#Elegant Butterfly Presents

[noisycowboyglitter]

"The Art of Being Awesome: Lessons Learned Over 21 Years"

Twenty-one years of awesome is a journey worth celebrating. This milestone marks the transition from youth to full-fledged adulthood, a canvas painted with vibrant experiences and personal growth.

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From the first wobbly steps as a toddler to confidently striding into the world, these two decades and a year have been filled with laughter, tears, triumphs, and valuable lessons. Each year has added a unique brushstroke to the masterpiece of life.

The awesome journey includes academic achievements, from learning the ABCs to perhaps earning a college degree. It's about friendships forged in playground sandbox and strengthened through life's ups and downs. It's the evolution of passions, whether in sports, arts, or intellectual pursuits.

Twenty-one years of awesome means facing challenges head-on and emerging stronger. It's about discovering oneself, embracing individuality, and learning to stand up for personal beliefs. It's the courage to dream big and the determination to turn those dreams into reality.

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This awesome journey is also about family - the unconditional love, the guidance, the shared moments that shape character. It's about the communities that have nurtured growth and the mentors who have inspired greatness.

As the 21-year mark arrives, it's not just a celebration of the past, but a toast to the exciting future ahead. Here's to 21 years of being awesome - and to many more to come!

As the 21st birthday dawns, it symbolizes a beautiful metamorphosis, much like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. These 21 years have been a journey of growth, transformation, and self-discovery.

The birthday celebrant, now fully spread their wings, ready to soar into adulthood. Their path, like the delicate flight of a butterfly, has been filled with twists and turns, moments of vulnerability, and bursts of vibrant color.

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Friends and family gather to celebrate this milestone, their love and support as nurturing as the garden that sustains a butterfly. The party shimmers with the iridescence of butterfly wings - perhaps in decorations, in the shimmer of a special outfit, or the sparkle in the eyes of the now-adult.

This 21st birthday marks not an end, but a new beginning - a chance to flutter forth into the world, strong, beautiful, and free.

Butterfly presents bring a touch of natural elegance to any occasion. A set of butterfly-themed garden stakes can add whimsy to flower beds, while a delicate butterfly wind chime creates a soothing atmosphere. For fashion enthusiasts, a silk scarf adorned with butterfly prints offers versatile style. Book lovers might appreciate a

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beautifully illustrated guide to butterfly species. A butterfly-shaped serving platter makes a unique addition to any host's collection. For children, a butterfly kite or a grow-your-own butterfly kit combines fun with education. These gifts celebrate the beauty and symbolism of butterflies, delighting recipients of all ages.

[eudaimaniacs]

imagine pulling Hugh's tie and passionately kissing him.

notes: i am back again with an uninspiring piece. i generated a random fluff prompt and wrote what I can. i just finished writing the required short story for my creative writing course so my writing juices have been squeezed out. anyway, enjoy!

It was award season, and Hugh always took you as his date. He looked dashing in those sleek, fine suits.

Both of you had to attend another event this week. Hugh readied himself in another room as you fixed your makeup at the vanity. You hear the door creak open, revealing Hugh in an elegant black suit with a matching dark burgundy tie.

"Hello there, handsome."

"Back at you, beautiful."

You smile at Hugh's compliment and walk towards him. You straighten his blazer and kiss him on the cheek. You look down and see the tie. It looked like a ribbon wrapping the perfect Christmas present.

Hugh smiled and asked, "What are you looking at, sweetheart?"

You chuckled in response and pulled the burgundy tie. Hugh hummed in surprise as you closed the tiny space between you. You press your dark red lips against his and start kissing him.

You felt your stomach filling with butterflies as you deeply kissed Hugh. The feeling of his soft lips molding with yours felt like heaven. You didn't care if you two were late to get picked up by the driver.

Hugh grabbed your neck and entered his tongue in your mouth. You sing your surprise as the two of you continue passionately kissing. You pull his burgundy tie closer as if some space is still left. He tasted like the fine red wine he drank earlier with a hint of chocolate.

Hugh explored your back and cuddled you. You remove your hands from his tie and hug his neck. It felt like two hours had passed as you two kissed passionately.

You were out of breath, so you broke the kiss. Hugh pressed his forehead against yours, then kissed your cheek again. You look at his lips to see the faint shade of red lingering.

You giggle and remark, "Are you ready to go with the mark of my lipstick?"

Hugh chuckled and helped you stand up straight. He grabbed your hand and whispered, "I want them to know what we did before we went to the event." You giggled as the two of you exited the house.

eudaimaniacs - 2024

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 21 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo watched you closely as he and his shadows continued their meticulous task of destroying the ant eggs and any stragglers still lurking in the nest. His soldiers, as efficient as ever, moved like an unstoppable tide, bolstered by the shimmering aura of your butterflies. Among the usual flurry of colors, Jinwoo's attention was drawn to one distinct silver—the butterfly that previously hovered near Hunter Cha, never straying far.

He frowned slightly, wracking his brain.

What was its name again? Till? No, that’s not it. Trix? Close, but no. Tick-tack-toe? Wait, what the hell? How does she even remember all of their names in the first place?" He huffed quietly, shaking his head.

He saw you gently cradle the silver butterfly in one hand, a soft smile gracing your lips as the other hand rummaged through your inventory. With practiced ease, you summoned several items that floated around you, suspended in midair. Jinwoo recognized the shimmer of a polished silver gem and the ornate design of a potion bottle filled with liquid that shifted hues between vibrant purple and fiery orange-yellow. The faint golden glow illuminated the items as if presenting them like treasures.

To his surprise, the objects dissolved into a flurry of white butterflies—tinier, ethereal creatures that resembled particles of light more than living beings. They swirled around the silver butterfly before settling into the air above the ground in front of you. Jinwoo squinted as the radiant light seemed to change shape.

When the glow subsided, he found himself staring at a kneeling figure—a woman clad in a ensemble of black and white. The design was elegant and sleek, resembling the human form Red had taken when Jinwoo first met her, yet distinct in its details. The most noticeable feature was the overlay of silver butterfly wings extending behind her, creating an effect akin to an outer skirt or flowing coattails.

Jinwoo watched as you reached out and patted the woman’s head with a fond smile.

“You’ve done well, Trick,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth.

Ah, so that’s its—her name, Jinwoo mused, filing it away in his memory.

---

Later, you watch as Jinwoo summoned the former Ant King and officially welcomed him into his legion by bestowing upon him the name Beru. The newly minted shadow bowed before his master with a deep sense of reverence, his antennae twitching in anticipation.

As you approached, Jinwoo nodded at you in acknowledgment—a subtle greeting that you returned with ease—then turned back to the task of coordinating his soldiers. To your surprise, however, Beru bowed deeply in your direction.

You raised an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity passing over your face. “Why do you bow to me?” you asked, your tone calm but inquisitive. “I’m not your master, nor was I the one who defeated you.”

