#Bust of a Veiled Woman

[zegalba]

Cesare Lapini: Bust of a Veiled Woman (1886)

[the-woman-upstairs]

I support everyone’s right to read whatever nasty smut they want, but I see some of these dark romance books that get popular and I can’t help but pass severe judgement on them. Not because they’re “too dark” or “all smut and no plot” but because they’re either so poorly written you’d think ChatGP was the author or they fail to commit to the bit of their purported genre.

Much like the Joker bemoaning the state of crime in Gotham, I just want a better class of book for people.

[whereisloe]

Tough

“Like a .38 made out of brass” ꗥ arthur morgan x fem reader

a lil dutch x reader action cuz i’m just that girl - warnings n/a

𓆝. 𓆟

“You have my condolences for your father. He was a very valuable man” You watched Angelo Bronte carefully from your black fan that covered half of your veiled face. You had to really sell this mourning look if you wanted to fool such a powerful man so, that you did. Getting all dressed up in your black attire everything matching from the black, layered ruffles of your petticoat to the lacy parcel carried by your escort. “Because of his loyalty, I will extend my offer of protection onto you so as long as we still do business together, hm?” He took a sip of his glass before leaning back onto his loveseat with his legs crossed.

“I thank you, truly, Mr. Bronte. But, the extra protection won’t be necessary. We’ve got our own guns for hire on our land” You maintained a harsh stare onto the man across from you as he savored another sip from his wine glass. He laughed amused with your simple answer before tipping his glass to you. “Ha, your father says the same thing. Like daughter, like father then”

“Mr. Bronte, I am no fool to business. With all due respect, I did not come here to reminisce nor, have you invited me here to, no?” Bronte gazed up at you from across the table. Eyes narrowed and unreadable as though he couldn’t figure what to think of you. “You are a very…smart girl” You felt your mouth twitch as he continued his speech. You couldn’t stand the man’s voice, how degrading his words were as you feigned oblivion to obvious exploitations that were about to leave his mouth. “Your father received 10% of all government related endeavors. Whether it was busting criminals or busting vaults, didn’t matter to me just so long as I got 20% of his business.” He paused as he licked at his lips. “Your father did not remain in good standing with me for the money. Instead, he wanted security. Security, that nothing would happen to him or his precious daughter while he worked with me, and security I provided” This man reeked on lies, your father had been shot doing a job for this man but only after he demanded a raise in his cut.

“I can assure you I am not my father. I am here for money, security is something I may provide myself” You gestured over at the guns you hired not too long ago before this meeting. “Daddy was never too smart when it came to funds. Thinkin’ our oil plant would be enough with no back up money to lean on” You lightly began to fan your face as you felt yourself get worked up. “Then we was robbed, Daddy may have turned a blind eye to it but, I ain’t one to show weakness”

“I take it you want my help with this” He gestured to the air before pulling a cigar from a tray. “this show of strength” You nodded and carried on with your story.

“Those boys you’re in good spirit with robbed us good and as a long devotee to your cause, Mr. Bronte, I don’t take too kindly to it”

“My dear, as much as I appreciate your kindest regards, you must understand this business. If I was worried about my clients opinions of one another I’d be the poorest man in Saint Denis. The most I can do is keep them out of your business but, they’re fickle men…not to be trusted” He blew the the smoke of his cigar off to the side as your foot tapped rapidly. You were ready to lay your cards out, prove a point that your father raised woman fairly gifted in her trade. “I completely understand, I just request that I may also be in kahoots with these outlaws”

“Why? So you can get them arrested?”

“Precisely, Mr. Bronte. Of course, on your word. But, if I get in good standin’ with the law they’ll send some men over to the plant. That way we produced more, with less risk” Your foot halted its tapping pausing as the man in front of you thought carefully of your words. On paper, the plan was foolproof and a win-win. “So, whaduya think?” You attempted to expedite the man’s response but was only met with another deafening silence.

“I think I’ve been doing business with the wrong (l/n)” Angelo stood from the loveseat before offering you a hand to follow. You smiled, accomplished with the reaction you received before resting your freehand in his. “I must ask one favor of you, though” You nodded before lifting yourself from the seat. “I need you to host one of my official parties. To test if these men can be trusted, I’ll give subtle hints about your booming business.”

“Are ya fixin’ these men to rob me?”

“I’m fixing you an opportunity to meet these men…” He took your silence as compliance before continuing on. “The plan is, you catch these rats red handed and negotiate, later you tell me if they’re treacherous. If not then I’ll set up a meeting for you and the boss.” He scoffed at word as though he was amused by the thought of it. “And do not worry, I’ll have men everywhere for this event”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Bronte” You both shook on it before he walked you up to the front gate. The sun beamed down on you the second your foot met with the cobbled path of the front patio. Your escort was quick to your side with your parasol before you could even muster the words to complain. “The details will be delivered shortly, a presto, miss”

Today was the day.

You could finally put the face to the name that robbed you. Van der Linde Gang. You sighed at the name, as you fixed the headdress adorning your maintained curls. You still kept your attire relatively dark as your father’s death was still fresh in the press. All you had to do was briefly preside over the party from your balcony, allowing Bronte enough time to present you to his friends new and old. Maybe you’d commute down to your gardens to briefly acquaint yourself with your guests.

“Are you ready, Miss” Your maid questioned from your balcony doors. You adjusted yourself one last time before standing from your seat. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose” You promenaded your way towards the doors as your maid rushed behind you as to raise the dragging silks of your skirt just enough to hover the dirty concrete of the balcony but not enough to reveal your petticoat or bustle. You stood straight presiding over all your guests that took it upon themselves to socialize. None of these men meant anything to you except two.

You noticed Bronte with two men, who cleaned up well considering their circumstance, as they prattled on about god knows what. That was until one of seemed to motion up to you.

Nice shaven beard, tall and broad, with a subtle slick to his hair. None of these men would be able to tell but, you’d been admiring the man from afar staring down at him with shameless eyes. “Miss, your stares could be noticed as rude” Your maid whispered to you having you straighten yourself out before giving the man one last glance. Now, the other one had looked up at you but only briefly. He wasn’t too bad himself.

Perhaps, you wouldn’t mind going downstairs and acquainting yourself.

“My goodness” You spoke breathlessly to your maid. “Aren’t they some neat lookin’ fellas?” She hid her smile as she giggled at your unserious behavior.

“They are quite the sight—”

“Ohh, I bet you were lookin’ at the boss, Mr. Van der linde, hisself, huh?” You waved for the older lady to follow you inside as you teased her with your antics. “Well” She began while she laid the train of your dress neatly against the wooden boards fixing the bunched up silks that rested on your bust, “I won’t deny such a thing” the maid smiled softly as you laughed, briefly allowing yourself to calm down.

“Shall we get acquainted with them?” You turned to your maid, fixing her cascading curls as you waltzed past her. “C’mon, this is excitin” By the time you and your maid made it down stairs you could practically feel your heart beating out your chest. You hadn’t the slightlest clue why you were so nervous like some young faced girl talking to a boy for the first time. “Goodness, I’m nervous” You turned to your maid with a hand resting on your cheek.

“It’ll alright, miss. Just remember, you’re here for business negotiations not suitors” She chimed amused with your rather inappropriate reaction. You laughed to yourself as her words hit you. “I’m actin’ ridiculous…alright, cmon”

“Ah, There she is, the woman of the hour” Bronte was quick to call as you approached the men now facing you. You felt your nerves burning you up inside as you grabbed Bronte’s forearm and greeted him with il bacetto, an Italian courtesy you’d learn amongst the time you’ve spent with Bronte. Once you pulled back your attention was instantly on this so called boss standing off to the right of Bronte.

“Missus (l/n)” The man held out his hand as his eyes never left yours. You smiled, masking the slight in embarrassment you felt as you corrected him. “Miss, is just fine.” You placed your hand in his allowing him to kiss your knuckles. Amongst all the intense eye contact, you would think with how you felt moments ago, you’d be a flustered mess just right about now. But, your gut was telling you something serious was up about this man. You’ve been played a fool by many before, and you’ve caught almost just as many amidst their schemes. That glint in his eye, even the courteous gesture was a warning. This man was plotting and it all began with buttering you up.

Subtly, you recalled your hand before carrying on conversation. “I take it, you’re the one that runs things. Mr. Van der Linde, if I’m not mistaken”

“You wouldn’t be, miss. And here my…consort, Mr. Morgan” You noticed the slight pause in his speech before motioning over to the other man. Your head was quick to turn as you stared over at him. Eyes widening as you noticed his attractive features now closely. You smiled and nodded as a greeting to the man. “Ma’am” He returned your gesture with his slight acknowledgment. Couldn’t really hear it in the boss’s voice but, with Mr. Morgan’s you’d instantly picked up on the western candence.

“You don’t sound local, Mr. Morgan. You all from the west, I take it?”

“We’re from all over, Ma’am” He was short with you and rather mysterious, more than likely to hide his western drawl. But, they’ve got something greater to hide, you could feel it. “Mr. Bronte, may I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything, dear” He took a huff of his cigar before you suspiciously looked around for any ‘peering eyes’. “I’ve got the money but, there’s been talk of some group of boys runnin’ around robbing folk—You boys wouldn’t know anything of them, no?”

“No, we certainly do not. Saint Denis is new to us as well as its crime” Van der Linde was quick to respond. You nodded and grabbed his hand with a feigned concern and furrowed brows. “You all stay careful out there. They’re robbin’ houses and coaches from what I’ve heard. I could lend you both a couple of escorts, tonight as well”

“We appreciate the concern but, we’ve got ourselves handled” He reassured with a palm covering your hand.

“Alright, alright” You turned your attention back to Bronte. “The money’s in Daddy’s old office, I a-ain’t know what to do with it—”

“Calm down, the money will be fine. Go on, enjoy yourself.” Bronte played along with your little performance you put on. “What should I do with it? I ain’t never ran a business before.” Bronte tutted his tongue before leading you further into the gardens where all the officials rendezvoused.

“We’ll be back, boys. Help yourselves to some drinks while you’re here” Bronte spoke back to the men as the both of you, alongside your maid, disappeared in the crowd.

“Go find out where that money’s at, Arthur” Dutch wasted no time before turning to Arthur and bringing his voice down to a whisper. Arthur looked over toward him with a practical disbelief.

“Jesus, you ain’t serious? The girl’s daddy just died, now we’re robbing her of her own inheritance”

“Her daddy just died. Meaning that other people are gonna to rob her and, I’m not too sure about you but, I’d rather it be us that gets that money” His voice stained against the low volume he attempted to maintain before lighting a cigar. “I need you to trust me, Morgan, now…” Dutch backed away before tipping his hat to the man. Arthur sighed and made his way inside where the more quiet and intimate conversations took place.

By the time, Mr. Morgan had snuck his way upstairs you’d already been sitting in your father’s office chair shotgun light in your grasp. You had snuck your way around toward the back entrance of your estate which led straight up into the room. You double check the chamber making sure that you were sure to shoot if needed. Growing anxious with nothing but the drowned out voices from outside to distract you, you placed a cigarette to your lips before striking a lonesome match against the underside of your heel.

You’d get through half your cigarette before the soften floorboards creaked from the other side of the door. Quickly, you smothered the stick with the ashes of previous cigarettes your father burned through.

The door crept open and you were slowly met with the deadly end of a revolver and soon after an arm. “I’d put that down if I were you, Mr. Morgan” You stared down the barrel of your shot gun as the man slowly crept from behind the door. “Nobody has to get shot, I’m here to negotiate. Come sit with me, Mr. Morgan”

“Arthur.” He said curtly, clearly fed up with this whole event. He slowly holstered his weapon before seating himself in the chair sat on the opposite side of your desk.

“Arthur Morgan” You let his name slip your lips as you tested it. “You’re quite notorious, you know that?” You spoke clearly and watched him with your gun pointed toward him as you figured him out. “I’ve got family, down in Blackwater, sir. Say, they know all about you.”

“Do they now?” You nodded, slowly as your heel tapped against the wood. “What exactly are ya lookin’ to negotiate, Miss”

“I want to hire your gang as some guns and in turn I’ll keep this and your relation to the Blackwater massacre secret. And, if things play out as I’ve planned, I could probably get those Pinkertons off ya, for a moment anyway” You leaned back into the leather chair before setting your gun off to the side. “I’m tired of listenin’ to these men talk, empty promises followed by another all they is. Leviticus Cornwall for one, Angelo Bronte for another”

“Don’t you have your own men to escort you, why us?” Arthur questioned before leaning back as well, in his wooden seat legs spread and arms crossed. “I ain’t hirin’ y’all on a babysitting job. I need money, gold. I’d be sending y’all on robberies, I need experienced men not no, rich cat on a high horse” You licked your lips before getting desperate. “I’m tryna to buy off an oil plant from Cornwall but, I can’t do that without Bronte keeping the police distracted off of my daddy’s debts. With my daddy dead and me being a woman, my percentages have taken a hit. I can’t pay ‘em both”

“You sure are in a situation—”

“So are you. You need Bronte to trust you and the Pinkertons to fuck off. You need me.” You both stared at one another for a moment before letting your eyes soften. Even though, you’d been mid negotiation, you couldn’t help admiring his blue eyes, warmly lit from the lantern in front of you. God, what you would do just to be able to hold his face in your palms as your thumb rubbed the rosy blemishes of his cheeks.

