Tired from her heart trying to make more and catch up, she left her, unable to answer, head rolling over to the side to sleep. Ghost traced the bite marks, now starting to turn a blue and purple on her neck.

"Sweet, sweet girl." he said out loud, completely baffled at why she allowed him to do this to her. His eyes roved over her form laying on his couch like one of the paintings on the wall. A work of art.

[daenysthedreamer101]

Youngest Original ~ TVDU

Mikaelson!OC headcanons

Finn's relationship with Kassandra

TVD Masterlist

These two have such a pure, precious relationship

When Kassie was little she used to follow Finn around the village, clinging to his leg, wanting to be carried 🥹💕

He taught her how to ride a horse

HEAD PATS!!!!

Elijah gives her forehead kisses, Finn pats her head

Kassie was extremely pissed when Klaus kept Finn daggered back in 1114. She was ready to throw hands 😤, but Elijah persuaded her out of it

She gave Klaus a whole speech as to why he should undagger their brother, but ofc, Klaus just ignored her

She would repeat this speech every hundred or so years. It never worked

Once Finn finally gets woken up from his 900+ years of sleep he is confused, to say the least.

It was the year 2010 and Finn was shocked but not surprised Klaus kept him in a coffin for so long

He was confused by everything - the way people dressed was drastically different, especially women

The technology really confused him to no end. Electricity in particular or any electrical device really

Kassie was there to help him every step of the way. She showed him how to use something called a mobile phone - he had to give it to the humans, they always were very creative creatures

She and Bekah took him to a place called a barber shop and cut his long hair

Apparently, most men wore their hair short nowadays

He also had a bit of trouble learning the language

They helped him learn modern English - it sounded vastly different from the English he knew

Though in the privacy of their home, Finn would always revert back to Old Norse, their native language

I headcanon that in general, the Originals speak Norse to each other in private

You cannot tell me that once they start fighting they don't revert back to shouting at each other in Old Norse 😭

I also headcanon that Finn is a Libra just like Kassie, both just want peace and quiet and hate conflict

Everyone in the family (and in the fandom) harps on Finn for being boring but Kassie disagrees

She loves his quiet, reserved nature

She is a chatterbox and will talk his ear off but he never stops her. He just smiles and listens even though he understands nothing

Once, they were in a mall, and Obsessed by Mariah Carey was on; the amount of auto-tune did a number on his brain lol.

Kassie had to explain why music nowadays sounded so weird (play one kpop song to him and this man is in the grave 💀)

He much prefers classical music

He once asked her why her eyelids were so shiny.

She had to explain what eyeshadow was. And eyeliner. And fake eyelashes.

He was glad to see she still wore the necklace they got for her 100th birthday.

He loved spending time with Kassie, cause she was the only one who didn't speak badly about his reluctance to murder

She, like him, had a hard time adapting to vampirism, so she gets where he's coming from

She's the only one of his siblings he doesn't hold a grudge against

[pyramidsoul]

Oxford apartments neighbor speaking about Jeffrey Dahmer

One evening in June of 1990, I held my first conversation with our neighbor who lived across the hall. I introduced myself to him as Vern and he introduced himself to me as Jeff.

He appeared to be very polite as he and I stood in the hall in front of our apartments. He stated he was leaving to go to the corner store to buy a pack of cigarettes and when he saw I had a pack in my shirt pocket he asked if I had a cigarette I could spare.

Of all the times I had seen this guy he was always casually dressed in faded jeans, a flannel shirt and casual shoes. He wore glasses and his hair was cut medium length always looking well groomed. He had the appearance of a college student or someone who had been to college. He was clean shaven and had boyish look.

I guess the word I would choose to describe my impression of him is intelligent, highly intelligent. He had a slim built appearing to be 6 feet tall, weighing maybe 165 pounds. I'd guess his age to be 30 or 31 years old.

Through the times that I'd see him our conversations would mainly be small talk about my car, my job, the weather, his job and the building or something of that nature. He always appeared to be soft spoken as we would stop in the hall on his way in or out of his apartment.

Never did he give me any impression that he had hang ups about living in a dominantly black building or living in the neighborhood which also was dominantly black. As time went on Pam also had begun to have small conversations with him. She also thought that he was pretty pleasant to talk to. We were neighborly with all the tenants living in the building.