Beru straightened slightly, his antennae twitching as if considering how best to respond. “I can feel,” he began, his voice measured and polite, “that My Liege already holds My Lady in the highest regard.” His antennae twitched again, as if punctuating the statement, and you caught the faintest shimmer of admiration in his glowing eyes.

You blinked, taken aback. Sure, some of your children called you as such, but the title “My Lady” straight from Jinwoo’s shadow soldiers was brand new, and the way Beru said it carried an odd mixture of respect and familiarity. Is this something Jinwoo instructed, or is it something Beru decided on his own? you wondered.

Though you had read the manhwa, you were unused to this side of Beru—polished, deferential, and subdued. Was it because he’s only just been awakened as Jinwoo’s soldier? you thought. You remembered how in the manhwa, Beru often showered Jinwoo with flowery praises and dramatic declarations. This version of him, freshly reborn, was a bit different.

You were about to question Beru further, curiosity piqued, when a sudden flash of silver and hints of orange-yellow entered your vision.

---

"Is she… hissing at him?" Jinwoo asked incredulously, his eyes narrowing in disbelief as the odd scene before him unfolded. His gaze flickered from the silver-haired woman—your butterfly, Trick, now manifest in her humanoid form—to the tall figure holding her aloft like a squirming misbehaved cat.

Red, your other butterfly and Trick’s elder sister in a way, stood impassively, her expression unreadable as always. The height difference made the whole situation look absurdly comedic. Trick’s thrashing, her hands clawing at the air and her feet kicking, only added to the spectacle.

"She’s definitely hissing," you confirmed with a sigh, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. The frustration in your voice betrayed how accustomed you were to such antics.

Jinwoo’s gaze flickered back to Beru, who stood behind him with his head slightly cocked to the side, the faintest wisps of black mist curling off parts of his neck. Trick's claws—or whatever equivalent her humanoid form had—had evidently done a number on the Shadow Ant. Her orange-streaked yellow eyes glowed with such intensity that Jinwoo couldn’t help but wonder if she was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. If Trick had chosen to use a beast-like form instead of this human one, Jinwoo imagined she’d be foaming at the mouth by now, her silver hair—fur? Whatever—would be bristling, her fangs bared, and perhaps a low growl vibrating through the air.

"Honestly, it’s like dealing with squabbling children." you muttered under your breath, though your gaze softened as it landed on Trick. The bond you shared with your "children" made their emotions as transparent to you as an open book. You knew Trick’s rage wasn’t born of whimsy—it had a cause, one tied to her fiercely protective instincts.

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. "You tell me. Did Beru step on her toes or something?"

Jinwoo looked between Trick and Beru, his lips twitching as if suppressing a laugh. “Beru,” he said finally, fixing his soldier with a questioning stare. “Do you have any idea why she’s reacting like this?”

The towering ant shifted uncomfortably, his usual air of unshakable confidence dampened. “If I may inquire, My Lady,” Beru began—Again with that, your brows slightly furrowed—his deep voice uncharacteristically measured, “what grievance have I caused to incur such wrath from your esteemed creation?” His antennae twitched as if nervously seeking your approval.

You turned your attention back to Trick, who was still glaring daggers at Beru, and let out a long sigh. “Well…” You trailed off, carefully choosing your words. "It’s not about you, exactly."

"Then what is it about?" Jinwoo chimed in, crossing his arms and leaning slightly to the side for a better view of Trick’s furious expression.

You hesitated before answering, not quite sure whether to laugh or groan at the absurdity of it all. "You hurt her favorite friend," you finally explained.

Jinwoo frowned, tilting his head. “Her favorite friend?”

“Hae-In,” you clarified, crossing your arms and shooting Trick a knowing look. “Trick has a soft spot for her. She’s been watching over her ever since we met her. Seeing you injure her during the raid must’ve left a… lasting impression.”

Beru’s posture straightened, though the faintest trace of guilt crept into his expression. “Ah,” he said quietly. "I see. My actions during my life as an ant appear to have caused unintended grief. For this, I offer my sincerest apologies, to My Lady and her esteemed creations.”

You only sighed, still not getting used to Beru’s…politeness to you. Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but said nothing as the scene continued to unfold. Red, meanwhile, silently tilted her head, her question clear even without words. You caught her gaze and waved her off. “It’s fine, Red. Let her go.”

Red nodded and gently set Trick down. The moment her feet touched the ground, Trick darted toward Beru like a missile. Before she could reach her target, however, she froze mid-air, a faint golden aura wrapping around her as your hand glowed softly. You lifted her effortlessly, the action reminiscent of a mother cat carrying her kitten by the scruff. Jinwoo let out a low chuckle at the sight, unable to help himself.

“Trick,” you called gently, your tone firm yet kind. Her glowing orange-silver eyes snapped to yours, and the fiery anger within them dimmed slightly. “I know you’re upset, but remember—Beru is one of Jinwoo’s shadows now. He’s not our enemy anymore.”

Trick’s lips pressed into a thin line, and though her arms crossed stubbornly, she offered no further resistance. Reluctantly, you lowered her to the ground.

“Good girl,” you said softly, patting her head. At your touch, Trick practically melted, leaning into your hand like a contented cat. Jinwoo could almost see the image of her butterfly form, wings glowing in delighted contentment.

"You’ve got an interesting way of keeping everyone in line," he remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

You shot him a dry look. "Says the guy with an army of shadows who jump at his every whim,"

He shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Touché.”

Beru stepped forward cautiously, bowing deeply. “My Lady, I assure you, I will strive to amend this misunderstanding and avoid offending your creation in the future."

You waved a dismissive hand, already tired of the situation. “Just avoid provoking her. She’s protective, that’s all.”

“Protective is an understatement,” Jinwoo muttered, earning himself another glare from you.

“Bad,” you chided Trick when she moved to lunge at Beru again. She froze instantly, her shoulders slumping as if your single word had deflated her entirely. Her lips trembled, and she whimpered like a scolded child, teary-eyed and all that.

Satisfied she wouldn’t try anything else, you turned back to Jinwoo. “Don’t push it,” you warned, your tone carrying a sharp edge.

Jinwoo raised his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk remained firmly in place. “Noted.”

---

"Do your best, My Child. Fool them to their deaths."

Jinwoo remembered the exact words you said to Trick when he ordered Beru to eliminate the rest of the ants, especially the ones that managed to escape the island’s perimeters.

As the cleanup of the ant colony continued, Jinwoo observed Trick in action. She commanded her silver siblings with ruthless efficiency, her abilities seamlessly complementing Beru’s as they tracked down and eliminated the remaining ants.

"For someone who was plotting Beru’s murder just moments ago, she works very well with him," Jinwoo remarked, his tone light as he glanced in your direction.

You didn’t miss a beat. “I taught all my children to separate work and personal grievances, thank you very much.”