“You ain’t wrong.”

“I know I ain’t. Now, would you escort me down to your boss, Mr. Arthur Morgan” You spoke sweetly before making your way over to his side and grabbing his arm. You would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every second of holding this man. With your one hand wrapped around his elbow and the other gently gripping his bicep, you followed his lead as you both left the room. “You know, you had me fooled back there…playing all helpless” You looked up at the man with a curious gaze mostly because you hadn’t heard the first half of what he was saying to you. “That was a set up, right? There ain’t no money.” You shook your head and smiled up at the bachelor to keep up a friendly appearance as you passed up some guests of yours.

“Bronte wanted to see if y’all were worth trustin’. ‘S nice to know if you lot like robbin’ helpless women” You winked before laughing at the matter only to get a rather dry chuckle from Arthur in return. “It’s alright, I won’t tell a soul, I promise” You placed a reassuring hand to his chest before letting it fall once you both reached the garden. “You know, you’re a handsome fellow, Mr. Morgan. Are you married? I can’t imagine that bein’ easy being in a gang and all.” You started up some small talk as the two of you walked around in search of Dutch.

“I ain’t married, no”

“What about your boss?” You urged.

“Well, he ain’t neither. Got a woman, though…back at camp” They had a woman traveling with them? You held back questioning about her before carrying on. “I take it you don’t, then? No women waitin’ on ya at home?”

“Not in that sense, no” Arthur said plainly as he maneuvered the two of you through the crowd carefully accommodating for you. “Y’all got more women traveling with you boys?” Your eyes brighten with the assumption you made. He nodded and watched as your face lit up. “You should bring ‘em over if this conversation with Mr. Van der Linde goes over well” You spoke outwardly not even thinking about what context the two of you were in currently. “You’re quite odd, Miss” Arthur chuckled before waving Dutch over with his freehand.

“Arthur. Miss (l/n).” Dutch greeted the both of you before visibly growing curious of the atmosphere. Your smiled faded as you grew more serious with the other male.

“Mr. Van der Linde, how would you feel about bein’ business partners?”

[heritagebrowser]

The pulpit at the Saint- Bavon's Cathedral (Sint-Baafskathedraal) in Ghent, Belgium.

Rococo pulpit made by Laurent Delvaux in 1741. The statues represent the blessing of the truth over error. Made of (white and black) Carrara marble and Danish oak, with gilded wood and wrought iron fence, made by J. Arens. The pulpit could be realized with money from Bishop Triest's fund. Laurent was commissioned by the Chapter of Sint-Baafs. The contract between both parties was signed on March 6, 1741.

As early as 1719-1720, the cathedral's clergy had a plan to replace the old pulpit, previously donated by Viglius Aytta, with a new work of art. In 1738-1739 and later, Van der Brugghen from Antwerp, Theodoor Verhaeghen from Mechelen and Laurent Delvaux from Nivelles made a design for a new pulpit. The latter's model was accepted for execution by the Ghent chapter, which concluded a written agreement with the sculptor on March 6, 1741. It precisely described which materials should be used, namely Danish oak and white Italian marble, and what the artwork should look like. In 1745 Delvaux had completed his work.

That pulpit, rightly regarded as a very representative piece of rococo church furniture in Flanders, has been elaborated on a rather large scale. The viewer's gaze is immediately drawn to the allegorical marble sculpture group under the tub, depicting Truth and Time. The Truth, in the form of a beautiful young woman in a graceful pose, holds a bulky, open book in her hands. Her beautifully arranged robe, which the artist managed to portray in a striking way, captures the movement of her long flowing hair. The globe under her right foot means that truth is higher and worthier than all other goods. The sun, shining on her breast, wants to show that Truth is a friend of light and that she looks up to God, without whose light there is no truth. The woman is crowned with a laurel wreath, the sign of victory. The book in her hands contains the following sentence from a speech by Paul to the inhabitants of Ephesus: 'Awake, you sleeper; rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light” (V, 14).

With her graceful body, slightly turned towards him, Truth turns towards a winged man, who foretells Time. He is winged because the proverb says: time flies. The old man sits on some blocks of stone and leans against a tree that supports the pulpit. He is awakened from his sleep by a putto blowing a trumpet, and lifts the veil that hid the Truth from him. People noticed his expressive head with striking play of light and shadow in the spirit of the late Baroque. For centuries, humanity was ignorant of Christ's message of salvation. She didn't see the Truth. Now Time throws off the veil that hindered his 'insight'. Instructed by the Truth, he is inspired by the divine Word, which is symbolized by the putto with the trumpet.

The entire group, inspired by an unfinished work by the Italian sculptor Bernini, is very balanced. The successful contrast between the youthful and lovely woman and the muscular old man, their posture and their draping testify to the artist's talent.

The branches of the tree swing smoothly around the pulpit, which is decorated with numerous rococo motifs and four medallions in relief. Three of these are explicative representations of the victory of Truth over Time and are therefore closely related to the group of images at the bottom. At the front we get the birth of Christ surrounded by angels and cherubim. This represents the Light among people. On the right the conversion of Paul is depicted, who was struck blind on the way to Damascus.

On the left is the conversion of St. Bavo. His eyes opened and he saw. After all, he was moved by the preaching of Saint Amandus and withdrew into a hollow tree in prayer. The last medallion on the back features the bust of Bishop Antoon Triest. The draped sounding board with a dove in a halo at the bottom is supported by two apple trees. On the sounding board, two angels hold a large cross, whose sleek surfaces contrast sharply with the playful branches of the tree. A third angel takes the apple from the mouth of a serpent that is writhing in the tree. At the entrance to each staircase there is a life-size angel on the inside with the coat of arms of Bishop Triest, thanks to whose fund it was possible to have this sculpture executed. The banister with its graceful curves and its lush and playful shells on the parapet is a beautiful piece of rococo in itself. The entire pulpit should not necessarily be viewed from any one point. It is conceived as an image that can be admired from all sides, without the composition losing value. (Source: Erik Duverger)

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 5

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

@i-am-vita, thank you for the beautiful banner

Word Count: 8,910

The Storyteller - Sapsorrow "Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail

(FanaticSnail Note: I did not get every element I wanted to into this chapter, but I didn't want it to go for too long. Much more to come!)

Song Suggestion: Nocturnal Waltz

The air was siphoned from your lungs at the firm tug of satin ribbon at your back. You hung your head low, eyes closing as you braced yourself against your bedframe with your palms and forearms. A small giggle rose from the woman behind you, continuing her incessant tugging and cinching with all her might.

“Not quite so tight, Perona,�� you winced, focussing on stabilizing your voice as you firmly directed her. A small whined groan of disapproval was called from her throat as she began to lessen her firm grip. 

“But you have such a pretty waist, my lady,” she complimented you while weaving the dual strands into each other, “Of all the times to show it off, now would be the time to display exactly what Mihawk signed up for.” She concluded her knot tying, ballooning the satin out into a delicately knotted bow and tucked it within the laced corset to hide it from view. 

Huffing out a final breath of exasperation, you placed your right palm beneath your breasts to rest atop your diaphragm and elevated to a formal posture. The gown felt spectacular to wear; the material feeling lighter than air while giving you the comfort and security of having the object melt into your figure. The dress was black, an option you did not choose for yourself. In fact, none of this dress was what you would have chosen for yourself.

The black material clung to your chest, a single triangular sash attached to your left shoulder that was pinned to the middle of your back and waterfalling down your frame to pool behind you at your feet. Your bust was an interesting choice. The material was bunched in a fashion to mimic feathers, stitched above a heart-shaped cup to carry your breasts within it. The deep cut in the middle of the gown accentuated your cleavage and stopped just below where you would deem it tasteful to halt its descent.

You sighed in defeat as you stepped over to your vanity, looking at the assortment of jewelry you were tasked with placing atop your body. The dress flowed as effortlessly as the veiled tailfin of a betta fish; imprisoned within the pool of its owners’ design. You had never felt more like a fish on display, the glass sheet of clarity distancing you from the expectant audience. 

“Are you okay, my lady?” Perona’s voice uncomfortably close to your right hand side caused you to jolt at her squeaked question. You snapped your head over to greet her wide and innocent eyes, staring unblinkingly at you. Her lips were elevated into a smile, although concern was written on her brows. 

“I am perfectly well, Perona,” you stated automatically, turning once again to fixing your collection of ear and hairpieces atop your head. All emeralds, golds and platinums sparkling with an assortment of topaz stones in their deep amber hue. You elected to ignore how close Perona drew herself against you, her face now perpendicular to your cheek as she continued to gaze her unblinking eyes directly into your face. 

You growled beneath your breath at her proximity, finally clasping your right earring to your lobe. You reached down to open your vanity draw, raking your fingertips over an assortment of glass vials of fragrances. You halted your hand over your usual scent, rising it from its space in the drawer and beginning to uncork its steel top from its glass canister.

“Are you really going to wear that one?” she whined at you, her hands floating down to the wooden drawer and brushing her hands along the variety of bottles, “what about that one that you wore when we walked in the garden? The one that smelt like bitter honey, and it had that intoxicating woodiness. The one that screams: ‘I’m a sultry mistress, take me by the hips and guide me firmly onto your-.”

“-Perona! Halt your vulgarity!” Your disciplinary voice cut through her train of thought, prompting her eyes to upturn into a mischievous twinkle.

“...I was going to say ‘dancefloor’, Governess,” she giggled, raising a bottle of her suggested fragrance and thrusting it into your hands while simultaneously removing the one you had opened prior. You inhaled deeply, rolling your narrowed eyes at her before apprehensively uncorking the vial and spraying the fragrance on your wrists. You circled the vial around yourself, placing the scent on the sides of your neck, the point between your shoulder blades and began to place the glass bottle back into the cabinet. 

Perona snatched the bottle from your hands, quickly sprayed the lowest point of your cleavage and laughed as she dropped it back into the vanity draw. Hastily, she floated her ghostly body away from you and made her way towards the door - as far away as she could be with a feigned surprise expression; reveling in how cross she had made you. Your jaw hung open at her audaciousness, eyes wide in fury only briefly before you sighed out a laugh at your ward. 

You glanced at yourself one final time in your mirror, checking to see if there was a single manicured curl out of place before you nodded to your reflection and turned to exit your chambers. As you opened the door, you were greeted by Zoro with his arm elevated in front of him. His fist was balled, his knuckles about to begin their descent to alert you of his presence beyond the wooden barrier. 

His hazelnut eyes met yours, his breath halting in his throat as he took in your formal attire. You smiled at him, dancing your eyes over his attire before your brows furrowed at the stretched satin vest firmly clenching his wide torso. In the light of the black material, accents of green were patterned within the embroidered material. The relinquishment of a pale shirt beneath it being a final firm act of defiance at squeezing himself into the mold of the upper classes, but remaining incredibly attractive to the eye regardless. 

“Woah,” Zoro sighed, using his surprise to examine your attire while you continued to take him in. You met his eyes once more before your eyes darted up to a single sprig of his moss-coloured hair hanging in the middle of his forehead. You smiled, immediately bringing your bangled and jeweled hand upwards and claiming the lock into your fingertips and tucked it backwards into his combed hair.

“You look very handsome, Zoro,” you praised him, slowly drawing back your hand as you searched for more out of place elements of his outfit to correct his frame with. You noticed a small amount of fray of satin on his left pectoral, prompting your fingers to delicately pick at the material to remove its strand. 

As you were distracted by searching over Zoro’s frame for more irregularities in his attire, Perona shot Zoro a teasing look; her lips curling upwards into a broad smile. Zoro’s frown deepened as his blush continued to dust his nose, ears and cheeks. His top lip sucked into his mouth, his bottom lip curling into a deep pout in embarrassment as he continued to ignore his elevated heartbeat as you praised him. 

“What a gentleman,” you purred at him, Perona laughing gleefully behind him at his tense stature. As her taunting giggle, you spun to chastise her. Her dark eyes were complimented in the accents of black in her tulle and taffeta skirt, her own corset accented with a pink so deep it almost seemed red in the candlelight. 

“That’s enough mischief out of you, young lady,” you reprimanded her, her giggle halting with a gasp. She bowed her head to you, eyes closing and pouting with her lips. Shaking your head, you drew your hand away from Zoro and claimed her chin beneath your fingertips. 

“You look beautiful, Perona,” you praised her, meeting her large doe-eyes as her eyelashes parted. Her pout softened into a smile as she reached forward to interlace her hands into your own. You crinkle your nose at her, an action reciprocated with the pink-haired debutant, allowing a moment of playfulness to fall between you and your ward before you turn back to the young gentleman. 