Being that I was the only black man at my place of employment and Pam being raised in Madison where blacks were few, neither she nor I had a problem with him being white. Our typical conversations went something like this whenever we would talk to each other in the hall.

"What's happening?"

"Hey Vern, not much."

He would notice that I would be just getting in from work most of the evenings when we'd see each other...

"How was your day?"

"Not too bad," I'd reply. From earlier conversations in our passing, I had informed him that I was a Draftsman. He like-wise told me he worked 3rd shift at a chocolate factory downtown and that he's been employed there for a couple of years.

"Do you have to punch in tonight?"

"Yeah, got to pay rent."

"Talk to you later," I'd respond. His reply was... "yeah, take care."

There had been various other conversations and I must admit talking to him made me feel appreciative of our small conversations. I felt sad for the guy living alone, never seeing him associate with anyone or have friends visit him at his apartment.

Amongst all of the tenants in the building Jeff stood out the most, not only because he was white but to me because he never had visitors or a girlfriend which to me appeared strange but not the type of out of the way strange. He was always alone.

He didn't own a car therefore, his means of transportation was the city bus. After becoming acquainted with him, we'd see Jeff standing on the bus stop or getting off the bus walking towards the apartment building.

He appeared to be weird to the other tenants but I never thought of him as such because of the fact that the area where we lived was nothing but a danger zone and keeping to himself was a safe thing to do. It was not safe for anyone walking that didn't fit in.

It was no surprise to see Jeff wearing his light gray jacket walking at 9:00pm through someone's backyard or taking a short cut through the alley headed towards the Oxford Building. He'd walk among dope peddlers to have them approach him and ask him "you looking..?" "You straight..?"

Meaning do you want to buy drugs but He would either shake his head negatively or ignore the peddlers all together.

He would be approached by addicts trying to con him in any way possible for money and women working the streets would confront him with offers of sexual pleasures for money but he would ignore them all.

I recall once telling Pam that I thought he had a lot of heart to live in this area. He never showed any sign of being fearful, he didn't have a kick ass type of attitude. It was more of an "I don't bother you and you don't bother me" type of attitude.

In June there was a series of burglaries and apartments in our building were broken into. Everyone was on lookout for any strangers walking through the halls. The police were called and they questioned everyone that lived in the building to see if anyone may have seen anyone or knew anything. Two apartments were broken into and everyone in the Oxford Apartments had high concerns about the break-ins.

The tenants began to look out for each other's apartments when the tenant was away. I had two of my nearest neighbor's phone numbers and I had also given them our number to inform each other when we were going to be out of our apartments. Our neighbor Jeff had gotten a phone but said he had it for only a week or so because he couldn't afford the bill.

"Hey Jeff, we're starting to look out for each other's apartment due to the break-ins. Give me your telephone number so that we can call you to just let you know when we're not going to be in so that you can keep an eye on our apartment."

"Vern, my phone was turned off because I'm having a hard enough time paying my rent and feeding myself, so there's no reason to give me your phone number. I do however intend to get a burglar alarm for when I'm away at nights working. There's no way I can afford to have my stuff ripped off and there's no real security around here that I trust."

"Yeah, it's getting pretty tough around here." I said.

"Yeah Vern I know what you mean. Any news about the guys' stuff that was stolen?"

"None! You know how that goes."

"Well I'll talk to you later."

"Sure Jeff, later."

Extract from Vernell Bass’ book “Across the Hall”, chapter 2. If you’re interested to know more support the author and get the book!

[paradoxdesign]

"The red stone ritual"

The heartless voice behind her spoke in a tongue she didn't understand and gave her a hard push in the back that nearly made her stumble and fall. Holding her balance with her hands bound behind her back wasn't easy but she managed to stay upright. She now understood that he was urging her to walk on in his language...

It was unusually cold this morning. It was autumn, she could tell from the colour of the leaves, and it would be her last. It would have taken maybe one or two seasons for her to become a woman, but she won't be around that long, she thought while regret and fear filled her. No rites for her, no fest with good food and singing, no braided hair. 