“Uh-huh,” Jinwoo replied, the skepticism evident in his voice. His gaze shifted back to the battlefield, where a particularly large cluster of ants was being lured directly into Beru’s path, clearly overloading him with unnecessary targets.

Jinwoo smirked. "You sure about that?"

“She’s sending way too many ants toward him, isn’t she?”

"I'd appreciate it if you can tell her to stop, but...” Jinwoo drawled out with a grin.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperation washing over you for the nth time today.

He chuckled, "Good thing my new soldier’s tough enough to handle her, huh?"

Before you could respond, the system’s obnoxiously cheerful tone chimed in.

[You lost this time, ‘Trial’ Player.]

You groaned, turning away, determined not to give Jinwoo and the system the satisfaction of seeing your frustration. As futile as it was, you continued to mutter under your breath.

“Damnit.”

---

Breaking News!

"5th Jeju Island Raid Ends with Unprecedented Results!"

4802 hunters in participation. 727 regular awakened mobilized. Of those, 46 awakened lost their lives, and 32 civilians sustained injuries—historically the lowest numbers for a raid of this magnitude!

Special Note: Flowers mysteriously appearing during the battle have left many intrigued. “What’s the deal with these flowers popping up out of nowhere?!” exclaimed one baffled netizen.

18 hunters announced immediate permanent retirement post-raid, citing personal reasons. Notably, Min Byung-Gyu, the esteemed Healer who returned from the brink of death, is among them. However, Hunter Min declined to comment further.

---

As the memorial service for the fallen Hunters drew to a close, Jinwoo lingered in the crowd to pay his respects. His expression was unreadable, a careful mask concealing the myriad of emotions beneath. He had done his part, both in the raid and in honoring the sacrifices of the deceased.

"I don’t know how you did it, but…" Baek Yoonho added after his previous statements to Jinwoo, voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. For saving him."

Jinwoo paused, his lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "It’s not me you should be thanking for that," he replied simply, offering no further explanation, his tone laced with quiet conviction. Without waiting for a response, he turned to leave, leaving Baek Yoonho staring after him, puzzled but still thankful.

Jinwoo's gaze swept the crowd until his eyes landed on Cha Hae-In. She stood a short distance away and caught his eye, her expression warm as she mouthed a quiet, ‘Thank you.’ Jinwoo nodded once in acknowledgment, appreciating the sincerity in her unspoken words.

As his eyes continued to roam, they eventually found you, standing still among the mourners. Your posture was still and composed, a faintly distant look in your eyes as though you were seeing beyond the moment, even as your head bowed slightly in reverence. When you noticed his gaze, you met it briefly before closing your eyes and turning back to the solemn proceedings, making no effort to move or acknowledge him further. Jinwoo took it as a sign.

Alright, Jinwoo thought as he noticed the Association’s official approaching, informing him that Chairman Go Gunhee wishes to speak with him. I needed to talk with him too anyway, as he followed the official, his eyes flickered back to you one last time. Huh, for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself a small observation.

She looks good in black.

---

Jinwoo should’ve finished his talk with the Chairman by now.

You thought as you slowly made your way toward the edge of the memorial grounds. The crowd was thinning, the lingering sense of grief and loss still hung in the air, but it was something you had grown accustomed to in this world, where sacrifice and loss often overshadowed victory. You had done what you could. The lives lost had been honored, and those who had survived could move on, at least for a while.

Out of the corner of your vision, a butterfly caught your eye—its wings shimmered in hues of green, black, and silver as it fluttered through the mourners—the child you had tasked to keep watch over a certain healer. Now it circled nearby as if to confirm the man’s presence.

Though you hadn’t expected him to notice you.

What were the odds? For him, standing in the middle of the sea of mourners, to notice you in the far back-end?

Your gaze drifted in the direction it came from, from where you stood, your gaze locked with Min Byung-Gyu’s. Recognition flickered briefly in his eyes before he looked away, his expression carefully neutral. You mirrored his action, calmly turning and continuing on your path.

You trusted him—he had made his vow to stay silent about what had transpired in that strange, timeless space where the two of you had crossed paths. Still, his awareness of you felt like a ripple in still water, a detail you couldn’t entirely dismiss. Though, should Min Byung-Gyu ever stray from his promise, the system would intervene.

Just as you began to retreat into your thoughts, a familiar voice broke through.

"(Name)."

You turned to see Jinwoo approaching with his usual gait. And, as you fell into steps beside him, he slowed his pace to match yours.

"When are you free?" he asked, his tone casual but with an undertone of anticipation.

You only hummed, tilting your head slightly, indicating to him that you'd need a bit more context than that.

"For that dinner," Jinwoo clarified.

Oh. Your steps faltered briefly.

---

"Sir?!" Woo Jinchul's voice rose in panic as Chairman Go Gunhee suddenly collapsed to his knees. The aide was at his side in an instant, his hands steadying the older man as he gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.

His sharp mind momentarily dulled by a wave of overwhelming warmth that left him gasping, Go Gunhee only laughed lightly, dismissing his subordinate's concern with a wave of his hand. "My apologies, Jinchul," he said, his voice calm despite the situation. " These old bones are finally starting to show their age. "

"Chairman, this isn't something to brush off!" Jinchul protested, his grip firm as he helped the older man back to his feet, then to a nearby bench. The concern etched across his features was evident, his brow furrowed deeply as he assessed the chairman's condition.

"Sir, should I call for a medic? We can—"

"That won't be necessary," Go Gunhee interrupted gently but firmly, shaking his head.

However, Go Gunhee’s attention was no longer on his subordinate— his sharp, seasoned gaze fixed on the direction Hunter Sung Jinwoo had disappeared moments earlier. Or rather, where they had disappeared.

It was ancient, commanding, and unyielding. Like a fragment of an endless abyss brushing against his very soul.

—Kneel. You are in the presence of [][][] [][][][][][][].

The fragmented sensation lingered, a half-heard whisper reverberating in the depths of his consciousness. It wasn't the first time he had felt something like this, though the last occasion was buried in the annals of his long memory, far back when the world was still grappling with the sudden appearance of Gates.

Yet, the air still thrummed with a residual warmth, all-encompassing and unrelenting, an energy that felt simultaneously divine and otherworldly. It wasn’t Jinwoo’s presence that lingered this time. It was hers.

“Chairman?” Jinchul’s voice brought him back, laced with worry.

“Hmm,” Gunhee hummed in thought, forcing himself to focus. “Woo Jinchul,” he called, his voice steady but thoughtful.

"Sir?" The younger man straightened immediately, awaiting orders.

"Investigate the young woman who accompanied Hunter Sung today," the Chairman instructed, his tone firm despite the fatigue in his posture, his gaze still fixed on that same direction. "I believe I’ve seen her somewhere before. Perhaps in our records of Hunters."