“Are you ready to go?” Zoro asked you, his brow arching up in question. You inhaled as deep as your corset would allow you, before nodding along with your slow exhale. 

“You seem nervous, are you sure you’re okay?” Perona asked, eyes holding concern while searching your face. You lulled your neck back, looking up into the ornate ceiling and taking a moment to notice all of the intricate carvings drilled into its mastery. Placing your hands up to cradle the back of your neck, you allowed your professionalism to slip in front of your wards for the first time; speaking to them as you would friends, rather than pupils.

“I usually have no qualms in attending formal galas,” you admitted, not yet bringing your head back down to meet with your wards, “but this-... this is not just a formal gala. This is a ball thrown to announce the intentions of unifying myself and a lord. I-...” you trailed off, finally meeting the patient eyes of your wards. Perona’s expression was full of empathy at your confession, brows creasing at the center while Zoro’s face remained unmoving and firm. You allowed your lips to twitch up into a small smile, nodding briefly and slowly blinking your eyes at them.

“-I am ready,” you ushered them with your hands in front of you, shooing them with your fingers. Perona was the first to turn from you, interweaving her hand within the crook of Zoro’s elbow and tugging him away. He continued peering at you over his muscular shoulder, shooting you a pointed look to wordlessly ask you if you were truly comfortable with them leaving you to make your entrance. You warmly smiled at him, eyes soft and delicately reassuring him. He finally turned away, revealing the dark satin knotted pattern vertically cinching his waist and straining under the pressure of his broad chest. 

Zoro was wearing a corseted waistcoat. Someone had to cinch in his corseted waistcoat. You narrowed your eyes at them, watching how proud Perona looked as she raked her eyes over his assembly of attire. You allowed a silent laugh to fall from your lips as you drew the conclusion: Perona cinched Zoro into his corseted waistcoat. 

As your pupils disappeared from your sights down the hall, you began your own trail down the halls towards the uproar of lively strings in jovial melody. Knowing the protocall, you waited by the partially closed doors for your formal announcement. You peered through the crack of the door, noticing how extravagantly the ballroom was decorated through this small window into your future. 

Dracule Mihawk had spared no expense in adorning the walls and halls with an intricate display of his vast wealth. The walls had ropes of golden cast vines dripping from the ceiling, leading down their intricate spirals in spirals towards the guests with bushels of crystalline rose-shaped flowers. The assortment of guests were freshly decorated in clusters of frills, furs and feathers; their pearls and gems glistening under the candlelight. 

That is where Mihawk caught you, breathless as he took in his beautiful intended bride to be. You were a sight to behold: wonderment dancing without restraint behind your eyes as you took in the celebration occurring beyond the door. He stuttered in his movement, opting to remain in the shadows just a moment longer as he continued looking over your body firmly secured within the material of his own design. If you got to choose three outfits for yourself to adorn on your wedding day, he wanted just one to suit his own interests. And within that singular choice he made, you were pure perfection incarnate. 

He straightened his shoulders, rotating them within his pale sleeves below his own cinched vest to rid himself of any final nerves as he approached you.

“My Betrothed,” Mihawk’s purred voice broke you away from your stooped position; your body responded immediately by fixing your hunched posture upright. You turned, eyes meeting with the amber hued orbs shrouded in shadows.

“Betrothed,” you responded, dipping low into a deep curtsey with your head bowed. The small dip of your head bounced your curls and jangled the intricate headpieces within your manicured locks. Mihawk clicked his tongue, stepping away from the shroud of darkness to finally grace you with his presence. 

Mihawk’s signature hat was no longer attached to his head; his hair displaying their natural curl and wave beneath a dark, embroidered tricorne. The usual white of his feather was replaced with a blackened ostrich feather, ombre with a deep crimson accentuating the tips. He paid extra attention to his grooming, ensuring not a single sprig of his facial hair was out of place. A pale shirt with ballooning sleeves was tucked beneath a tight black vest. The boning running down his torso catching your attention and forcing his built chest to display; the way it tightened him was sinful and made his shoulders look that much broader.

As you continued to shamelessly rake your eyes over his slowly approaching body, Mihawk’s yellow eyes were hyper focussed on the small gap in your plump lips as they parted. He couldn’t help the tingle that shot up his spine, knowing how you truly felt for him from your unwitting confession earlier. He relished in being an object of desire, not feeling this form of flattery for quite some time.

By the time your eyes met, you noticed a small twinge of a smile threatening to break through the honey-coloured irises. You tried as you might to remain professional and stoic, knowing within your heart that this match with him was never something to occur naturally between you. You closed your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself as you attempted to regain your composure. He was intoxicating, every ounce of the lord of Kuraigana was simply-.

“-So beautiful,” he spoke in a voice above a whisper, reaching down to adjust the darkened satin strap clinging to your shoulder by the pinch of his thumb and index finger. You looked down at your dress, noticing his eyes continued to linger on the satin sashes and interwoven pieces attached to your bodice. 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” you smiled, watching the way his fingers danced atop the material to smooth over the dress. Mihawk’s eyes drew themselves quietly over your neckline, dancing at your jugular and slowly seeking residence on your lips. He watched as your breath rose and fell between the two rose-coloured borders framing your mouth, fixated on every crevice and divet atop them. He watched them begin to dance as you uttered to him in question.

“Am I everything you hoped I would be?” he heard your voice ask him, breaking him away from his thoughts and snapping his intense eyes upwards to gaze into your own.

“What was that, Betrothed?” he asked, desperately hoping for you to say those words once more. 

“Is this everything you hoped it would be, my lord?” you restated your words, blissfully unaware of Mihawk’s mind fluctuating words and unspoken intentions between the lines of your question. You gestured to the dress and fixed your posture once more, waving over your diaphragm to rid the material of any gathered lines from your prior stoop.

He huffed out a small breath of exasperation briefly before gesturing with his right index finger in a circular motion, indicating his desire for you to twirl for him to view it in its entirety. You sighed out your own exasperated breath and skillfully stepped backwards and twirled the pooling skirts of the intricate dress. The slit on your right thigh split to reveal your sheer, black stockings beneath your sharp, pointed heeled shoes. He raked his eyes over your slow turn, looking to each of the elements he had chosen to include: the boned corset with the laced back, the embroidered satin with feathered details and the plunging neckline to mimic his own. 

You were perfect. Everything, perfect.

As your twirl halted its crescendo, your skirts fluttered before falling back into their waterfall position by your feet. Looking up into his face, his stoic expression was completely unreadable. You had no idea what thoughts plagued the eyes of your betrothed, nor did you ever assume it would be your place to ever ask. 

“We never did choose a title to address each other with, did we?” Mihawk’s left eyebrow elevated as the corner of his lips twitched in question, “Although I do remember stating that you lowering yourself into your subordinate default was no longer appropriate.”

“We initially discussed referring to each other as ‘betrothed’, my-,” He shot you a warning look, forbidding you to say a final utterance to the formal title. You rotated your neck to rid it of its agitation as the two of you began circling each other. Each step Mihawk took, you mirrored it with a step of your own, “But I suggested that was no longer appropriate and sounded too rigid.”

“And have you thought more of it?” Mihawk questioned, allowing his body to be danced with yours a few steps in front of the door where you were to make your grand entrance. He halted his rotation, opting to step forward and bring your bodies all the more closer to each other. You refused to allow him to intimidate you with his presence. 

“Have you?” You quipped in return, stepping closer to him and almost pressing your torso against his. He almost cracked a small smile, the ghost of its presence whispering over his mustached lip as he continued to stare his unmoving gaze into your eyes. 

“When I introduce you to our guests; I will refer to you as my bride,” he declared, choosing to press his right hand an inch above your hip; slowly dragging it to fall into the mid of your back, “But as you’ve plagued my thoughts of late, my heart calls to you by another name.”

His eyes held a firmness to them, desiring for you to understand your place as his intended, but also harboring more affection for you than you once realized. You were drawn back to your conversation earlier with the Farm-Hand of Kuraigana, your heart singing the praises of the eyes and the voice of the man in front of you. That voice now referring to you almost akin to the prospect of ‘beloved,’ both had you reveling at the notion of affection being possible between the two of you, but also frightening you with the aspect that this could all be due to the suspicious curse that haunts the ring on your unity finger. 

“I am your bride,” you whispered, dancing your eyes between his briefly while placing your right palm atop his heart and pushing against it firmly, “and I am fine with being introduced as such, as I would introduce you to our guests as my beau.” 

As your heart began to drum frantically, and anxiety nipped at your neck at your approaching confession; a loud fanfare began its call to introduce the lord and intended lady of Kuraigana to the guests below the marble staircase. The shock of the interruption broke you both from your trance, eyes snapping from one another and jolting to the awaiting audience below. 

You felt the left arm of Dracule Mihawk reach forward and claim your right arm within the crook of his elbow. Stooping down, he gently voiced a small utterance, “We will talk more on this later. For now, know this,” He leant down to whisper a small secret within your ear, lips brushing gently with the outer shell as his breath danced over your skin, “I’m here by your side, and I will not drop you.”

Your mind immediately began swimming with circling thoughts of the dirt, twig, fur and feather-covered Farm-Hand who has spent his morning with you. He journeyed with you, educating you on interests throughout the land belonging to your betrothed you clutched with your arm. He carried you, allowed defenses to break down between you and confessed to his own romantic ailments. 

You refused to let your displeasure be shown on your face by the knowledge that this man you called ‘friend’ had spilled your secrets to your intended beside you: opting to falsify a pleasant smile as Mihawk chaperoned you to the balcony. This would be a conversation to be explored between you the next the two of you should meet. 

Applause erupted below as you stepped in tow with your fiance, his face stoic and unreadable as it was moments prior. He guided you down the steps, slowly making your descent below with the mable clicking pleasantly with yours and Mihawk’s formal shoes. As your feet concluded its journey down the steps, the room had once again sprung to life with the merriment of your guests and the uproar of melody drawn from the small orchestra at the corner of the room. 

Perona and Zoro were off to the side, opting to stare at the amount of guests within the large ballroom while drinking wine together. You raked your eyes over to several members within the upper class you had trained from youth; a broad, warm smile drawing itself to your face as your eyes met with your former gentlemen and debutants. Each of them you locked gazes with, stooped to a low and perfect curtsey and bow. Your pride in their tutelage swelled your heart and greatly improved your prior disgruntled mood. 

That was, until, you caught the whiff of the choking scent of a sour cigar. The nicotine-woven smoke spurred towards you, drawing over your hair and face and dancing with the perfume you had meticulously applied against your skin earlier. You snapped your head towards the position the intrusion was occurring, narrowing your eyes as they met with the purple irises of an incredibly tall and broad gentleman.

Your beau beside you was no short individual, his height far greater than yours. But this man in his broad stature eclipsed the two of you with his presence. His beady eyes held a dangerous, cold-blooded and reptilian stare as it met with your own. You refused to look away from his intimidation, choosing to feign your practiced kindness against your features. 

“Sir Crocodile,” Mihawk curtly addressed the man in front of you, “allow me to introduce my bride.” He carefully unwove your hand from within the crook of his elbow, prompting you to automatically step your body between Mihawk’s and this ‘Sir Crocodile’ to formally greet him. He had a cigar clutched between his teeth, his brows upturned in boredom but his eyes holding nothing but complete intrigue. He removed his bitten cigar from his lips by stabbing the tip of a golden hook attached to his left hand and moved to collect your right within his. 

Stooping low, he drew up the back of your hand to press his lips against your knuckles with his eyes closing in respect. From this angle, you had the brief opportunity to study his face; noticing a large scar separating his eyes from the bottom half of its face that looked to be particularly painful in origin. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” His raspy voice rumbled at you, the air of danger being omnipresent in the air and surrounds, “I have heard many wondrous things about you.” He opened his eyes at you while his face remained close to your knuckles, looking up at you through his eyelashes with narrowed eyes. Opting to mimic his response and mirror it back to him, you responded in a similar likeness.

“The pleasure is mine, sir,” you uttered in return, a smirk now pulling at your lips in lieu of your false smile, “And I truly wish I could say the same in return.” The rumble of his voice was now ignited with a small chuckle thrust from his lips as he ascended back to full height. 

“The Hawk of Kuraigana has not spoken about me to his blushing bride?” Sir Crocodile quipped, his brow raising as his eyes snapped over to Mihawk’s, “My, my. And here I thought we were friends.” Mihawk attempted to contain his composure, not allowing the Crocodile’s suggestion get the better of him.

“I do not recall making much mention regarding my bride’s achievements to you either, Crocodile,” He uttered through a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. You continued to hold your gaze firmly on the man in front of you, watching his nonchalant amusement dance over his eyes. His jaw continued to hold a bored and exasperated expression, even as he returned his cigar to his lips on the pointed tip of his golden hook.