For many years she lived with her tribe high in the hills until those men came and invaded their dwelling, slaughtering everyone but her, her sister and two other young girls. After the attack they took them to a large gathering of their own people, a seven days walk from her home. 

The girl wasn't pretty like the other ones. She didn't realize that, with that, her destiny was set.

Along the way it became clear that the men showed a bigger interest in the other girls than in her. At first she found that to be okay but when they arrived at the camp she was locked in with two other girls, who were already there and both of them also not as pretty. It made her worry. The other, pretty, girls were all taken to the tents of the men who took them. Her sister too.

After a few days with almost no food or water but some scraps, one of the girls in her cage was roughly taken by two grim looking men, her hands tied behind her back and a rope around her neck with which they forced her to follow. 

Later that day she could hear the  sound of drums in the distance with a gradual growing excitement in their rhythms.

The girl didn't come back that evening.

This morning it was her turn. After a short walk through the woods they came to a large clearing in which a circle of large stones rose from the wet grass.  Several men and women were gathered there already. Dressed up as grotesque forest animals. One wore the antlers of a big deer on his head, another wore the skin and the head of a bear. Others had skins and feathers of various animals  bound to their bodies. Their faces were painted black with red streaks. Animal bones were worn on strings and necklaces and all bore a weapon of some sort.

One of the stones, laying flat in the middle of the circle, was also red. But a different kind of red than the paint she saw on their faces. She knew this colour from the stone in her village where they slaughtered cattle like goats and deer. The dark red color of dried blood. In awe she stopped, the strength left her legs and she had to make an effort to keep standing. With fear in her eyes she turned to the man guiding her, only to be shoved forward again.

She started to cry in despair. 'Please, please, I can work for you!' She pleaded to indifferent ears. The man showed no understanding of her words, showed no emotion, nor mercy.

Suddenly those drums started sounding again, slowly at first, just like the day before when she has heard them when the first girl was taken away. Some of the beastlike figures started dancing around the stone circle, slowly by the rhythm of the drums, their eyes void of humanity, like in a trance. The bones hanging from their costumes clattering in unison with the rhythm of the drums.

With another push the man directed her towards the large stone in the middle of the circle and forced her to lay on it, on her back. Her hands were cut free with a stone knife only to be tied again. This time to the stone. The same thing happened to her legs.

The stretching of her limbs caused her to cry out.

The man with the antlers stood next to the stone to her left and started speaking in that horrible unintelligible language. His hands raised to the sky, his eyes closed.

The sky, to which, as a small girl she looked so often to look for clouds that looked like an animal, or a flower. Some even looked like humans. That sky, now white, grey and empty, as if it looked the other way to just not see what tragedy was unfolding beneath it.

The drums started to speed up, and she could hear the cries from the dancers as they started to speed up their dance.

Ecstatically.

Then, all of a sudden the drums stopped......

[cowboyjen68]

howdy jen!

I’m a younger butch, 22, and i only recently came into this label in the past year or so. i cut my hair and started embracing myself and am so much better for it, but it’s also brought a lot of struggle. primarily, i have a really hard time feeling desirable. i don’t know if it’s something to do with where i am or just my age, but i feel like it’s so much harder to meet people who are into people who look like me. it’s hard to look visibly queer, and it’s hard to be masculine. a lot of the time i feel pride in my roll as a protector and safe person, but it becomes so exhausting when i never feel safe myself. when i never feel desirable. i wonder if this is a common thing amongst butches, and if so, how do i get past it?

You could be me talking when I was 23 and just coming out. My first thought, once I really realized that I was a bit different from many of my female friends, was “What lesbian is going to be attracted to me? Lesbians like other women and I kind of look like a boy”. I truly thought that my stature, the way I walked, whatever energy or movement got me consistently mistaken for a boy (or man) was the very reason why I would never find love or passion with whom I most desired, another woman. 

In college I toned it down, I kept my hair long with a sort of short in the front mullet. I wore generic jeans and a sweatshirt to try to be somewhat comfortable but also unremarkable in my clothing choices. Looking back it made no difference. I was clockable as a lesbian, and butch, long before I fully admitted who I was to myself. 