Jinchul hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Understood, sir. I’ll pull up all available data and cross-check our archives. Do you have any specific details that might help narrow the search?"

Gunhee's gaze remained, his thoughts distant. "No… but something tells me she isn’t someone we can overlook. There's an aura about her—" he paused, searching for the right words, "—similar to Hunter Sung, like she’s walked through storms most of us can't even imagine, though notably subtler."

Jinchul glanced toward that direction as well, though no trace of Jinwoo or his companion remained. "Do you believe she’s a threat, sir?"

"Threat?" Gunhee repeated softly. He tilted his head slightly, pondering the question. "No… not quite.”

“Let’s just say... it’s better to err on the side of caution.”

Jinchul's frown deepened as he processed the chairman��s words.

"I’ll begin the investigation immediately," Jinchul assured.

"Good," Gunhee said, finally tearing his gaze away. "Let me know as soon as you find anything."

"Yes, Sir," Jinchul replied, already mentally cataloging the resources he’d need to dive into such a search.

As Jinchul guided him toward the car, Go Gunhee couldn’t shake the lingering impression. For years, he had dedicated himself to understanding the dangers that plagued their world, studying Hunters, Gates, and the forces behind them. Yet here he was, feeling unsettled by the presence of one woman.

As they drove away, he couldn’t help but glance out the window, back toward the direction Jinwoo and the woman had gone.

What kind of secret was Sung Jinwoo hiding now?

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [25/11/2024] -

[gepards-beloved]

playing with his hair

w/ blade, jing yuan, dan heng, gepard, luocha, sampo

" what are you doing?" a groggy voice calls from your lap. when you glance down, you are greeted with a crimson orb and a pair of pinched brows - the crease dissipates when you kiss BLADE on his forehead. " your hair is so long," you grin, playing a portion between your fingers; it had a faint waft of your shampoo. " do you want me to stop?" he blinks at you, handsome face unveiled when not having a curtain of black over his eyes. he looked cute like that— and it felt particularly special when he dropped his cold demeanor in favor of displaying a more vulnerable side; one you have been privy to on many occasions. if you hadn't known better, you'd say his face has gradually softened since you've locked eyes. " no," he whispers, screwing his eyes shut. " this is good." when you resume untangling his roots, he thinks he's found something even more comforting than your kisses. it surprises him, even as his body resumes to sink in your lap— but you continue to find ways to worm into his heart. the thought of complaining never crosses him.

oh, JING YUAN, elegant, refined, and adroit in both marksmanship and leadership. the great general can only fall pilant to one certain foe— you. your hands sift through his hair, locks of snow terribly soft and frizzy in all directions. " it's so soft," you pull the loose strands into makeshift hairstyles of sorts. he looked enchanting as ever, golden rays of light catching his locks in a replenishment shine; then again, he always looked picturesque. the room was quiet, save for his deep sighs that sent a flutter to your heart. jing yuan turns his head to glance at you, but you quickly usher him to sit still as you work out the knots. he couldn't help himself. he just wanted to see your cute face scrunch up in concentration and kiss your jutted lips. he finds appreciation in these details, signaling your endless care for him. he gently pries away one of your hands, placing kisses along the knuckles. " don't worry, my dear," he smiles, moving to kiss your wrist. " i'm all yours." (honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you found a bird hiding deep within the roots. he merely chuckles, kissing your thigh in a show of tenderness. he's far too entranced with your hands tangling in his roots to concern himself with the actual nest he's housing.)

DAN HENG was reading a book, and his hair was just there; loosely tied together in a neat presentation. honestly, how could something taunt you so much, and how could he look so ethereal by just reading?? he notices see you in the corner of his eye, his curiosity already piqued before you even got his hair. " what trouble are you stirring up to this time," he blatantly inquires, serious as ever but deterred by a gentle tone he always speaks to you in. "oh nothing," you giggle. "carry on reading." he cocks a brow but remains quiet. despite himself, he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching when you start to weave your hands in the strands. you tended it with care, combing it out with your fingers and dan heng couldn't bring himself to foucs on the words anymore. he nearly shivers when you suddenly press a kiss to the nape of his neck, his sharp exhale occupying the silence. after a couple blissful moments, he pulls away, book long discarded on the table. you hardly got the chance to whine, not when he gently brings you to sit on his lap. " standing won't be necessary," his hand settles on your hips, pecking you on the cheek. " you will be more comfortable this way."

the skeptical look in GEPARD'S eye progressively falters the longer you curl your fingers in his roots. instead, a form of bliss comes to blend into his countenance, and his lips gape into an 'o' pair with a rosy blush in brew from the proximity. it was hard not to get butterflies in your chest when he rubbed his cheek into your palm. and his eyes went heavy when you scratched the area beneath his ear; he was almost like a puppy of sorts. " you're the most handsome man I know," your lips brush the corner of his mouth, the skin growing warm from your words. before you could pull away, his hand grabs your face and brings you in for a kiss proper - it's messy and hurried, still lacking experience but nonetheless effective in sending a wave of anticipation up your spine." can we stay like this forever?" he shuffles closer to you, nose bumping yours; your hands were still buried deep within his blonde hair and he nearly whines when you brush your thumb over his scalp. the sensation, coupled with your synchronized inhales and exhales was nearly numbing. without realizing it, gepard tucks a loose strand of your own behind your ear, a lovestruck grin finding his lips. when you nod, his smile reaches his eyes.

its no secret that LUOCHA adores your touch. you weren't sure how long he's been using your lap as a pillow, sleepily blinking at you as his hand stroked your thigh. a hum escapes him when you experimentally ran a nail down his head; the way his eyes fluttered shut was almost instantaneous, and he tilted his head to the side to grant you more access. he pushes back the temptation to squirm when you curl your hands on the back on his head, the baby hairs responding to your touch. luocha thinks he might just fall asleep like this, his grip turning lax against your clothes. it's only when you move to twirl his bangs around your pinky that it returns stubbornly. " are you teasing me?" he chooses to ignore the way his heart tickles when you cup his face, batting your eyelashes at him. " i'm just looking at you, you're handsome." he smiles against his own rationality, the expression warming you up far more than the sun's rays ever could. he pinches your chin gently, pulling you down until your lips meet in a sloppy movement, tasting like the jam you had fed him earlier. when his eyes fall shut you had the opportunity to fully admire his bliss expression, lopsided and bright. " thank you," he guides your hand back into his hair but not before pressing a kiss to the palm. " indulge me a little more, my love?"