“I did my own research on such a woman. A governess, Mihawk,” he inhaled a deep breath of nicotine-lace smoke and turned his jaw away from you to relinquish its presence in his mouth while his eyes remained on yours, “And a talented one at that.” You felt the tension between the men rushing between them like the rapids of a river of cloudy water. 

“I am an exceptional governess, sir. May I confess to you a trade secret?” you smiled, stepping closer to the larger man and putting a greater distance between you and your fiance. You smirked as he stooped lower, using his pointed hook to smooth a stray hair from his forehead back. 

“Please,” Sir Crocodile’s eyes narrowed and humor danced behind his darkened pupils.

You angled your chin upwards, looking down your nose at him through your elongated eyelashes and holding your face stern, “One of the greatest joys in my line of work is finding the stubborn ones,” you stepped closer into him, his smile creaking at the sides, “breaking them in,” your own smile continued to pull upwards, mirroring the playfulness now depicted between you, “and taming them.”

In an instant, Sir Crocodile’s eyes snapped over to meet the intense amber gaze of your beau behind you; an unreadable darkness contained within his purple hue. You witnessed the pointed gaze reflected in the irises of the crocodile, the deep amber hue of your betrothed honing in on the man in front of you; eyes narrow and jaw clenched tight as a steel vice. 

“And what a fine job you will make of him yet, my lady,” the rumbled laughter of the crocodile ran through his chest, finally returning to his great height and releasing your hand from within his. He returned his eyes to meet yours, curtly nodded his head in a polite manner and uttered a simple, “Congratulations to the both of you,” before turning back to Mihawk.

“After you conclude with the pleasantries, you will both meet me in the foyer to view the item I have made for you,” he ordered, a smirk pulling at his lips as Mihawk’s frown deepened, “As we agreed, Mihawk. A hundred hands have sewn it.”

Your eyes widened only slightly at the thought, remembering the words Perona had uttered while in her trance; “a crocodile has the moon.” So this is how he is doing it. A wealthy man with the world at his beck and call, commanding those around him by the curt snap of his fingers. Sir Crocodile’s smirk broadened, nodding again and adding a simple; “Lord Dracule,” and a further utterance of, “my lady.”

Mihawk’s presence once again found itself by your shoulder, an elbow extended for you to weave your own through it. As you took his left arm, you found his dominant hand atop your right hand and held it firmly in place. You turned your head to gaze up at the man beside you, his eyes fixed firmly on the back of the retreating figure of the reptilian man from earlier. 

“You managed him quite effortlessly,” he uttered in a voice only available to your registry, “But heed this warning,” Mihawk turned his head, his eyes meeting yours and depicting complete seriousness within his face, “Sir Crocodile is not a man you can trust, nor would I want you to ever be left alone with him.”

You nodded your head to him, your gaze fluttering down to focus on his lips moving so beautifully beneath his tailored mustache as he so eloquently spoke. Mihawk followed your eyes, your eyelashes fluttering as they continued to hold firm to his lips. He furrowed his brows, watching as your eyelashes fluttered up to meet your eyes against his amber orbs. 

“Consider your warning received,” you uttered breathily, angling your chin up to look down your nose at him, “Are there any further guests I should be equally fearful of, or is it just the crocodile being cause for concern?” He hummed, beginning to chaperone you throughout the grandiose ballroom; all the while continuing to hold his dominant hand over yours within his arm. 

As Mihawk opened his mouth to begin disclosing information about his other unruly guests, a loud commotion was occurring within the lounging area of the room. Muffled yelling, angry voices and clashes of wood slapping and scraping against marble echoed within the halls; the musicians electing to continue performing their serenade despite the interruption. 

“Can’t you do anything right? No! Over here, here,” the scratchy and hoarse voice barked, prompting the steady shuffle of feet and another loud crash of plank on tile. Mihawk released your hand from within his, continuing to link his elbow with your arm as he hastily drew himself closer to the sound. 

As guests parted, your eyes could not seem to form rhyme or reason as to what you were truly looking at. Your eyes were initially drawn to the train of thick, blue locks that veiled down the back of the brightly colored jester in front of you. Clasped firmly around his neck, an off-white ruff with a tight crinkle spiking off with its horizontal diameter incredibly large in size. You raked your eyes down his back, noticing a pale shirt ballooning out and tapering at the wrists beneath a gold, blue and red diamond-printed and patterned vest. Leather pants of the same pattern clung to his body like armor, accenting every muscle beneath it as he stomped his boot-clad feet against the marble floor.

“You idiots,” he growled, folding his arms over his chest briefly before flailing it out in front of him, “This is for Mihawk’s bride! Do you want to lose your heads? Because, so help me, if you drop that box one more time, I’m gonna-!” He turned away from the people in front of him, locking his teal eyes against yours. 

All words fled from the mind of the blue-haired clown-captain as his teal eyes danced with your own irises. His lips opened and shut, nothing forming within his painted mouth as his throat struggled to produce coherence. 

“Buggy,” Mihawk curtly snapped, bringing the clown’s attention over to meet Mihawk’s warning face, “May I introduce you to my bride to be?” Immediately Buggy’s entire body was fixated on taking you in. His arms gesturing out in front of him, his right heel extended and bending his left knee in a deep bow. He held unbreaking eye contact with you, taking in your every expression and response you gave to him: from the softness in your smile, the reprimanding presence in your eyes, to your manicured curls, to the way your breasts were perfectly displayed in the tight bodice of the-.

“-A pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir,” your melodic introduction broke his attention away from staring at your bodice, drawing his eyes up to once again meet with your own. 

“Believe me, Starlight. The pleasure is all mine,” Buggy’s voice rumbled, a small quiver detected in his throat. Mihawk’s sharp cough drew the clown’s eyes back to meet with the lord of Kuraigana with a winced grimace-like grin forming over his painted lips. 

“Mihawk,” He elevated his voice in a loud greeting, leaning forward and clapping his left hand over his right shoulder, “I have the thing for you,” he cocked his head over to the large wooden chest, the smallest sliver of pale chiffon jammed within the iron brim of the frame. Your eyes darted over to the material, your legs carrying you far enough away to no longer hear a hushed conversation between your intended and the jester.

“Fuck me, Mihawk,” Buggy hushed out his breathy exclaim, choosing to fix his gaze on your stoop as you looked at the box with curiosity, “She’s spectacular. And you’re telling me you didn’t want her as soon as you laid eyes on her? If you still feel that way, by all means I’ll take her off your hands-.”

“-No.” That verbal warning was all it took to have the clown-captain sucking his lips into his mouth and eating his words. The two men continued to stare their unwavering eyes over your body as you rose from your stoop. 

“Is this-,” you began, attempting to hide your unease at the notion that two of the three requirements were potentially presented to you in the same night, “-Is this one of the-?”

“-This is starlight for you, Doll,” Buggy chimed in, a broad grin decorating his painted face as he stepped closer to you, “If I may?” he asked, presenting his right hand out to collect your own. You danced your eyes briefly over to meet with Mihawks, an unreadable expression once again remaining stoic against his face.

You placed your left hand within Buggy’s, his grimace-grin softening with his eyes as he brandished your arm open to take in your whole appearance. He started with your feet, drawing his eyes up the slit of the full bodied, satin skirt and stopped his gaze at your waist. Holding it there a moment, he stepped closer to you and continued slowly looking over your figure, small hums exiting his large, red nose at each point he drew his attention to. 

“You. Oh, you,” He exclaimed, stepping closer still to your body. He hovered his left hand in front of your waist, his right still claiming your left within its caress, “You are going to look so radiant in that dress. You’re going to want to kiss me, Mihawk. Your bride- you, Doll,” he hovered his hand over you, eyes watching yours as you held your attention fully on reading the flashy individual in front of you, “The stars are going to envy your radiance. Fuck, you’re gorgeous-.”

“-Enough, Clown,” Mihawk’s bored vocal warning hand Buggy’s embrace immediately flees from your arms and holds them up to display defenselessness. Mihawk made eye contact with one of the members of the household staff, wordlessly directing them with a small gesture to remove the wooden box and move it elsewhere, away from prying eyes. 

You took that small moment to look over to where your former students were gathered, each taking to the dance floor with ease and gliding along the surface with practiced precision. Your heart swelled, the feeling of pride rising to adorn your cheeks with a content smile. Mihawk turned away from Buggy and the staff, his lips parting as he began to relay something no longer deemed important as he stood in awe. He wanted to commit the way your face lit up to memory: the upturn of your eyes, the shape of your lips as they rose in glee, the way your eyelashes partially shielded your twinkle in your irises. 

“You danced with your bride yet, Hawkie?” Buggy quipped at Mihawk’s ear in a tone and pitch low enough to only be heard by the swordsman. Mihawk looked through the corner of his eye, narrowing his pointed gaze at the clown by his side. 

“We are greeting our guests, Clown,” he spoke through his scowl, his voice warning the clown to desist with his incessant line of questioning and lewd comments regarding his intended spouse. Buggy’s eyes widened with an enthusiastic twinkle, his pearled teeth baring into a large smile. 

“Well, hop to it, bird-boy,” Buggy jested at the broody lord, pressing his gloved hand down to clap over Mihawk’s left ass-cheek. If Mihawk were not indebted to the clown for creating a prominent piece to save his mortal soul, he would have had him drawn and quartered for such an action. 

The curt sound of a slap drew you away from your students to seek out its source, only to find the clown with a triumphant smile plastered on his face while your betrothed bore his eyes into him with a burning hatred. Sensing a small amount of tension from the two, you nodded your head to the clown with a polite smile and wove your right hand within the crook of Mihaw’s left arm once more. 

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir Buggy,” you meant every word spoken through your lips; your smile genuine for the flashy fool, “And I thank you for aiding my beau with his task in completing an impossible task. Truly, sir.” Buggy’s face beamed up at you, his body now crouched in a flamboyant bow to humble himself before your feet. 

“My lady,” he uttered in a hushed whisper, rising once more to his full stature; his frilled collar bobbing beneath his lengthy blue hair, “I am just a clown. I aint worth all that-.” You shook your head, elevating your voice to cut off his train of thought.

“-And I am just a governess, sir,” you nodded your head, pursing your lips and smirking up at him, “We are worth far more than the titles that make us, do you not agree?” Mihawk continued to lay his face stoic, attempting to disguise his rise of adoration through clenching his jaw. He gave a short nod to the clown, dismissing him as he led you further within the crowd. 

You stood silently at his side, nodding politely as he continued to guide you on to make the acquaintance of several more lords from nearby lands, and notorious pirate captains he felt obliged to extend a formal invitation. He could not fault your ability to navigate the room, carefully balancing and reflecting energies and intentions back without fault nor flaw. 

That was, until, your eyes met with the intense and playful glint of a redheaded captain Mihawk truly thought would pose no threat. Standing amongst several close members of the Red-Hair pirates, all dressed in tailored suits with their weapons tucked in tasteful spaces amongst the belts and ribbons. As Mihawk began to form words to introduce you to his former rival, the Redhead immediately shot a wide and winning grin pulling at his lips, with surprise written in his chestnut eyes. 

“Vile Exterminator!” Shanks exclaimed with glee, his eyes meeting yours with enthusiasm. Mihawk’s face paled, shock written all over his face at his introduction to you. He snapped his head over to meet with your face, meeting only with playfulness depicted within your eyes

“Red-Haired Rat!” you responded back with an equal amount of surprise. You unwove your arm from its place hooked within your betrothed as Shanks stepped forward and circled his one arm around your waist. He hoisted you off your feet, circling you around within the air as his eyes danced between yours. 

“I thought that was you in the announcement,” Shanks uttered affectionately into your cheek, pressing a chaste kiss upon the skin, “Could recognise the disdain in your eyes anywhere, love.” He placed your feet back onto the floor, giving you an opportunity to place a gentle reprimanding slap against his chest. 

“Charming as you ever were, Rat,” you uttered, stepping away from the redhead captain and politely bowing to the silver-haired first mate beside him, “Beckman, always a pleasure. Keeping the Rat away from the henhouse?”

“Always, Exterminator,” Beckman smiled, inhaling a deep breath from his cigarette and exhaling it away from your face.

“Good boy,” you praised him, watching the corner of his lips tick into a small smirk at the verbal reward you offered him. The lord of Kuraigana followed the exchange like a hawk examining a potential kill. He was not amused.

“It appears you have history with my bride, Red-Hair,” Mihawk stated with narrowed eyes, warning written in his unspoken expression. Shanks’ grin only seemed to grow further, if at all possible. Shanks danced his eyes between the two of you, taking in your appearance as you stood beside the broody former-warlord beside you.

“I have been known to bump into her from port to port,” Shanks confidently declared, shooting a winning wink from his tri-scarred eye. You rolled your eyes at the movement, returning back to your prior position beside Mihawk and interweaving your arm within his. 

“One or two of my prior debutants had an affection for sailing men,” you spoke slowly, training your eyes on the pirates smirking with pride in front of you, “It was my job to chase them out.” Mihawk released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, slow enough to not draw your attention away from your stare in front; but not subtle enough to escape Shanks’ knowing glace. 