I felt unattractive. I refused makeup and more feminine clothing and convinced myself it was because I was a “feminist” or didn’t want to invite the gaze of men because I wanted to focus on college and not date. I just knew I would be alone forever (which sounded better than being with a man in any case) and no woman would look at me as anything more than a goofy friend. 

Years later, after talking to my old friends and nights chatting with my older lesbian friends in my early 20’s I realized we all shared very similar experiences. Very few women think of themselves as desirable to others. It was the rare one, usually traditionally attractive and outgoing, who had some idea that she was interesting to the opposite sex even if she had no desire for that. Most of us had this idea that we were just plain, or ugly or just not attractive, especially to the demographic we most wanted to desire us as a romantic partner. 

The fact is, many women have a similar feeling to what you are going through regardless of her sexual orientation. 

On to the good news. The greater Western culture tends to portray butches in the media either ugly and rude or stoic or as some perfectly physically fit woman who wears a sports bra to show off her muscles and is brimming with a snarky confidence. That is show biz and not real life. 

I hear young butch4butches and young femmes and garden variety lesbians lament all the time that they can’t find butches today. “Where have all butches that love being butches gone?”  they ponder. So as a butch there are plenty of women out there seeking you and wanting to see and meet you. 

We are quite visible and it is hard to hide our lesbianism when we are in public. And most of us don’t want to. We want to be comfortable as ourselves so we put on a stiff upper lip and go into the world looking as confident and sometimes as tough looking as we can muster. Once you meet the right friends and date a woman with whom you connect you will find a feeling of safety if you let it. Allow your friends to carry some of the burden. Listen to them when they say they have your back. Let the woman you are dating stand up for you and talk about how wonderful you are. 

Take a look at my tiktoks or posts here on tumblr and you will see that butches are loved and appreciated but a vast majority of the LGBT Community. 

Wear what makes you feel confident. Get out to events at the gay bar, concerts, even non profit fundraising events. Take the time to go to places that require you to dress up and put some effort into picking an outfit that suits you. Looking good can truly lead you to feeling good. You can boost your own confidence by getting a good haircut that you love, shining your boots and putting on some light cologne. The best way to get past the feeling of being inadequate as a dating partner is to get out and meet more women to befriend.  The more women you meet the more you can see you are not alone 

As you meet more people,  and form more community connections, you become more comfortable as yourself and you feel much less endangered in public. You learn that much or your fear is thinking others are watching you when in reality most people are just trying to get through their day. This is not to say it is not important to read your surroundings, it certainly is, but you will feel much more at ease if you feel confident in yourself.

[painted-flag]

A Preview

This man and his minute of screen time has managed to push me out of fanfic writing retirement. I do not care if he is not Benjicot - he will always be Bloody Ben to me. This is an unedited preview of what I am writing currently.

Anyways, this imagine was originally planned to be around 5k words but, as I started to plan and write, that has changed. It will be around 10k words. I'm still in the process of writing and then editing that, but here is a little preview of what's to come. (I'm also completely out of my depth in understanding on how to post on Tumblr, so apologies if things are formatted weirdly. I'm an AO3 cave dweller)

The loud clap of thunder followed in succession by the flashing of lightning illuminated the library of Dragonstone. In the late hour of the wolf, Daenys found herself entombed within the walls of parchment, scanning drawn-up battle plans and strategies written by maesters who had nary seen a single battle. The feeling of ever-present stress loomed over her, creeping from the shadows that were not illuminated by scattered candles. That feeling of anxiety - pressing down harshly on her chest - had been a footnote in her life. 

Daenys did not need to be a dragon dreamer, like her namesake, to see the future of her house. War was coming, that much was obvious. She knew at the age of nine that her mother’s claim would be challenged and since then her life had been spent preparing. The intensity of conflict did not matter, Daenys would be prepared regardless. So, much like most nights, she had settled herself among the pages of books. Her body, worn from training all day, had relished in the feeling of sitting down in a plush chair. 

The book in her lap, An Analysis of Ground Moves of the First Dornish War, had begun to kill her mood. The maestor who wrote it had no skill of explanation, nor seemed to have care for fighting in general. She cursed his weak analyses on certain moves and more outwardly she cursed the tone in which he wrote when speaking of her Targaryen ancestors - in particular the women. Daenys leaned back in her chair and repressed the urge to chuck to tome across the room. All that access to knowledge and training yet maesters still seemed to fall short. 