SAMPO was being oddly quiet. so much so, it was growing unnerving. rather than being met with cheesy one-liners or random kisses to your neck, you were greeted instead by silence and a sampo who laid at your lap unmoving. huh, it seems he's fallen asleep, you thought, taking the advantage to run your fingers through his unkempt hair. it was unruly, increasingly so as you meander your fingers along the roots. sampo forces back his grin when you cup the back of his head, baby hairs elevating to your touch. he does, however, release a sigh when you start to detangle it mindlessly, the outside world momentarily forgotton. your stupor is broken when a drawled "y/n~" intrudes the silence, punctuated by a pinch to your arm. you don't know what was more humiliating: your yelp or the way your body went taut. " were you faking this entire time?" you reeled back, frowning at the mirth glazed in his eyes; you don't get too far when he captures your hand, peppering kisses along the wrist. " don't be so surprised," sampo gives your pulse point a teasing nibble, relishing in the reaction it coaxes from you. " i have tricks up my sleeve too."

[bbieangel]

Love the Joel fic!!! plsssss do an Arthur cramps one!!!

Moon Cycle — Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

A/N: I loved writing this! It's my first time writing anything that's not set in the present world so please bare with me <3 And yes, the title is a reference to Melanie Martinez's song :) As always, thank you for your requests and I hope you love it!

Summary: Even when you try to act tough, Arthur Morgan always sees right through you. And, the day you finally allow yourself to feel weak, he's there to help you with your cramps.

Tags: Fluff! A LOT OF FLUFF. High honor Arthur. Self-deprecating Arthur, we all know how he talks to himself. Mentions of his past (Eliza and Mary Linn), reader has a uterus and is menstruating, she doesn't wear the typical clothes that women used in the 1800's (think of it more like Sadie, she dresses like her). This is set before Arthur even knows he's sick.

Word count: 7.8k

Divider by @/peony chance on Pinterest!

Since day one, you had never failed to amaze the whole Van Der Linde gang with your dirty mouth and ways of pissing off Miss Grimshaw. To say the least, they had grown fond of you. And even if you could look after yourself just fine, you laid awake in your cot endless nights just wishing someone was there for you in times where you felt the most vulnerable, needing attention like the dog the gang had adopted. He always ran around, sniffing everyone and looking for any hand that would give him back scratches.

One particular day you had gone out to rob a stagecoach that a guy in Rhodes had told you about. Dutch assigned you to go along with Arthur, the gruff looking, almost giant man. But you knew he hid something else behind his blue-green eyes that often held a hint of tenderness whenever he looked your way.

"Now, stay right behind me, princess."

He muttered as he covered his face behind the rock you were prompted at, making sure the drivers didn't see you.

You groaned. Of course that, out of all of the women in camp, he would call you princess. But he didn't do it for the reasons you thought.

"Call me by my name, Morgan."

You muttered and he let out a deep chuckle, rumbling through his chest and sending butterflies to your stomach. But you wouldn't let your face show that, after all, you kinda liked being called princess by him.

The stagecoach robbery was a success, feeling like a breath of fresh air after what seemed like the gang had been cursed or just ran out of good luck.

Arthur counted the money effortlessly, the flicking of his fingers looking elegant. It was ridiculous, you thought as he you waited for your part.

"Don't forget to give some to camp, princess."

He said, pointing a finger at you. But he knew not to worry about you contributing to the little box Dutch had beside his tent, he had seen you do it more times than anyone else in the gang.

"You don't need to worry about me contributing, Arthur."

You said with a soft smile as you both rode back to camp, side by side, enjoying the nice weather and the views.

—

Later that day, you were sitting up against a log in front of the campfire. A bead of sweat fell down the side of your face and into your shirt. Arthur was going to tease you about it, but he held himself back when he saw the slight frown on your face and your knees being held against your chest.

He sighed, knowing that caring about you wasn't the best decision. He couldn't bring himself to like anyone else, not after Eliza and Mary. But that soft, empathetic part of him was stronger than any of his insecurities, and it needed to know if you were okay. Which you clearly weren't.

He slowly sat down beside you with a look of concern on his face, and placed his calloused hand on your shoulder.

"You alright, princess? Did you get hurt? You should've told me—"

"I didn't get hurt."

You interrupted him. You were about to snap at him for teasing you, but when you looked into his eyes, glowing by the fire crackling in front of you, you noticed he was being genuine. So your expression softened, and he saw it, making his heart flutter and long to open up to you more.

"I'm.. I have cramps. It's that time of the month.."

You spoke quietly. You had grown to know it wasn't okay to talk about it, let alone tell a man about it. They found it disgusting, a woman bleeding monthly was seen almost as a sin, something you couldn't talk about.

But Arthur couldn't care less. He had killed people and had seen countless bodies, massacred by some fool. Hell, he'd seen his son be born. He could handle speaking about a monthly small amount of blood coming out of a woman's body naturally.

"I understand. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He asked, and your eyebrows shot up in surprise. Why wasn't he acting disgusted by what you just said? Why didn't he tell you to just suck it up?

It took you a few seconds to answer.

"I—Uhm.. I don't know, actually. Can you help me get to my tent? I think I might've stained my clothes and I don't wanna get teased about it."

You spoke, your eyes darted towards the fire once again. It was fine if he declined, you would understand. But, once again, he surprised you.

"Yeah, let's go."

He said and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, helping you up. He looked behind his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to see the small stain in your pants, and led you to your tent.

"I've heard.."

He cleared his throat before speaking, the slight pink tint on his cheeks gave away the soft embarrassment he felt.

"I've heard that peppermint or chamomile tea helps, the ladies were talking about it the other day."

He said and you couldn't help but smile softly.

"Yeah, it does. I just ran out of both herbes."

At that, he raised an eyebrow. Why didn't you tell him? He would've gone looking for some if it brought you comfort. And, against his better judgement, he chose to speak.

"You should've told me. I'll make sure to bring you some."

He spoke gruffly, but unable to hide his growing softness and tenderness for you.

When he helped you into your cot, he made sure to cover you with a blanket before turning on his heels to go away. He figured you might want to be left alone.

"Wait."

You called out to him. You knew better than to call over a man who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet between anyone's eyes, but a part of you knew he only did it when absolutely necessary. And that he would never, ever touch a hair on your body.

"Can you.. stay a little while?"

You asked, your cheeks turning a cute rosey shade. At that, he gave you a light chuckle.

"Yeah, 'course."

He sat down on the edge of your cot. You could see the sympathetic look in his eyes when your face would scrunch up every time a cramp hit harder.

"I'm not usually like this, I can take the pain—"

"No need to explain to me. I know it hurts and I don't need you to act tough all the time."

He cut you off, easing some of the embarrassment you felt. Maybe it was stress, maybe your hormones were fighting against you, but this cycle felt different. It hurt a lot more, making you sweat as you tried to deal with the pain.

The tension between the both of you only continued to grow, hidden desires behind your eyelids that none of you could speak about. Heartbreaks and loss were two things you were too familiar with, and couldn't bring yourself to experience once again.

So he didn't speak as he laid beside you, carefully, treating you as if you were made out of porcelain and he didn't want to hurt you. His hand went to your lower stomach and began moving it gently, massaging the zone.