You turned to the man at your side, noticing the tension arising in his jaw as he continued to look at the redhead captain in front of you. Placing your palm firmly on his bicep while circling it, you gave his arm a small reassuring squeeze, drawing his attention back down to you. Your left brow quirked up at him, a small purse of your lips as your gaze drew down to his mouth. 

“I have also been known to acquire passage aboard the Red Force if I am in dire need,” you commented, floating your eyes back up to hear the amber hue of your intended’s eyes. He stooped down, turning his head away from Shanks’ teasing expression. His breath tickled your neck, his scent intoxicating as he purred a gentle reprimand in the shell of your ear, “And you said you were a lady.”

The hue of a warm blush rose in your chest, flushing your cheeks with its radiant heat. You clenched your jaw tightly closed, your brows furrowed as Mihawk pulled away from your neck with his lips twitching up into a small smirk. Shanks raised his right arm out defensively, a huffed laugh exiting his mouth with a grimace-grin akin to one the clown presented earlier.

“I assure nothing untoward has ever occurred between myself, my crew, and your intended, Hawk-Eyes,” he laughed, prompting a rumbled chuckle to gather within the chest of the smoking first-mate beside him. You snapped your pointed gaze back to the red-head captain, narrowing your eyes at him and wordlessly chastising him to hold his tongue. 

“Rat,” you nodded your head, dismissing yourself from this conversation while unlinking your arm from within Mihawk’s. 

“Exterminator,” He nodded in return, training his eyes after you as you made your way unchaperoned within the ballroom. Mihawk stood in place, turning back to glare at the red-head in front of him. He again opened his mouth to begin a lengthy verbal battle with his former rival, only for Shanks to immediately speak over his words.

“I have almost completed your request: so close I could almost see the vision. Mihawk-...” Shanks paused, stepping closer to the swordsman and turning him away from his crew. Both mens eyes fell over your form as you smiled and conversed with your prior students; introducing them affectionately to both Perona and Zoro now at your sides. All smiles, all beautiful and lovely smiles capable of having the highest of highs stoop to the lowest they’d become under the majesty of your smile.

“-Mihawk,” Shanks again spoke breathily, “I hope you are truly aware of how much of a lucky bastard you are,” He wrapped his arms firmly over the lord’s shoulders, the feather atop Mihawk’s hat bobbing under the swift movement. Mihawk sighed, closing his eyes and feeling a rise of agitation forming as the redhead continued to keep his one remaining arm hooked over his shoulders. 

“I am fully aware of how truly amazing she is, Red-Hair,” Mihawk began, clicking his neck in an attempt to rid himself of such agitation, “And I can admit to you, as my oldest rival, that I have begun to develop a fondness for her. I would never give in to such an emotion, but rather shield her from how much I adore her.” He turned to face the captain once again, baring his eyes fully into his with a blinding and furious intensity; remaining blissfully and shamefully ignorant to your slow approach behind him. 

You heard the next words of their hushed conversation, each word twirling like a dagger to the heart; but no context of the prior words spoken between them.

“I would have never chosen such a woman for myself,” Mihawk confessed to his rival, “I never wanted to marry, to take a wife, and to open myself up to the prospect of love. I am hating every minute I have to continue leading this facade.”

Your face fell, hearing the swirl of those words echo within your mind falling from the lips of your betrothed to your oldest acquaintance. Your heart shattered, hearing the words formed with a man you had begun to harbor affection for - a man who you were set to marry as soon as the final demand was met. You bit back the rise of bitterness within your throat and opted to not respond or react to the hurtful words spoken from the lips of your betrothed, but rather clear your throat and stilling your expression by flipping back to your prior state of pure professionalism. 

“I am glad we agree on our mutual displeasure at the prospect of joining together in matrimony,” you attempted to mask your heartache by allowing your rage to bubble to the surface, “Perhaps after we conclude with this sham, we could ask Red-Haired Shanks to process a speedy annulment? He is a captain, after all.” Mihawk snapped his face over to meet with your own, watching as your lips drew into a thin line and chin drew upwards into the air. 

“Would you excuse us, Shanks,” Mihawk stated suddenly, immediately reaching his left hand forward and grasping your right within his palm. Rather than to react by pulling your hand out of his grip and stomping away like the young teenager within you screamed at you to do; you allowed him to lead you away from the soiree of guests and out onto the quiet balcony overlooking the moon-dusted garden. 

You held your surliness prominently against your face, not speaking nor listening to the amassment of voices laughing merrily together within the ballroom. As soon as you both marched through the threshold of the balcony, Mihawk immediately shut the doors behind you to shroud you both in darkness. Without turning to face you, he uttered darkly with his voice dripping in unrestrained ferocity.

“Is that how you truly feel about me? About this?” Mihawk growled, balling his fist and placing it on the wall beside him. You remained expressionless, choosing to vocalize your answer. You compartmentalised your emotions, boxing them away as you had trained yourself through the years to do so. 

“Answer me,” He whispered, turning to finally face you. His brow was deep, his lips parted and eyes brimming with fury. 

“What good would gracing you with an answer do here?” you asked him, shaking your head at him. He stepped forwards, prompting you to dance away from his rapid approach. His footsteps stuttered, his arm halting its reach for you as you continued to hold your face stoic and expressionless.

“Was it all a lie?” Mihawk whispered accusingly, “Everything you told me: was it a lie? My eyes, my voice - all of it?”

You furrowed your brows into the middle of your forehead, attempting to recall a conversation you had with him regarding those aspects of your adoration for him. Your eyes held a seriousness to them, the private moment you shared with the Farm-Hand being the only time you had ever confessed to such a thing again dancing into the forefront of your mind. 

“You were eavesdropping on me? Ensuring I was behaving as your intended should? Watching me with the Farm-Hand as a parent would hover over an undisciplined child?” Your fury began to rise and elevate your voice within your throat, “I can assure you, my lord,” that final title had another growl free itself from the throat of the lord of Kuraigana, “I have never behaved in a manner unbefitting a lady-.”

“-That does not answer my question, Governess,” his voice roared with passion, his hair being freed from its confinement beneath his hat as his right hand removed it and cast it to the side, “Was it all a lie?” You backed away from him, your fingertips finding the coarse cement of the marble barrier behind you. You sighed, huffing out your agitation and allowing the moment to suspend your rage as you glared at him.

“Was what a lie? Articulate your words, sir, and I may yet grace you with the answer you so desperately seek,” your passion flared, your correcting reprimand strict and firm in your voice and stature. 

At that small challenge, Mihawk was on you in an instant; his hands seeking out your waist and pulling you flush against him as his lips bruised yours in a vicious caress. The intensity of the oscillation dizzied your head, swelled your heart and confused your mind with this degree of unrestrained affection. 

He raked his hands over your ribcage, drawing them behind your back, his fingertips slowly raking up each of the divots of the corset behind you. He hooked his arms between your shoulder blades, as your hands found themselves entangling within his raven curls. The brush of his silken mustache grazed your gradually swelling lips as you returned the kiss with equating intensity. You felt his teeth take your bottom lip between them, biting with fury as he drew you closer within his firm embrace. You gasped into his mouth, feeling a groan siphon itself from his lips into your own. 

He broke his lips away from yours and began to place open mouthed and heated kisses against your jaw, relishing in the way your skin felt beneath his lips with the cries of surprise propelling him onwards.

“You have ruined me,” he growled into your cheek, raking his teeth over your jaw and up to your ear, “Look at what you’ve made of me.” He drew his lips away from your earlobe and began trailing hot and desperate kisses down your neck, inhaling the sweet perfume Perona had so subtly sprayed on you earlier. You whimpered as he placed a kiss on your pulse, soothing over the rapid beat with his tongue as he felt your breath hitch. 

“Mihawk, stop,” you whispered, his actions immediately halting as he snapped his head away from your neck to gaze up into your eyes. Wide and worried was the expression he was met with, his desperation seeping out of his eyes and weeping down onto his face. He sighed, pressing his forehead onto your own, his eyes closing as he felt your anxiety roll off of you and onto him.

“I would never hurt you. You are my bride, my belov-...” his words trailed off as his throat closed them painfully between his tonsils. Your eyes widened as his remained closed, watching the pain draw up onto his face at his unspoken confession. You closed your eyes, leaning into his affectionate touch and inhaling deeply. 

“I would never allow myself the luxury of harboring affection for you should you desire severance,” you admitted with a soft smile, drawing your forehead away from his as his eyes reopened to meet with yours. He sighed, both removing your arms from one another while remaining a whisper away from each other. 

“And I would never find myself willingly breaking away from you, my lady,” Mihawk quipped in return, his lips threatening to break into a curled smirk beneath his mustache. You were the first to smile, reaching up your right hand to caress his left cheek beneath your palm. 

“Perhaps we should return to our event, my lord,” you uttered, dancing your eyes between his before reaching your thumb down to remove some of the lip paint that had passed onto his face from your own, “I may even provide you with the dance you asked me for those many years ago.” 

A sound fell into the air that you didn’t realize your heart yearned to hear fall from the parted lips of the lord of Kuraigana. His lips broke upwards, eyes cracking gently at the corners and his heart poured from his mouth in a small uproar of hearty laughter. This laugh felt so familiar to you, yet the sight of his face depicting such a sound was the most beautiful thing to take into your sights. He sighed, leant into your palm and pressed a gentle kiss into your flesh with his eyes briefly closing. 

“I would want nothing more, beloved.”

[lurkinginnernarrator]

MDZS au where WWX isn't rescued by the jiangs and he basically becomes a Mafia boss. Or whatever the equivalent for ancient Xianxia China Mafia boss is

Just, imagine it: An elegant man robed in white ducks into a low den, tucked away in the labyrinthine city alleys.

A fair yet strong hand pushes aside gauzy carmine arrases, yet his keen vision remains partially veiled. Lazy clouds of smoke intermingle with the rich fabrics that cocoon the low-slung chambers.

Men and women alike crowd the ornate hall, a variety of characters all in different stages of repose. The rich tones of liquor, incense and secondhand smoke perfume the room. From respectable scholars to disreputes of society, unowned and owned women, thieves and merchants, criminals.

The low humming of a multitude creates a melodious baseline of noise.

A thin yet surprisingly forceful hand clamps down on Lan Wangji's shoulder. Lacquered nails dig through the fabric and into his muscles. A feminine voice cuts through the polyrhythmic thrum of voices, drawling.

"And what, is a man like you doing here?"

Woman and cultivator meet eyes. She's small, yet her build is strong. Wrapped in vermillion brocade, cold eyes and a strong brow. Hair bound tightly, ornamented with glinting hairpins. There are blades hung on her belt. Lan Wangji bows his head respectfully, baritone joining the chorus of voices around.

"I would like to meet him."

Her gaze is sharper than a serrated edge. She steps deeper into the room, eyes flicking about the occupants and back to Lan Wangji. Back turned, he can only see the profile of her face as she considers the audacity of his request.

"And why should I, Bái-daozhang?"

白 Bái: Artic, Snowy, White, Bright.

Steadily, he replies.

"I would speak to him."

She snorts, swinging her head in his direction.

"I'm afraid a reason like that won't suffice. And quite simply, Bái-daozhang, you remain here on my sufferance.

State your goal."

Four women bleed out from the crowd, penning him in.

Right as Lan Wangji was about to speak, a strong and merry voice calls out from the depths of the chamber.

"Li-jiejie! What have you caught there? Bring it here."

She glares at Lan Wangji but motions him forward, deeper into the den. Two red clad women flank him, escorting him to the source of that mellifluous voice. His eyes search for the other two, but it seems they bled back into the hubbub.

He's hustled through curtains and past partitions, the crowd thinning out the further he's taken. More and more red robed persons flit past his vision.

Two guards stand by a veiled doorway, stances relaxed yet emitting a dangerous aura. They merely observe as Lan Wangji is ushered through the heavy embroidery and silks.

Low tables lurk at the edges of the room, from the rafters hang black tapestries, the smell of wood and candle wax welcomes him in. A draft carries the signature of wine to him.

Littered around the room are people, some caught in amicable conversation, others observing the proceedings.

His generals, perhaps.

At the head of the room is a man. The man. He sprawls on a mahogany throne, cushions and pillows artistically strewn about him, lending his position overabundant gravitas.

An irreverent hand swirls a jar of wine. Leather braces peek out from beneath long black sleeves that fan about his sides. His robes cling to his chest and torso, displaying the man's lithe and powerful body.

Not dissimilar easygoing musculature of a panther. He moved like a river at night.

Black and grey skirts played about his ankles, the polished leather of his boots catching the diffused light.

His waist was trim and firm, wrapped in crimson textile, the red of his waist meeting the black of his chest in pleasing contrast. Lan Wangji's eyes travelled up. Tanned skin parted his collars, revealing a structured collar-bone and sinewy neck. Long hair framed his bust, locks burning copper in the light.

Outdoors from a young age would explain the bronze appearance and sunbaked hair.