The echoes of footsteps sounded between claps of thunder. Daenys glanced up to see her mother. Rhaenyra had her hair down in light waves. The nightclothes she wore were made from black and red fabrics and stitched in the fashion of dragon influences style, part of a matching set that the two women shared. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth set in a line. The heir apparent sat down in the chair beside her daughter and glanced at the book in Daenys lap. “The hour is late, yet you are out of bed?” 

Daenys’ arms rested on the book, “Sleep could not come.” 

“Or have you run from sleep? Increasingly so, as of late.” Her mother’s observation cut deep. It was true, for Daenys had become antsy. More and more nights were spent reading, and even more days training with the sword. Exhaustion had become her friend and respite her enemy. She felt behind, as her training had only started a few years prior - after years of requesting to learn. Any day a war could break, yet she sat about for most of her life doing nothing but sewing and other pointless tasks to be a good wife.

“Don’t you feel it, mother? That sinking feeling of... something clawing at your feet for that damned throne.” Daenys’ gaze rose to meet Rhaenyra. As her mother's only daughter by birth, they held a certain bond. The ability to understand what one another wished to say without so much as a word. A twitch of the brow, a quiver of the lip, or the tilt of their head was worth more than what any uttered words could convey. Mother and daughter, one unable to live without the other. Like bees and flowers or the moon and sun. A push and pull of exchange. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

That's a little sneak peak. I plan to have it finished in the next day or two - it largely depends on my coursework. Especially since I am entering my third year, things are getting heated.

[holmesoverture]

I posted another fic! Still restricted to AO3 users for now, but I've included a snippet below the cut. It even includes an indirect Hobbit reference for funsies :)

March 13, 1945

My dear Watson,

It has occurred to me that I was not as considerate as I perhaps should have been regarding the recent vicissitude in your personal habits. You were of course well within your rights to employ whatever methods necessary to escape Dedrick’s associate, even if those methods involved inadvertently sacrificing your facial hair. It is only that I have never known you to look any other way, and the idea that weeks will pass before your face is restored to its usual condition was a disturbing one.

In short, I apologise for yelling at you for shaving your moustache and I would like to offer a small token as a penance. I don’t know why you insist upon keeping written accounts of my adventures when you know I won’t allow you to sacrifice my anonymity by publishing them, but I know that doing so makes you happy. Therefore, to make amends for my behaviour, I will tell you how I reunited the pieces of the broken key, rediscovered the lost windows of St. Aidan’s, and almost rescued you from two aspiring art thieves.

Our misfortunes began two mornings past. We were working our way through both our breakfasts, such as they were, and a lively discussion on the literary merit, such as it is, of Nordic poetry.

“But this makes no sense,” I protested. “Just look at this passage here: ‘Nyi and Nithi, Northri and Suthri/Austri and Vestri, Althjof, Dvalin/Nar and Nain, Niping, Dain/Bifur, Bofur, Bombur—’ and on and on it goes! It stops in the middle of the narrative to list off dozens of dwarfs who have no bearing whatever on the story the author has just introduced.”

“That text is centuries old,” you replied. “Passages such as that one were probably intercalated from other sources. Bellows says as much in his introduction.”

“That is only an excuse for its gaucherie, not a cure.”

“Bluster all you like, you’ll never convince me these poems aren’t a perfectly lovely way to spend an evening. Besides, I should hope that I, the aspiring author, am rather more familiar with good writing than you, the man who finds muddy footprints more entertaining than an afternoon at the cinema.”

“Muddy footprints make more sense than those silly comedies you waste your pension on.”

You prepared to defend your poor taste, probably with something along the lines of how comedy is one of the only genres not to regularly feature gunshots and explosions, and how paying to forget the war for a few hours was not a waste at all. I in turn would argue that scientific journals provided the same effect without the implausible plot devices and painful overacting. Then you would shake your head at me, with affection I hope, and flop back into your armchair by the fireplace and read your intercalated poetry as obviously and as obnoxiously as you could without making a sound. Fortunately we were saved the trouble of re-enacting this argument by Mrs. Hudson, who announced the arrival of a new client.