You let out a sigh of relief—how did he know exactly what to do? As if reading your thoughts, he spoke:

"Mary told me this works. I didn't figure it out on my own."

He spoke quietly, and you felt kinda bad. How could she be such a fool to break up with such a kind man?

"Even if you didn't figure it out on your own, I'm grateful you know about it."

You spoke softly.

"Can I tell you something, Arthur?"

You asked, you heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted out just to be gifted to Arthur.

"'Course, princess."

He responded, his hand never stopped moving as he saw the look of relief in your face. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he noticed it was working.

"You're a good man. And anyone who doesn't see that, is a fool. A damn, blind fool."

You spoke and his eyes widened at that, letting you take in more of the particular color they had. You were so close to him yet none of you could move.

"I ain't much of a good person, princess. I've done things I'm not proud of, killed folks just because.. There's a price on my head."

He said, looking at you with that self-deprecating look he gave anyone who even dared to call him good. He wasn't good, he was a fool who didn't know how to be kind, how to be good. Or at least, that was what he thought of himself.

But on the contrary, you didn't see him that way, and he knew. So you doubled down, going along with your stubborn nature.

"Well, to me you are good. And nothing will change my mind about that."

You spoke in a firmer tone, placing a hand on top of his shoulder and rubbing it softly. He swore you could feel the way his heart jumped at your small gesture.

After a few minutes of just contemplating each other's faces, trying to read each other's minds, he spoke.

"You deserve someone better than me."

At that, you frowned. He couldn't tell you what you deserved and what you didn't, who you could or couldn't like.

"No one has ever cared about my cramps before. No one... No man has taken the time to try and make me feel better."

His expression softened. How could anyone treat you badly about something that wasn't your fault? But again, he reminded himself, it was 1899. You didn't live in a fair world.

"I couldn't just let you be in pain."

"Exactly."

You said. Everything he did or said was just another reason as to why you considered him a good man. After fighting against your fears, your mind, your insecurities, you leaned slightly closer. What were you doing? You didn't know. But the sight of his lips covered by his always perfectly trimmed moustache was something almost magnetic that pulled at your heartstrings right when you were the most vulnerable and needy.

"Princess..."

He tried to protest. His breathing hitched as he felt you slightly closer, his eyes kept darting towards your plush lips without even thinking. His heart thumped against his chest in a way that almost hurt.

"Do you trust me?"

His eyes shot up at yours. Of course he trusted you, even if a part of his brain begged him not to, he wasn't doing what his brain wanted. He was following his heart at this point, and his heart wanted you. Only you.

"I do."

He responded, his deep voice was now soft.

"Then.. Let me."

You whispered and pressed your lips against his, without giving your brain the possibility to make you think about it twice. You stayed still as you waited for him to pull away, to shut you down and never talk to you again.

But he kissed you back. He kissed you back, and his hand tangled on your hair as he did. Every move, every action was so gentle, so careful. And you couldn't be more grateful for that.

His other hand never left your lower stomach. He was determined to end with your cramps, even if his own hand ended up cramping after massaging your skin for so long.

He didn't leave your side that night. If anything, the whole situation only brought the two of you closer, to the point where he would look for excuses to sleep with you all curled up against him. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding your frame up against his chest. All while keeping a soft smile on his face even when he slept.

Because what started with the two of you being scared of letting anyone else in, ended up with Arthur going out of his way to look for anything that would relieve your pain. He would even ride his horse for hours until he found peppermint.

But in the end: all you wanted was the warmth his body provided you with and his hand pressed against your skin.

[locuas642]

One of the most iconic characters in Elden Ring is Malenia, Blade of Miquella. A character who was almost always present in the marketing leading up to the game's release, even if, funnily enough, she is an optional boss that can only be reached by entering a completely optional area of the game and only by the time you reach what could be considered the endgame areas.

She is an example of a character design for a woman who is supposed to be a powerful warrior who reaches a really good balance of feeling elegant, powerful and also feminine.

the interesting thing, tho, is how those traits are carried over to her second phase, when she goes completely naked except for her prosthesis and grows massive wings made of butterflies.

It doesn't feel sexual, it doesnt feel fanservice-y. It doesnt feel like the framing wants you to find her sexy.

But also, despite the clear signs of rot in her body, signals of the Scarlet Rot that she is cursed with, it also doesn't feel like it wants you to be repulsed by it. The Scarlet Valkyrie, in this image, looks almost like a reinaissence painting. Of Aphrodite's birth, or Michelangelo's "the creation of adam" or even his David.

In other words, she is beautiful. but not in the sexy way, not in the "pretty girl" way. But in the way the human form is beautiful. It is an example of how nudity isn't inherently a sexual thing, not something to desire or be repulsed by. And that finding it beautiful is not the same as finding it sexy. It can just be.

[latin5mamii]

Angel -Jude Bellingham

|WARNINGS: none |AUTHOR'S NOTE:I'm loving this fanfic😭 Previous part |SUMMARY:How could you know that a stupid nickname could change everything?

You couldn��t stop thinking about the date,which wasn’t really a date actually.That word never escaped his lips and you knew that this was just a casual meeting with your best friend, that’s all.You spent the whole day thinking about a good outfit,which wasn’t easy, of course.

You didn’t want to appear too elegant but also not too much casual,so you decided for a mini skirt and an embroidered black top,your favorite heels that weren’t too high, you weren’t a really tall girl, just right in the middle, but a pair of heels wouldn’t hurt anyone, he would still be higher than you;you then thought about wavy hair and some makeup. You then added the right amount of jewelry and surely you couldn’t forget your favorite perfume, now you’re finally ready and a texts lets your phone vibrate.

Jude:You ready?I’m here

You felt your heart racing and your cheeks becoming hotter, it’s just a normal date, right?

:Yes i’ll be out there in a second

You gave yourself a last look at the mirror and you felt a sense of joy and butterflies in your stomach.You didn’t care if it was a date or not, you only wanted to be with him honestly.

As you slid into Jude's car, the radio pulsed with the rhythm of "Eyes Without a Face." The haunting melody, with its lyrics about a love unseen, seemed to echo the unspoken desires swirling between you. You stole a glance at Jude, finding him already looking at you, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

"So," he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "where would you like to go, Angel?"

The nickname, a relic of your childhood, brought a warmth to your cheeks. "There's this great little jazz bar downtown," you suggested, surprised at your own boldness. "They have live music and amazing food."

A slow smile, genuine and heart-stopping, spread across Jude's face. "Perfect. I know just the place."

The drive was a whirlwind of comfortable silences punctuated by playful banter. You told him about your favorite childhood prank, and he countered with a story about a disastrous attempt to impress a girl with his soccer skills. When he chuckled at your teasing about his youthful clumsiness, a playful glint lit up his eyes.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you could have saved me a lot of trouble back then if you'd just let me impress you instead."