Grey eyes caught his.

Ornamented by a winsome face and charming smile, those intelligent eyes took note of Lan Wangji's every detail.

"What have we here?"

The woman, Miss Li he supposes, gave the lissome man a respectful bow.

"Bái-daozhang here claims a desire to speak with you."

The beautiful face turns inquisitive.

"Bái-gege, what can this lowly man do for you?"

"Lan."

Lan Wangji is inwardly surprised at his sudden reply.

Eyebrows raise and the handsome man's eyes twinkle in delight

"Lan-gege, then."

Lan Wangji watches as wine-stained lips wrap around the syllables.

The flippant hand loosely brings the jar to his lips, chin tilted up, exposing the lewd column of his throat as it bobbed.

"What brings a respectable cultivator like Lan-gege to this Wuxian's hospitality?"

No one has ever spoken his name the way he did. Playful, warm and teasing. Flirtatious.

Lan Wangji would like to hear him speak it again.

Wei Wuxian leans forward as Lan Wangji explains.

Their gazes never waver from the other. It was as if they were the only two in the room.

[daydreaming-nerd]

Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 10

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: You guys I'm sorry this took a while. I really put a lot into this so I hope the wait was worth it. ALSO The Tortured Poets Department just came out!!! which means my creative juices are flowing, because nothing gets me thinking like Hans Zimmer and Taylor Swift. Already thinking of some Azriel angst for The Black Dog. ALSO this fic has a a cinematic playlist that goes with it? I can post it if that's something you guys are interested in.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexism, heavy angst, descriptions of character injuries, reader got the Mor treatment, last lil bit of angst guys you'll like the end.

Word Count: 5,103

Third Person pov:

Cassian stared at the other side of his bed. The one that suddenly felt so large now. He skipped training that morning, skipped breakfast too. Instead he twirled a small brass ring between his fingers. His mother’s ring to be exact. The last thing he had of hers, given to him by the female that told him where her body was dumped. 

He had wanted to give it to her, his mate.  Longed to see it on her dainty hand. He laughed when he thought about it in comparison to the ring Eris gave her. He remembered the sight of it as she pulled it out after the night he first made love to her. The thing was huge, when he held her hand yesterday he could practically feel the weight of it. The idea of putting a busted up old brass ring on that finger made his heartbreak. He wanted to give her so much more. 

At least, he thought, if she’s married to Eris she will be able to have nothing but the finest things. 

He tried to make that a consolation for him. But he knew that even a gilded cage was a cage. 

It wasn’t until midday when pain exploded through his gut, white hot and unyielding. He sat up abruptly, clutching his heart as he reached down the bound searching for her. Gasped as he realized that golden rope unwinding slowly but surely. He looked deeper, allowing himself to feel whatever she felt. His body temperature dropped as the pain in his gut worsened, and then as if the string was cleaved by a sword he felt nothing at all. A stone wall had dropped over the bond.   

No, no, no, no. 

He shot from his bed, ripping on whatever leathers he could find on the ground of his bedroom. Banishment be damned, he wouldn't let her die. 

Azriel sat on the couch nursing a hangover as Cassian bursted into the room, he tossed him a spare dagger. 

“Get up somethings wrong with y/n,” Cassain ordered the voice of a general making itself known as he laced up his boots.

Azriel didn’t object, didn’t even whine or moan from his aching head as he got up to join his brother. The shadowsinger had always been the calmest of the three, always the most collected. But he had never seen his brother so scared before, and that cool veil of calm that he always kept so wholly intact started to slip. 

It was a short flight to the townhouse and as Cassian landed at the front steps he started to realize the weight of what was about to happen. He had no time to prepare himself for how he would tell his High Lord, his best friend, and his brother in arms about the secret relationship he had been having with his precious little sister. And y/n was precious to Rhys, always had been, even if the trauma they both endured under the mountain had driven a wedge between them. 

Cassian reached through the bond and felt nothing still. He lost all hesitation and nearly blew off the doors to Rhysand’s study. 

Rhysand’s head flew up, and assessed whatever threat would lie before him. His eyes soften when he found his best friend standing in the doorway, but hardened again once he saw the sheer panic in his eyes. 

“y/n is in trouble we have to find her,” Cassian ordered, leaving no room for argument. 

“What do you mean y/n is in trouble?” Rhysand stood to brace his hands against his desk. “If she’s having a problem her husband can help her Cassian.” 

“And what if her husband is the reason she’s in trouble? I came to you for help, but if you won’t offer it I’ll take Azriel and I’ll find her myself.” Cassian growled, a male beyond feral. 

Azriel looked between the general and the High Lord, the stare down between the two so cold, so unyielding that it would go down in history. Rhysand’s violet eyes burned into Cassian’s, looking for the untold truth Cassian was keeping from him. When he didn’t find it, power filled the room as Rhys looked into Cassian’s mind.

“Stay out of my head Rhys!” Cassain grumbled, shaking his head as if those dark talons had already pried into his memories.  

It was too late, and Rhysand’s eyes filled with an anger Cassian had never seen as he winnowed over to where he stood and slammed him against the wall. 

“YOU SLEPT WITH MY LITTLE SISTER?!” Rhysand bellowed in his face. 

Cassian had never been afraid of the High Lord of Night. Not when he showed up at Windhaven with his brand new training clothes, not when he saw him wipe whole infantries off the face of the earth with the flick of his wrist. The common denominator was that he was never on the receiving end of Rhysand’s rage. But now he had a not so friendly reminder that he was the most powerful High Lord to ever grace Prythian, and Cassian was scared. 

“Let me explain,” Cassian choked out, the raw power spilling off Rhysand stifling his ability to even breathe. 

“Rhys,” Azriel warned, that cool calm coming back to him as he watched his brothers at eachothers throats. 

Rhys’ head whipped around to Azriel, “You knew?” he seethed. 

The spymaster didn’t dare speak, he simply took a step back raising his hands in surrender. 

“She’s my mate Rhys,” Cassian ground out. 

Rhys’ eyes met Cassain’s, and saw the pleading in them. The kind that could only be found in a male who’s mate was in danger. He had seen it before, when Kallias talked about Viviane, even before he knew she was his mate. 

Rhys released his hold on Cassian and the general's boots hit the floor with a thud as he started to collect himself. 

“She’s dying Rhys’ I can feel it. She was so cold and then there was just nothing. Please we have to find her.” Cassain pleaded. 

The High Lord seemed to be inside his own head, sorting through all the information he had been given in the last couple of minutes. This was more than just saving his sister, it was saving his best friend’s mate. Losing one would be like losing both, Cassian could never recover from such a loss. 

“If you felt cold she’s most likely in the Winter Court. You and Azriel take the border of Autumn and Winter, I’ll go speak to Kallias and Viviane and see what they know.” Rhysand ordered in a way that was more High Lordly than his brothers had ever heard. 

y/n’s pov:

It had been at least an hour, I had deciphered. The cold winter winds whipping around me as my body became so cold the snow started to bury me. 

I thought about grabbing the dagger just inches away from my frozen hand and plunging it through my heart, but when I tried to reach for it the pain that radiated through my side was too great. 

So I kept pulling on that bond, the rope that had turned to a thread. It felt like it was tied to a boulder, as every time I pulled it I found the otherside dead. The effects of the bloodbane taking away my ability to feel Cassian and my ability to heal.  

As I lay there, my legs becoming heavy as they become covered in a thin layer of frost and my blood spilling out onto the snow, I thought of one thing. 

It was all for nothing.

Cassian’s pov: 

The blizzard that had waged war on my wings yesterday was even stronger today. Thankfully Azriel was able to winnow the two of us to the border with ease. If y/n had truly been left out here then there was no time to waste. The snow and wind was so thick I could hardly see the ground below us. I prayed to the mother that she was with Kallias and Viviane, warm, safe and alright. Because if I found her out here it would be a miracle to find her alive. 

I flew as fast as possible, fighting against the gusts of wind. Azriel was farther behind me, no doubt running his eyes over every place I might’ve missed in my panic. If she was out here she wouldn't be hard to find, for on the border there was nothing but bare land. No trees, and no bushes or rocks. If the snow hadn’t buried her she would stand out like a sore thumb. 

She can’t be gone.

She can’t be gone. 

She can’t be gone.

I was beginning to lose hope, nearing the end of the border when Rhys spoke into my mind. 

Kallias and Viviane have not seen her, they’re sending out search parties as we speak.

My fears only heightened at Rhys’ status report, she was out here somewhere and I was most likely already too late.

No she’s not gone.

I told myself as I tugged on the bond one more time to see if there was still that concrete wall there and to my surprise I found a faint hum. The rope between us torn to shreds, I almost felt like if I tugged on it one more time it might disintegrate.  

“I can feel her!” I shout to Azriel over the wind. He shields his eyes from the wind to give me a nod, as he continues to search for her. 

My eyes scan the vast expanse of white below me until I see a small crumpled form, lying in the snow. 

No. 

I don’t think for another moment before tucking in my wings and diving straight for it. As I slam into the icy ground. I rush over to the heap on the ground and my worst fears are confirmed. 

There lies y/n with her back facing me, nothing covering her but a silk robe. Her body littered in bruises and blood pooling all around her. I fall to my knees before her, ignoring the bite of the snow. I pick her up and turn her carefully in my arms. The frost that covers her cheeks isn’t the worst of my concerns as my eyes fall to her stomach. There, nailed to her womb is a note that reads… 

‘WHORE’

I feel a liquid coating my hand and I hold it up to find blood. I spy a bloodblane laced dagger lying in the snow just a foot away. I reach down inside for the bond but I feel it disintegrating before my very eyes. 

“No, no, no Princess wake up!” I cry moving the hair from her frozen face. 

She doesn’t move. 

“Please wake up y/n!” I scream, my tears falling on her face as I try to shake her awake. “COME ON!” I growl. 

A shadow slams into the earth behind me and I feel Az’s presence behind me falling to hitting his knees next to mine. I don’t try to read his face, if he looks at her like she’s dead I don’t know what I’ll do. Instead I focus all my efforts on trying to get those frozen eyelashes to open up for me. 

“Come on baby come back to me,” I grit, pressing a kiss to her forehead. My lips bite at the coldness there. 

“Cass I told Rhys, he’s already home,” Azriel reported, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Give her here,” he began reaching for her.

“No, don't touch her,” I growled, holding her closer to my chest. 

“I can winnow her back faster than you can fly her. You need to trust me Cass or she’s not going to make it,” he pleaded calmly. 

I sigh knowing that my brother is right and that my territorial male bullshit would only kill her. I reluctantly give her to Azriel and it isn’t until he stands with her that I realize how small she looks in his arms. How breakable, and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. 

“Save her Az, please,” I beg, still on my knees. 

“Hang tight Cass I’ll be right back,” he says winnowing away. 

I’m left with the aftermath, and the roaring wind that’s practically white noise by now. In front of me is the imprint her body left in the snow and ice, as well as crimson colored snow. The knife that lay just a foot away identical to the one that was jabbed into my side just yesterday. I nearly threw up at the idea that she had felt that white hot pain of bloodbane making its way through her blood. 

A few minutes later Az winnowed back and took me with him to the townhouse. We landed in the foyer, and I didn’t hesitate to bound up the steps towards her own room. The door was flung open and Rhysand was already pacing watching Madja do her best work. 

“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, unable to rip my eyes away from her too still form lying on the bed. Her hair is still frozen, lips still blue. 

“We don’t know yet,” Rhys answers in a tone so somber it pulls my attention. His eyes are just as bloodshot as mine and his hair is sticking up all over the place like he had been running his hands through it too much. 

As Majda stitches her wounds and assesses every inch of her, I find myself peeling off some of my leathers. The place was practically a sauna with a roaring fire heating the room and the bedpans littered about her bed. Even Rhys had a bead of sweat dripping from his forehead. It was the only thing that could be done, to warm her up. 

I stared at my mate's unconscious body, and prayed to the Mother that she wouldn’t take her away. Even half frozen, battered and bruised, she was still so beautiful, still the Jewel. Still my princess who I had fallen for all those years ago.

Please Mother, please don’t take her. 

If anything, just let me see her one last time. See her beautiful eyes and kiss her lips. Allow me to hold my mate one last time while her heart is still beating. 

As Madja worked her hands up and down her body she didn’t say a word, didn’t even breathe loudly, as if she was listening for something. Her behavior affected us all, as we stayed completely silent, the only sounds in the room coming from the crackling fire.

So when her shoulders slumped and she sighed, the breath echoed throughout the room. My stomach sank as she turned to us with a somber face. 

“Before she was left out there she was taken by force, that’s where the bruises are from. The wound to the right side was caused by a dagger laced in bloodbane, she was practically mortal when he left her in the snow. And the wound to her lower abdomen? It hit her womb, if she ever wakes up she may never be able to have children,” Madja says sadly. 

“If she wakes up?” I ask quietly, praying I heard wrong. 