I told her to send him up and she went to do so, pausing halfway down the stair to readjust her left shoe, which she had been a bit hasty about stepping into when she heard the ring of the bell. She spoke briefly with our visitor in a voice too low for me to clearly hear and then went out to tend her infernal chickens, so the man—it was probably a man, for few women wore boots so heavy and broad, or possessed a gait so long and loud—ascended the stair alone. His knock was confident and perfunctory, performed out of a sense of obligation rather than genuine courtesy, and he entered without awaiting a response. He wore a recently-purchased secondhand suit—he was saving his coupons for something else, then—and had stayed up working on papers of some sort rather later than he should have. I remember you saying later that he could have been handsome if not for the thick sinister brows and the slippery smile. He introduced himself as James Dedrick and insisted that his story would be well worth our while.

[marzipanandminutiae]

i'd love to learn just how victorian rational dress reformists would react at contemporary feminine hairstyles!

...in a similar line of thought do we have any records about their opinions on the Practicality of little girls hair or even the 20's bob (if some lived to see it)?

I'm not sure!

One of their biggest beefs with hair in their own time was often with hairpieces: false buns, curls, bangs/fringes, etc. used to augment one's natural hair. I'm not sure if they felt it weighed the head down or the extra pins were uncomfortable or what, but they didn't like it. false hair still exists, but its popularity has vastly waned. so maybe they'd think we had solved some issues- though long hair worn loose all the time would probably be seen as Hampering to women's daily activity

You do see some advocacy for short hair as an easier and sometimes healthier (??) option, but more often I've seen artistic and/or Dress Reform-oriented women with short hair who said nothing about it. You also have men who are...clearly just into ladies with short hair writing long Ye Olde Thinkpieces about how great it is. I mean, no shame there, I guess- everyone has their Thing. And while short hair on women was unusual, the Victwardians didn't seem to regard it with the same massive distrust and hand-wringing as conservative commentators of the 1920s did. Perhaps because it was less widespread?

The idea that little girls not only could have short hair but should was fairly common throughout the 19th century, obviously with variations. Similar reasoning was in play to that you might expect nowadays: that it was easier to care for, and that an active child wouldn't be hindered by it. there was also an idea, similar to that which led some women's hair to be cut off during serious illness, that short hair kept the head cooler and prevented or lowered fevers. I've actually read an admonition to keep children's hair short for just that reason in a book from the 1830s- The Ladies' Medical Oracle, by Elizabeth Mott. obviously this wasn't universal- see also: the original Alice in Wonderland illustrations, although it's worth noting that the real Alice Liddell had a bob as a child

(yes, little girls were expected to be active to a degree- even more if you're reading a book by someone who has experience with Actual Human Children. some doctors fretted that the uterus would be damaged by too much physical activity, but it seems like in practice, parents' were...again, aware of how real children behave. Longfellow's 1860 poem The Children's Hour describes his daughters storming his office to shower him with affection, quite energetically, and it was a smash hit)

as for how they reacted to 1920s bobs...well, most of the adult adopters thereof had at least lived through part of the Long Hair As Default For Women Edwardian era, and their thoughts ranged greatly on the subject. In fact, essays by Irene Castle (believed to be the originator of the trend in her late 20s c. 1913 or 1914, long before it caught on properly) and Mary Pickford (a late adopter at age 36 c. 1928) on why they had vs. hadn't cut their hair are often paired together as a commentary on how the trend was seen, along with others. sometimes these essays are rather strange- one wonders why these women, who must have lived when adult women all wore their hair up every day, describe the alleged oppression of "long, trailing locks." I guess when what you like has some social unacceptability, you might be inclined to phrase things in black and white thus

Dress reformers of the 1920s were more concerned with the deleterious effects of high-heeled shoes and the general idea that young women were encouraged to be too frivolous- and too loose in their sexual morals, as represented by the "short skirts"- actually about calf-length -and low-backed evening gowns of the era. that sounds kind of weird today, in the era of sex positivity, but earlier dress reform had, with a few exceptions, disavowed ideas of sexual freedom as thoroughly as mainstream society did. and I kind of get it- the notion that they advocated "free love" was often used to discredit genuine women's rights groups. still they weren't totally immune to sexual mores of their time, and some likely genuinely believed what they were saying

and that's not even getting into the Coiffure a la Titus trend of the late 18th-early 19th century, which had advocates claiming it was the best thing ever and detractors insisting it would result in women catching colds all the time. it was ever thus

anyway that's a bit of a long-winded answer, but I hope it helps!