You scoffed, but a blush crept up your neck. "Impress me? With what, tripping over your own shoelaces?"

He feigned offense, clutching his chest dramatically. "Hey! Those were some fancy footwork maneuvers gone wrong."

By the time you pulled up to the jazz bar, tucked away on a quiet side street, laughter lines had etched themselves around your eyes. The smoky intimacy of the place, with its thrumming melody and warm candlelight, felt like stepping into a bygone era.

The hostess, a woman with a knowing smile and a mane of silver hair, greeted Jude by name. "Jude! Good to see you again. We've saved you a booth in the back."

He winked at you, a silent promise of a private corner. The booth, nestled against a brick wall adorned with photographs of jazz legends, was bathed in a warm glow. You settled in, feeling an electricity crackle in the air.

The menu, presented on a worn leather-bound cover, promised a delectable array of dishes. As you debated your options, you caught Jude stealing glances at your outfit.

"That top is amazing," he said, his voice a low murmur. "The embroidery is beautiful."

You felt a blush creep up your neck again. "Thanks," you mumbled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Actually, my mom gave it to me."

He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Your mom has impeccable taste. See, even without shoelaces, I manage to impress sometimes."

With every playful jab and shared secret, the tension between you crackled. It was a tension that mirrored the song playing softly in the background, a song that spoke of love and longing, a perfect reflection of your own unspoken feelings.

When dessert arrived, a decadent chocolate mousse that Jude insisted you share with him, a playful tug-of-war ensued over the spoon. Laughter filled the air as you both ended up with chocolate smeared on your smiles.

"Gotcha," Jude chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You swiped a bit of chocolate from his cheek with your thumb, savoring the warmth of his touch. "Seems like the only one getting impressed tonight is me, Mr. Soccer Star."

A playful glint lit up Jude's eyes as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Well, Angel," he murmured, "consider this round one. There's plenty of time for you to get even more impressed later."

The heat in his gaze flustered you, and you quickly looked down at the lingering chocolate on your fingers. You knew you should probably steer the conversation back to safe territory, but the playful banter felt exhilarating, a stark contrast to the nervous energy that had simmered between you earlier.

Just then, the melody shifted, the smoky saxophone giving way to a sultry female vocalist. The lyrics, filled with promises of forever and declarations of burning love, hung heavy in the air. You stole a glance at Jude, wondering if the song mirrored the unspoken emotions swirling within him too.

"This song reminds me of something," he said, his voice a low rumble.

A nervous flutter took flight in your stomach. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

He leaned back in the booth, a thoughtful expression on his face. "There was this girl, back when we were just kids, who used to climb trees and get stuck. The same girl who'd get mad at her brother for calling her Angel."

His words sent a jolt through you. A playful smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Sounds like someone has a good memory."

"The best," he replied, his gaze locking with yours. "Especially the memory of how brave she was, and kind, and beautiful..." He paused, his voice trailing off, leaving the rest unspoken.

The air crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of his words hanging heavy between you. You felt your cheeks burning under his intense gaze. Was he confessing his childhood feelings for you? Or was he simply reminiscing?

Before you could voice the question that burned on your tongue, the music swelled, drowning out any further conversation. The vocalist launched into a powerful rendition of a classic love ballad, its lyrics echoing the yearning in your own heart.

Jude reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. A spark shot through you as your eyes met. In that silent moment, a million unspoken emotions hung in the air. The playful banter, the stolen glances, the lingering touches - it all seemed to culminate in this single, electrifying moment.

With a hesitant smile, Jude squeezed your hand gently. "Dance with me, Angel?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur.

Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against your ribs. This wasn't how you imagined the night would end, but a thrilling anticipation bubbled within you. You couldn't deny the pull you felt towards him, a connection that transcended years of friendship.

With a shy smile, you nodded, allowing him to lead you to the small dance floor tucked away in a corner of the bar. The intimacy of the space, coupled with the soulful melody filling the air, created a bubble around you two.

Jude held you close, his hand resting possessively on your lower back. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, his cologne sending a familiar scent swirling around you. As you swayed to the music, a comfortable silence settled between you, a comfortable silence that spoke volumes.

The song ended all too soon, the applause of the other patrons breaking the spell. Yet, as you looked into Jude's eyes, you saw a reflection of the same yearning you felt burning within you.

The late-night jazz bar felt a world away now, replaced by the soft glow of the city lights filtering through the car windows. Jude navigated the familiar streets with practiced ease, a comfortable silence settling between you.

The unspoken tension in the air thrummed with a different kind of energy now – a hopeful anticipation for what might lie ahead. You stole a glance at Jude, his profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. His lips were curved in a thoughtful smile, and you couldn't help but wonder if it mirrored the one playing on your own lips.

As he pulled up in front of your apartment building, a pang of disappointment shot through you. The night had flown by, and the thought of saying goodbye so soon felt unbearable.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to him, your voice barely a whisper.

"Would you like to come in?" you blurted out, surprised by your own boldness.

His eyes widened in surprise, then a slow smile spread across his face. "I'd like that very much, angel."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

[heartfeltcherie]

❝come and get it now❞

notes; birthday present for myself! this is also my first time writing something not rated pg-13 so my apologies if it’s not the greatest.

wc; i was too lazy to paste everything to google docs to figure out how many words were written lolz

warnings: mentions of smoking weed, making out, suggestive at the end. minors please don’t interact lol

you emerge into the lounge area, looking for something— anything —to do, pure boredom clogging up your mind. you see alastor and your dead heart skips a beat.

only he’s capable of doing that.

shades of red cast in through the open door of the hotel. alastor leans against the doorway casually, smoke dancing from his lips so gracefully you’d swear he was doing it on purpose to put you in a trance.

“penny for your thoughts?” you didn’t realize you were staring. “are you smoking weed?” a dumb question. you know a blunt when you see one. “indeed it is, my dear” he answers back so smoothly and casually, like seeing him doing such a thing is completely normal.

you take a few tentative steps closer to him. he’s got his eyes trained on the outside of the pride ring. his side profile looks so beautiful. and the way he holds that blunt between his fingers with such elegance and… care? god, you wish it was your hand he was holding instead.