Her eyes meet mine and then Rhysand’s, “We’re losing her.” she begins and I swear I feel my knees about to give out. “I can’t access her thoughts or her emotions, but given what she’s been through, it seems she’s lost the will to live.”  

That was it. 

I take the two steps to the edge of her bed and my knees hit the ground as I begin to weep. I slide my hand under the piles of blankets, careful not to disturb them, and take her hand in mine. Gods it’s so cold.  She had always had cold hands, she used to put them under my shirt to warm them up. But this was different, her hands were like ice. She didn’t even feel like her. 

“Maybe if I can look into her mind?” Rhys breathed, the angst ridden in his voice. 

“You are welcome to try my Lord,” Madja said solemnly, like whatever he found wouldn’t be of any use anyways. 

I hear Rhys' footsteps walk around to the other side of the bed and kneel. He places a hand over her head, his palm twitching from the sudden cold that was there. I watched intently as his eyes closed and brows furrowed. As he went deeper and deeper into her mind his face contorted until it began to soften once more, and a single tear fell from his face. 

“What? What is it?” I asked, my voice cracking. 

The High Lord pulled his hand from his sisters face to wipe his stray tear,  “Madja’s right. She’s given up. Her last thought was that she had lost the Autumn Court’s armies and she had lost you too Cassian. After everything that happened, it was all for nothing.” Rhys relayed sadly. 

“But she’s here now, she’s safe, she has to wake up,” I pleaded, squeezing her too cold hand tighter. 

“She doesn’t know that she is here though general,” Madja says calmly, like if she spoke any other way I would rip her to shreds, which was probably true. “She fell under thinking she would never see you again.”

“What can I do? I’ll do anything.” I plead with Madja. Hell I’d trade places with her if I could. Her people needed a princess more than they needed a general.

“I’m afraid there is nothing any of us can do. All we can do is wait and hope she comes back,” Madja says sadly. 

“I want you to take up quarters in the town house for the time being,” Rhys ordered.

“Of course my Lord, I will be checking on her constantly,” Madja nods, collecting her bag full of tonics and bandages.

“Is there anything I can do for you Cass?” Azriel asks, placing a hand on my back. 

“No,” I say solemnly, pressing my forehead to her hand. “Just leave us.” 

Neither one of my brothers protested. The only indication that they had left was the door closing and the silence that had followed. Their muffled voices went down the hall, no doubt to show Madja where she would be staying. I was sure that Rhys would be back to check on his little sister once he was done. 

I lifted my head from where I had it pressed against her hand to see her face again. Her skin was still pale but the frost had melted off her eyelashes and skin. Hickies littered her neck and a faint hand shaped bruise wrapped around her neck.

Gods what had he done to her? 

“Princess I don’t know if you can hear me but you have to open those pretty eyes for me okay?” I pleaded with her. “It wasn’t for nothing baby, I’m here now and I’m not going to let anyone take you away again. You were so strong and so brave but you don’t have to be anymore, you just need to wake up. Just wake up and I’ll take care of you okay?” 

I feel my tears starting to well up. I didn’t just want my girlfriend back, or even my mate. I wanted my best friend back. I thought about what a lonely world it would be without her. 

“We can go back to reading your silly books while I tickle your feet. And you can whoop my ass and drink me under the table when we play Marks again.” I laugh remembering the time I taught her how to play the ridiculous drinking game, it felt like so long ago now.

“You have to come back to me because we have to have the most ridiculous and ornate mating ceremony ever.” I chuckle through my tears picturing how much she would detest the idea of an over the top event. “And you gotta wake up because I wanna make you my wife baby.” 

I feel the lump in my throat form, remembering the brass ring I had left on my nightstand from this morning. I had almost wished that I had felt the same sadness I felt then now. For nothing could compare to the agony of the mating bond slipping out of my hands like sand falling through an hourglass. 

“But we can’t do any of those things until you wake up honey, so you gotta open your eyes for me okay?” I say trying to smile. 

Her eyes don’t open, I’m not even sure if her chest rises and falls to breathe.

“Please y/n wake up! Please don’t leave me, I can’t live without you.” I plead, my tears falling faster than ever now. 

 I let out a groan as I press my forehead to her little hand again. My chest caving in as I find the skin there still cold.  Fuck it, if she can’t hear me than I’ll beg to the gods who might. 

“Please don’t take her from me. Please don’t take her from me.  Please don’t take her from me…”

Rhysand’s pov: 

After I show Madja where she can set her things and take a load off, I slump into an armchair in my room and run my hands through my hair. For the first time today, I’m finally hit by the weight of what the past two hours have been.  

The images of what I saw when I reached into y/n’s mind were enough to make me shudder. I was so blind to her pain. So focused on my own mate, and my own trauma, I forgot that she went under that mountain with me. And what’s worse is that she felt like she owed me an army for saving her. I almost regret going so far back into her memories that I saw it all. The things Eris did to her, the way he spoke to her. The conflict she felt. 

But then there were moments of immense happiness. Each one of them featured Cassian in one way or another. Images of him lacing up her dresses and placing a kiss on her shoulder when he was done. Her laughing in the early hours of morning with him. I had never seen my brother smile so big or love so much. 

Oh gods Cassian. 

I thought to myself, remembering the look on his face when he saw her lying prone on that bed. His agony that practically filled and infected everything in the room. He needed me, and I needed to see my little sister. 

My tired body creaks as I stand from the chair with a groan, making my way next door to y/n’s room. The same one I used to sneak her out of when we were kids. Sometimes I miss those days and how simple everything was. 

I opened the door slowly to not disturb Cassian. The light from behind me illuminated the mostly dark room. The only other light source was the fire. Cassain was right where I left him, kneeling on by the edge of the bed, stroking her hair whispering sweet nothings to her that I couldn’t hear. 

I make my way inside and close the door to keep in the heat as I sit on the opposite side of the bed. It isn’t until the bed dips under my weight that Cassian’s eyes meet mine. In all the years I’ve known him I had never seen him this way. His eyes were bloodshot and weepy, and the bags under his eyes prevalent. It reminded me of when I thought Feyre had died under the mountain, and I supposed that made sense given this was the same thing.  

“Has she?” I asked, wondering if she had shown any signs of life. 

“No,” was the only answer the general could give me. 

My eyes fell to my sister once more, unable to take the sorrow that came from Cassian’s stare. The frost that once covered her face was now melted, and her lips were no longer blue. However, pink had not yet tinted her cheeks and I wondered if it ever would again. It raised the question, how could I have prevented her from meeting this fate, and prevented Cassain from having to feel this pain. I was the most powerful High Lord in History, but right now I had never felt so small. 

“Why didn’t you tell me she was your mate?” the question spilled out of me. “If I had known I would’ve stopped the wedding immediately.” 

Cassian lifted his head from where it was pressed against her hand and looked at me again, “For the same reason your mate is still in the Spring Court. She deserved to have a choice.” he said to me, and though his words held no anger, no resentment, they were a punch to the gut. 

“I’m a terrible brother,” I admit, my eyes falling to her. 

“No you’re not. She did what she did because you are a good brother. She wanted to help you in any way she could, at any cost.  That’s how much she loves you.” Cassian spoke, his voice quiet and even toned. “But things might’ve been different if you two hadn’t distanced yourselves when you got back from under the mountain. Whatever you guys saw down there? Whatever happened? You need to face it together, Rhys. If she wakes up, you need to be as close as you once were.” 

Gods, for a general my brother had a way with words. He was right about all of it. I had distanced myself from her after we came back. Thinking that I could spare her from the pain I felt, but I had forgotten that she had gone under that mountain with me. She had demons to battle as well, and I left her to fight them alone. 

“She will wake up Cass,” was all I could say. “She has to, because I have to make things right.”

y/n’s pov: 

Waking up was slow. 

First all I could hear was the crackling of a fire and slow steady breaths. Then I smelled the familiar scent of night blooming jasmine laced with cedar. Next was the immeasurable warmth that fanned my face, and last was the feeling of a strong calloused hand holding my own.

I squeezed that hand ever so slightly before finally opening my eyes. I looked up at the familiar ceiling of my childhood bedroom, the constellations that had been painstakingly painted there. To my left a roaring fire and to my right… Cassian. Kneeling at the edge of the bed his forehead pressed to my hand. His breaths rising and falling slowly, the way they always did when he was asleep. 

“Cass,” I rasped out, my voice still uneasy. 

His head flew up and his eyes were on me in an instant. I loosed a sob at finding that familiar hazel staring back at me. The face I thought I would never see before. 

“Oh my god baby,” he smiled, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You came back to me, thank the Mother.” 

“Cassian, I'm so sorry. I should’ve listened to you.  You were right about everything and I should’ve stayed and-” I began to ramble through  my tears. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he cooed, brushing a tear from my eye as a few of his own fell. “Don’t worry  about that now. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you know” 

The bond tugged at his promise and I was reminded of the blessing I had been given, “You’re my mate,” I smiled pressing a hand to his face. He winced at the cold but then laid one of his own hands over it, bringing it down to his lips to press a kiss to my palm. 

“Yeah I am,” he laughs. “And you’re mine.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him as he continued pressing kisses into the palm of my hand. 

“You were already dealing with so much y/n,”  he said softly. “I couldn’t make things even more complicated or try to control your choices. Not when this alliance was the first thing you ever got to choose for yourself. But I should’ve told you and I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh,” I soothed him like he had me moments ago. “We both made mistakes Cass, but none of that matters now that we’re together again.” 

“You’re right,” he smiled, kissing my forehead.

“The only thing we need to worry about now is Eris and whatever he does next,” I say, rubbing his cheek with my thumb, the stubble there telling me he hadn’t shaved in a while. 

His eyes hardened as he pulled my hand from his cheek, grasping it in both of his hands as if he was praying, “If he comes back for you y/n I will fucking kill him. I swear to the Gods I will invoke the blood duel-”

“You will do nothing of the sort Cassian. I just got you back. I won’t lose you again.” I say firmly. 

“Are you doubting your general?” He gave me a cocky smile.

“No, but I don’t trust Eris to play fair. If he comes back Rhys will deal with him.” I assure him.

“As your mate I have the right to defend you,” he reminds me. 

“You’re right, you do. But if we don’t handle things just right Eris could declare war on us. I won’t let my people be attacked by Hybern and the Autumn Court.” I explained to him. 

Cassain nodded. I could sense the disappointment in him, and I didn’t blame him for feeling that way. I would’ve paid good money to watch him kill Eris. It was scary enough when someone hurt another male's mate. Especially when the affected male is The Lord of Bloodshed. 

“And Cass?” I asked. 

“Yes?”

“You were wrong before, about my choices. The first thing I ever got to choose for myself wasn’t Eris, Cassian. It was you.” I smile looking at the best decision I had ever made. I would never come to regret asking him to kiss me after that ball. Not when it had brought me his love. The best thing I never knew I needed. 

Cassain smiled and then let out a hearty chuckle, as if he had finally realized that I was back, and we were together again, and we would be together until The Mother called us home. 

To be continued…

Taglist: @crystalferret202 , @nickishadow139 ,  @graceshifts, @writeroutoftime , @heyyitsnat21,  @stinkinstuffie , @lilah-asteria , @12358 , @fxckmiup , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @mybestfriendmademe , @anxious-study , @bxm-1012 , @mal-adaptive-dreams ,  @sh4nn , @talesofadragon , @5onedirection5 , @saltedcoffeescotch , @flourelle

Permanent Taglist: @fides25, @dissociated-always   

[drdemonprince]

TV Glow was devastating. incredibly effective visually, thematically, and performance-wise. Schoenbrun has leveled up in a major way since World's Fair, which I felt like I was five years too old for, both in terms of references and from having seen too much weird shit in this life to be impressed by her version of what's "scary" online.

This movie was far more creatively ambitious and emotionally resonance -- it having a bigger budget certainly helped stretch its legs, and Schoenbrun used it to its fullest.

Justice Smith's acting made me want to cry. He shows a true reverence for the material that few cis actors would; far from viewing the character as a little exercise, he transforms into her discomfort and sadness. His little voice warbles and the way his face softens with hope at a few crucial moments made my heart break for him, knowing already that the dreams he'd barely let himself hold onto would never come true.

I can't believe an Emma Stone produced wide release movie is about transgender egg drama here in 2024. jarring for something that once felt so private and esoteric to be broadly relatable to audiences now. it's fitting, given the movie is about a mass-release TV show that a handful of tender freaks think must be about something so much more than this world would ever let it be. kind of a funny trick there.

is this a movie about depressed isolated queer people whose minds curdle around a random media property because loneliness makes the brain turn inward and eat itself? or is it the tragic tale of a woman who never realized her destiny and allowed the matrix to keep plugging her repeatedly back in?

you can read it both ways at once and it's best if you do. some equipped with fandom goggles with elect to see it only in the more fantastical light.