[im-goofball]

THIS JUST HIT ME BUT what does nusjuros parents look like...WERE THEY GOOD TO HIM OR BAD...... also is long haired kid nusjuro real in your lore

The Shogun of Wano, Kozuki Saisho and his wife Kozuki Atsumako were really nice to him, knowing how hard his life must have been before he was adopted and taken into their home. Despite that, it was quite obvious that Atsumako favoured her biological son over Ethan with how much physical affection she shown him and how restrained she was with Ethan even in privacy.

Saisho's favouritism wasn't that visible as he tried to treat both of his sons equally. But it could be seen on how the nobles and even serverants scorned him, scrunching their noses at the "commoner filth" he brough with himself into the royal palace. Or how Saisho's friends from high noble houses such as Akatsuki and Kurozumi wanted to change Saisho's mind and return the "peasant boy" where he belonged.

+The poor education he recieved speaks for itself I suppose

---

Now, about the hair thing. During the Void Century, Wano was very strict culture with both strict laws and traditions and everyone from all four Classes had to go by them or else they were severly punished. And this goes even for hairstyles and hair decoration.

4th Class; The Commoners

-Had to wear their hair short as possible, max. lenght was right with the chin. An inch lower would be a death sentence

-They couldn't wear any hair ornaments, as that would be an insult to the 3d Class; the Nobility, which ment they'd lose their head

-They couldn't shave their heads bald, as that would be an inault to the 2nd Class; The Clerky, which, again, would mean they'd lose their heads. Old people, or people with illnesses had to wear wigs

-They couldn't wear their hair long as that would mean they were not simply insulting the royal family, but they tried to imitate their style as well, which again, off with their heads

3d Class; The Nobility

-Could wear their hair longer, max. lenght was right under the shoulder blades. An inch lower and you know what happens next

-For noblewomen: When they were unmarried, their hair had to be tied in a high bun with red, or pink, or purple ribbon, not a single hair loose.

When they were married, they could let their hair loose a bit, although the high bun was still there and now that they had a husband/wife, they could add jewelry of any kind.

If their husband/wife died, then they could no longer wear their jewelry as an act of mourning, and used white ribbons to tie their hair, as white was seen as the funeral colour

-For noblemen: When they were unmarried, their hair had to be tied in a low and shirt ponytail so it would still go with the preferable lenght.

After marriage, the men wore their hair in a similiar fashion of their husbands/wives. Tied in a high bun by a purple, or green, or blue ribbon with only one jewelry piece in hair.

If their husband/wife died, men were forced to cut off their bun and shave the left half of their head clean for three months whilst wearing a white band of silk around their forehead to indicate they were still mourning

2nd Class; The Priests

-Both men and women who chose to follow either the Way of Sun, which worshipped Sun God Nika (and was the minor religion in that current era, only 20% followed) and the Way of Moon which worshippeed the Moon Godess Tsumara (and has been the vast major religion for atleast four hundred years since the first temple was built in Wano) had to wear their head shaved clean as a way of showing they cared not for rules of mortals and only obeyed the gods

1st Class; The Royal Family

-The Royal family wore their hair long and never stylized in buns or any kind of tails unless they had to go out in public or had to meet with guests of honour in their or other households

-They wore were few ornaments in their hair, and that was still only allowed for the women in the family

---

Ethan was allowed to have his hair grow long only after a very heated argument between the Shogun and his friends, and still only after he reached he was fifteen.

[pisboy]

as a fellow alopecia haver would you mind if i asked a few questions about how you cope with it? like, do you wear hats or wigs or do clever hairstyles to hide it or do you just let it show? ive tried pills and scalp shots and nothing is reversing mine. im only 26 and i feel like this is the worst thing to ever happen to me and i dont know what to do about it. nobody even thinks balding women exist. nobody considers how it is to actually be one. im so scared no one will ever like me or find me cute again. i used to think i was so cute. this sucks so bad.

For me the back of my head around the nape and up to nearly the top of my scalp has never grown hair, not even when I was born. My father also has alopecia areata and he has a few golfball-to-coin sized patches he loses and regrows at a random basis. So I've had my entire life to contend with hair loss and family that was familiar with it, so I sympathize so incredibly hard to women who develop it later in life. It is probably mortifying.

So yeah, shots and pills and balms and oils and etc have never worked for me. I also lose hair at random basis around the rest of my scalp, mainly around the margins of my crown (losing my bangs) and the sides of the back where I already do not grow hair. I also lose half my left eyebrow on a regular basis. If you go far back enough in my #me tag I've posted what it looks like. I also preface some of my advice might not be helpful if you have afro-textured hair, but I will recommend someone who will be extremely helpful in that respect.

Also I hope you don't mind me doing a shotgun blast of advice but maybe my experience will help someone

Things that worked for me:

I've always been flipping my part as my hair cycles in a growth/loss state for my bangs. Low pony tails tend to hold better than high ones in what is essentially a clever combover. Uhhh and always keep a hair tie around in case there is wind lol I always get self conscious when there's a breeze.

This is kind of vague and probably shitty advice but I've noticed over the years I lose hair when I am stressed, so I've had to make the call (in addition to other factors) to quit jobs that really strain me and I've noticed improvement in hair growth. So depending on your circumstances I say make some effort to reduce your other stress factors while you go through figuring it out. This shit is literally traumatizing.

This thing here is basically a pepper shaker for keratin bits that can color-fill in patches of missing (or really tiny short baby) hair. I can only speak as a brunette but it works pretty damn good as some camouflage for your skin poking out where you can't cover it. Do note it kind of has an ashy texture so it's something to wash out at night like makeup. Scalp makeup lol.

Hats are good. I wore trucker hats for most of my teen years, but I don't wear them much anymore, especially being out of the stress of school. However - a piece of advice from a mentor of mine, Jamie Elmore, is to call hats, bands, scarves, wigs, anything under an umbrella term "accessory." It's kind of corny but sometimes conceptualizing these things that way helps coping with the impulse of a world that demands you hide your hair loss and another where you can freely express yourself without fear of judgement. Anyway, I recommend looking her up, she has a magazine and works hard for the alopecia community, particularly for black alopecians.

Oh yeah if you can find those hippy chick silk hair bands that have the elastic around the back, I love those. Regular bandanas are also good.

Uhhh shorter hair also tends to weigh and pull less, which I think everyone has varying sensitivity to, but to anyone considering a bob, why not might help lol. I also lose my hair in the largest amounts in the shower, so like, if you develop a weird complex about showering I know allllllll about it.

I have tried partial wigs, which are custom cut out and adhered to your head, and it's nice if you want to do hairstyles you otherwise could not, but it's high maintenance, very itchy, and gets gummy after about a week.

But yeah it's been a very slow and steady process to get used to going out in public without putting effort in camouflaging my alopecia, and that mostly has to do with tuning people out. The existential stuff gets personal so I save those conversations for a 1-to-1. *Holds you by the shoulder* we are all coping out here.

I look at that sword of Damocles hanging over my head and if my scalp gets wiped out beyond all sidepart repair, I'll go full wig-wearing. I once had a hair stylist who was giddy at the idea of shaving my head when I explained it to her, which was comforting in a silly way.

Anyway, it's been years since I've dipped my toes into the greater Alopecia Community, the ones with all the acronyms, but there are NAAF chapter groups that you can meet and hopefully find people to connect with. I think you need to join an email group though. Anyway. For the longest time the only people I knew with it was just my dad and a cousin who had it for 1 year and never again and seeing a group of people with patchy/full baldness in person for the first time made me cry.

To end on a good note, there have been trials for JAK inhibitors (a treatment for many autoimmune disorders) having really breakthrough success rates at hair regrowth, but I haven't looked into it lately. Seems very promising. A lot better than cortisone shots in the scalp I figure, maybe worth the pain lmao

EDIT: i misremembered it being lupus medication, but it was actually Janus kinase inhibitor trials with success.