There are already dozens of people coming out as transgender for the first time in their lives in the Letterboxd reviews of this film, saying they recognize their repression in Owen, their egg at last busted open by this heartbreaking tale of a life unfulfillingly lived. I get it -- before I transitioned, the same thing happened to me with Casey Plett's incredible story collection, A Safe Girl to Love. There is something painfully enchanting about the forever-unrealized trans person whose suffering we imagine would be escapable if only they could admit who they are.

But what do you do when you have overcome your fear of being "crazy," left your old world behind, and passed through that veil to become the person you were always meant to be, only to find that you are still stoop-shouldered and awkward, still overlooked with your heart cut out of you, apologizing to others for your asthma in between your death rattles? What if you never get all the poison out? After you figure out you're a hero from another dimension, what will you do if you can never get back?

I find myself asking these things, as a person who used to fantasize that transitioning would solve all my problems. The imagined future transitioned me felt so distant that it was easy to push him off. And then after years passed, when I finally reached out to claim him, I discovered he was just as awkward, lonesome, insecure, and unhappy as I was, because he was just me. If i'd always been transgender, then I'd always been unhappy for deeply transgender reasons back then, too, and I'd already known a whole lot more about what it meant to be me than I'd thought that I had. Fantasies had been a seductive distraction from the world that was trying to kill me, and they suffocated me whether I denied them or if I believed in them.

This is a movie about fantasies, and the suburbs, and about being transgender. And it's bleak, but I think some who are on the cusp of making the same realizations as Owen can't fully know why yet. Life on the other side of knowing is more liveable, but I can't explain why. It didn't make things better. It wasn't the great escape I had hoped. But it did force me to confront who I was and how many monsters there always had been all around me. And that's better than living in a fantasy.

[15-lizards]

Just for fun: maybe a show of how both Aemma Arryn and Alicent Hightower would affect the court fashion by being from the Vale and Reach, respectably?

Oooh that sounds fun let’s do it!!

I believe in Burgundian dresses in the Vale supremacy. It just fits the vibe also fur!!! Very important no? Just overall a style that fits that elegant upper class vibe of the Eyrie before the dance, which Aemma grew up in. Big headdresses are the staple of every outfit, especially the hennin cone with a gauzy veil draped around. A very gentle, almost Virginia kind of fashion that Aemma grows up wearing and brings to Kings Landing when she becomes queen

After a while in kings landing, this Eyrie fashion has adapted to the city. The basic cut of the gown is still the same, but seems to be a bit more complex and layered and sluttier. Ostentatious rich women take the idea of that elegant Eyrie fashion and just gild and glitz the shit out of it. OR a woman might downplay the gown and dress simply and just really heighten the look and size of the headdress, making it increasingly impractical (think the mid 1700s in France).

During Alicents early reign, she hasn’t garnered any influence or personal style yet and she’s still a young girl trying her best to get into the good graces of her old fart husband so she probably still resembles Aemma in her clothing. Modest and gentle without all of the grandiosity of the other women of kings landing, because of both the faith at Oldtown and her need to blend in as best she can. Eventually people start following in her footsteps, and more subdued and muted styles become popular, with a natural waist and bust coming back, as well as soft natural coloring

Once Alicent is firmly established, I think she starts to dress for piousness. Long sleeves that don’t billow out, skirts that cover everything and more, natural outline of the body, modest headdresses. And once the war begins this naturally starts to take hold throughout the city, as noblewomen go into mourning and also start to realize the excess they used to have cannot be afforded anymore.

[veillover19]

The Humiliation of Wonder Woman (2)

Continued from: https://www.tumblr.com/veillover19/742972508241805312/it-should-have-been-a-routine-bust-of-a-gang-of?source=share

In the end the thought of breaking and owning an Amazon proved more tempting to Wonder Woman's captor's than any risk she would escape and make them pay for her suffering.

That wasn't the say they were not going to be "very" careful about how they proceeded. Cuff's were welded shut over her wrists and ankles and linked together by chains before the ropes were removed and the burqa replaced with a customized captive's uniform (made with tear away Velcro seams so it could be fitted onto a bound captive's body. More chains were then welded into place and then welded down to I-bolts in the floor of her new cell.

This done she was then given the traditional choice of all new captive's, she could submit and become a slave now...or after they broke her.

Diana's reply was defiant, angry...and in an ancient form of Greek none of them understood, but the meaning was clear, but what was also clear was that she was helpless, powerless and all her struggles to get free were proving futile. So her protests were ignored and instead the whips and shock prods appeared in their hands.

Now it was time to begin the task of transforming a willful heroine into a submissive broken and veiled slave ready to become a concubine or wife to a powerful Master...

(AI art made with Stable diffusion)

[mushiemellows]

dressing the other up in their own clothes, feeling a tiny bit possessive, but both loving it prompt for sanji/nami? ty <3

(for Sharing Clothes prompts (requests still open because I left town))

dressing the other up in their own clothes, feeling a tiny bit possessive, but both loving it (feat. early transition Sanji)

Nami shivered. The suit jacket was draped over her shoulders before she could even open her mouth to comment on the sudden cold front. A few of the boys shot little looks of jealousy when the warmth returned to her cheeks alone. She preened, collar pitched to keep the wind off of her neck, loving the way the silky lining felt against her bare skin. Sanji, though, couldn’t keep her eyes off of the way the tailored darts followed sleek lines from bust to waist. It made the cook’s blood flow like nothing else. All her's. Beautiful.

That’s how their secret little game began. 

Tit for tat, bikini tops for button ups, boxers for bralettes. In their two years apart, plenty had changed, but the stockpile of clothes to exchange only grew. Nami bought outfits beyond her own tastes. Sanji learned a thing or two from the Kamabakas. Both women grew into who they knew themselves to be in their separate time training. When they were finally reunited, the wardrobe was once again divvied up. 

“This one!” Nami exclaimed.

“Yellow isn’t my color.”

“What do you mean it isn’t your color? Of course it’s your color!” 

“It doesn’t pop on me like it pops on you,” Sanji said with a quirked brow and a little frown. 

Nami had tuned her out long ago, closing in to pull the golden sundress over the other woman’s head despite the pushback. She giggled, legs pinning Sanji to the couch as they wrestled the sundress on. The redhead offered one quick peck once the skirts had settled, knowing that the offering would leave her girlfriend malleable and ready to follow along with whatever she said. 

“What was that about popping?” Nami smiled into the kiss. 

“I-I-I mean—it—,” Sanji stammered and tried to wipe the trickle of blood from her nose before any red could stain the pretty yellow flowers. They both rolled off the couch and adjusted themselves in the mirror. The navigator smoothed her collar down to a crisp point. The cook did a little spin, watching the way the sheer fabric clung to her thighs. They touched each other up one last time before slipping into the bright, sunny day. 

“I like that dress,” Robin smiled up from her spot at the kitchen island. Her eyes never lifted from her book, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have other means of looking. 

Sanji shrugged in thinly veiled nonchalance and turned back to her work on the stove. The red flush in her cheeks and chest did the job of making the bright yellow pop after all. “Thanks, but it’s Nami’s,” she finally answered after steadying herself. 

“You wear it well, it’s a nice length on your legs and it drapes on your waist in a really lovely way. I’ll be sure to tell Nami that she picked out something beautiful for you.”

The cook kept her back turned, quietly putting her spoon down to toy nervously with the hem. “Are-are you sure?” She asked quietly. 

A hand spun her back around and nudged her a step forward to properly face the bar. Robin fully caught her eye, face to face. “Would I lie to you, my dear?” The archeologist asked with a quirked brow and a deadly expression. 

“Never.”

“Never. It looks great. You wouldn’t want to spurn Nami’s fashion tastes, would you?” 

“Never!” Sanji shot up at attention, back a little straighter and smile a little less nervous. 

“G—”

Before Robin could finish, the door to the galley burst open, bringing Usopp and Franky in from a day of repairs. “Whoa!” The sniper jumped as he plopped down at the island. Sanji only rolled her eyes and turned away again, retreating in on herself. 

The cyborg squeezed through the kitchen workspace on his way to the fridge, not letting her get away so easily. “That’s a super cute dress, lil’ sis!” He declared loud enough for the whole damn ship to hear. 

“Yeah! It looks so good on you,” Usopp continued where his big bro left off, “I was just shocked you were cooking in it! You look amazing! You’re not worried about spilling sauce on the dress?” 

Sanji paled and sprinted to put an apron on. “I wasn’t even thinking about that! I can’t stain Nami’s dress!” 

“Oh, it’s Nami’s dress? You should ask her if you can borrow it more often. I really like that color on you!”

“Don’t lie to me. Yellow isn’t my color.” 

Usopp waved his hands back and forth in defense, “I’m not lying! Promise!” 

The hatch from the garden opened and Nami climbed down the ladder, arms full with a basket of tangerines. She set the fruits down on the counter and squeezed onto a seat between Robin and Usopp. The cook turned to start preparing the fruit for tea, separating skin and segments from each other. 

“What’cha talkin’ about?” Nami sang to the the group. 

“About how super good Sanji looks in your dress!” Her big bro answered the call from his new position on the sofa. 

“She really does,” Robin nod in agreement. “You picked out a beautiful design.” 

The navigator preened at the compliment, eyes locking to her girlfriend on the other side of the kitchen. “Oh, I know. And I’ve got plenty more dresses just like it! Really gorgeous. It’s going to be so much fun trying them all.”

Sanji could only stammer, both nervous and excited at the same time, “o-of course, Nami-swan!” 

Nami reached over the bar to run her hand first over blushing cheeks, then down to the spaghetti strap over her shoulder. Her smile spread wide, though a little carnal, “wonderful, my dear. After all, you’re mine.” 

[accidental-spice]

Thanks for the tag, @kanerallels !!

Tagging @authorofemotion @silverpaintedstars @kazoosandfannypacks @saxifrage-wreath @wanderingwolpertinger @dimsilver @theonewithallthefixations and anyone else who wants to play!!

[callunavulgaris]

Suddenly you meet the heavily made-up gaze of a 12-foot tall show girl. She's slender with an elongated neck and limbs. Emerging from the peak of her veiled, pointed hat, is a golden corrugated fan decorated with crimson silk roses. Red and pink ruffles flare at her neck as you follow a line of bright-green buttons down her pearl-pink dress to 3 heart-shaped ruffled cutouts bursting at her bust and shoulders. The same green buttons run the length of her arms down to her wrists. Her clawed hands rest impatiently on the hem of her gown that stops abruptly at a flash of exposed thigh. Sheer candy-green thigh-high stockings cover the remainder of her legs down to shiny, dark stilettos. The back of her dress continues to a wide train the which kisses the floor. Behind her a sunlit crowd enters the enclosed Bazaar. This is where you came to do your shopping.

At the upper right, making her way through the noise is a dark skinned woman with golden-dipped tusks protruding from her lips, wearing a shining iridescent golden-red gown, ruffled collar, & bow to match. Could she be an esteemed dignitary? what is she searching for today?

Last is an elongated sea-angel with a jade spiral shel for a hat, a matching dress which tapers downward like reversed tiers on a cake, & an orange shell centered-bow at the throat. On her back are large flamingo-pink wings with feathers that twist like jelly fish tendrils. Bi-colored eyes on 6 of her 8 wings, in clashing orange and green, peer out in all directions. Her thin brown face sends you a gentle smile. Perhaps she is here to buy abalone shells to guild the cover of an illuminated manuscript.

[kazs-scheming-face]

Veil!

{please ask permission to repost. reblogs are appreciated}

[ID: A realistic digital bust drawing of Veil from The Stormlight Archive. She is a young woman with tan skin and long, dark hair. Her eyes are dark brown, and she is wearing a white high-necked shirt, a white trench coat, and a white, wide-brimmed hat. She is looking at the viewer with a concerned, calculating expression, with her head tilted slightly to the side. End ID]

[vickyvicarious]

In the first house where we stopped, when the woman who served us saw the scar on my forehead, she crossed herself and put out two fingers towards me, to keep off the evil eye. I believe they went to the trouble of putting an extra amount of garlic into our food; and I can't abide garlic. Ever since then I have taken care not to take off my hat or veil, and so have escaped their suspicions.

I mean, to be fair, it's a perfect circle burn scar in the middle of your forehead, probably with the shape of a cross or something burned into it. If you live in vampire country that's definitely enough to bust out the garlic.

[little-bee-draws]

ID: two versions of a bust portrait of an autumn eladrin woman. She has creamy orange skin and dark orange hair. Her hair is long with bangs that come to a point in the center of her forehead. On her temples her veins glow a gentle yellow and branch like the veins of a leaf. Her long ears have white and orange fur like a fox growing on them. She has a neutral expression. She wears a dark grey shirt with a black cowl. On her head she wears an arrangement of peony flowers and a bird skull attached to layers of black tulle, almost like a short veil. She has gold earrings that look like stars and vines. In the first image her eyes have orange irises and pupils and the background is warm purple. In the second image her pupil-less eyes are filled with the night sky. The background of the second image is dark blue dotted with white stars. End ID.

a birthday portrait for my friend of her warlock in our strixhaven game!