“didn’t take you to be a smoker” you joke playfully, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway, one leg crossed in front of the other. alastor chuckles at you. “there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, belle” he takes another drag and blows out the smoke… your gaze goes to his lips. “my eyes are up here, darling” your eyes widen and your face feels hot as he curves his finger under your chin to tilt your head up. his eyes are so beautiful under hell’s red glow.

you both stay like that for what seems like forever, time ticking by slowly as you put a tentative hand around his wrist, carefully testing the waters. and it surprises you when he doesn’t pull away or make the distance between you two less…

he stays. and instead he uses his thumb to gently pull your bottom lip down, moving his thumb across it so teasingly and tauntingly — but what else did you expect? it’s alastor for hell’s sake. but it doesn’t stop the sudden urge you feel to open your mouth fully for his thumb to enter your mouth.

fuck…

“something on your mind, cher?” alastor’s voice breaks through the silence with a smirk on his face; yeah, a certain radio demon and how badly i wanna kiss him. “may i try it?” alastor tilts his head at you, his radio coming through with muffles. “the weed”

alastor stands up straight again, taking his hand away from you (it feels cold there now). he lets out a hum, taking another puff. “oh, if you so must” he passes it to you and it gives you butterflies that your lips will be where his were in just a matter of seconds.

he watches as you put the rolled joint between your lips and he swears to himself that he’s never seen you look more angelic — which is the funniest thing, he thinks, utmost hilarious, considering you’re in the depths of hell. you breathe in the intoxicating air but your lungs decide it would be fun to betray you, making you begin coughing an ungodly amount. alastor laughs at you.

what an ass.

“al, you’re mean! i could’ve died!” you put a hand over your chest, catching your breath. “oh the dramatics, my dear. it was simply just smoke! you wouldn’t have died”

“i deserve a redo”

“a redo you say? hmm…” alastor makes a thinking face for a moment before a smirk graces his face again. he gently takes the joint out of your hand. “my dear, i’m gonna need you to stay completely still for this” you nod and watch as he takes the joint between his lips again, breathing in with ease. he leans down again, cupping your chin with his other hand as the joint rests to the side of him. he uses his thumb, again, to gently pull your bottom lip down as he so-gracefully blows the smoke into your parted lips.

you feel so giddy having an intimate moment like this with hell’s most feared overlord. it makes you wonder why people think he’s so scary when he’s always the utmost gentleman… with you.

your eyes are closed as you feel his hand go from your chin to your hip, clutching onto the material of your clothing like a vice as you put your hands over top his chest and you swear you can feel his heart beating. it’s intoxicating and dizzying and it puts you in a daze when everything’s finished. you open your half lidded eyes and he’s still nose-to-nose with you.

“was that better?” alastor looks at you with hooded eyes and all you can do is nod, feeling like you’re not even on the ground anymore. he chuckles. “oh darling, you’re too adorable…” he brings his hand back up to your cheek, stroking your skin gently with his thumb. “especially in this state”

then do something about it, you wanna say.

“al?”

you swear you see him looking at your lips the same way you’re looking at his; with hunger, want, need, desire, like you’ll die if you don’t get to know the feeling of each other’s lips.

fuck it.

“what will it take for you to kiss me already”

and that sentence is all it takes for alastor to break the distance between you both, crashing his lips onto yours in a fervent motion. you sigh against his lips, your hands clutching onto the lapels of his coat because if you don’t, he might disappear. he tosses the forgotten joint somewhere outside, not caring where it lands as his only focus is hitching your leg against his hip and holding it there as he keeps kissing you with so much passion and hunger that it takes your breath away every time you hear your lips smacking together. you’re feeling so turned on and the high gives you this cloud nine feel and—

oh my fucking god, i’m high and making out with the radio demon.

alastor puts both hands on your hips as he mutters a small ���jump”, refusing to bring this make out session to a halt for even a couple seconds. you happily comply as you jump into alastor’s arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hands cup your butt, giving a gentle squeeze and he can’t help but chuckle lowly as you gasp into his mouth. he walks you both over to the couch, stopping at the side of the arm rest before he gently lays you down on the couch. the kissing stops for just a second (much to both of your dismays) so you can watch as he crawls over top of you like a predator about to pounce on his prey.

you part your legs so he has space to slot between and oh boy do the butterflies tickle your tummy with their wings seeing him on top of you like this. your face feels like lava.

“you know, my dear, i was planning on properly courting you before doing such explicit things,” he moves some hair out of your face, looking at you with hooded eyes. “but my mind is filled with thoughts that make me less of a gentleman” you bring your fingers to card through his hair.

“i don’t want you to be a gentleman with me, al. not right now”

alastor smirks and you swear you see his pupils turn to radio dials as he leans into your neck and says lowly in your ear,

“good girl”

tags; @alastorthirsty

comments/reblogs are appreciated ♡ also! if you liked what you read, consider asking to be on my taglist :)

[mellifluouaamor]

TANJIROU KAMADO ⍣ FEMALE READER

synopsis. tanjirou thinks you're like a flower.

you're just like a wisteria flower, TANJIROU would always think to himself. beautiful and elegant, kind yet resilient - and your beauty was akin to that of a blooming flower. there's an air of tranquility around you whenever you're on the battlefield, the smile you'd wear soothing your frazzled teammates and reassuring them that everything will be okay.

tanjirou never regretted meeting you that day - the day he saved you from being devoured. you were the only survivor of the squad that was sent to the inn infested by a formidable demon, and he clearly remembered witnessing you struggle to live as you fought with a breath style that he had never seen before: the breath of ayatori style. it appeared to branch off from the breath of love style as it heavily involved agility and flexibility, and the blade of your nichirin sword was also identical to the love pillar's. watching you fight was like watching a dancer perform, and he had never been so mesmerised by graceful movements meant to kill.

after his first meeting with you, the two of you grew closer to each other, and slowly but surely, stronger feelings blossomed in your hearts.

when the sun rose from the horizon, marking the break of dawn, tanjirou was prompted to pick up his pace and ended up jogging the rest of the way to the butterfly estate. he had received worrying news of you returning from a mission severely injured just as he completed his, and he wanted to check up on you as soon as possible.

as he approached the familiar gates of the butterfly estate, he spotted a particular flower growing amongst yellow daffodils. its striking purple colour reminded him of you, causing him to stop in his tracks. would you like this? he could bring it as a small gift since he didn't think of bringing anything for you until this moment.

without another second to waste, tanjirou knelt down and plucked the sweet violet.

❀

tanjirou spotted you lying on your side on the veranda. you were fast asleep, eyelids drawn shut and lips slightly parted as soft breaths slipped past them. traversing the garden, he soon came to a stop in front of your resting form before reaching out to brush away the stray strands of hair covering your face.

he hesitated to wake you up because of how peaceful you looked. although he could have just left the violet for you to wake up to, he wanted to give it to you in person, all so he could see your expression light up like the sky at dawn. tanjirou released a long, drawn-out sigh and then lowered himself on his knees, eyes never leaving you. he subconsciously moved his free hand to cup your face, his thumb tenderly caressing your cheek.

as if on cue, you drifted out of your slumber, your eyelashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. a slight frown etched itself onto your countenance when you tried to figure out who was in front of you.

"tanjirou...?" you mumbled, recognising his scarlet hair, "what are you doing here?" stifling a yawn, you carefully propped yourself up on your elbow, kneading one eye with a fist.

"why are you sleeping out here?" he asked, chuckling, "the mornings are still cold."

"i was stargazing last night... i guess i accidentally fell asleep," you replied, scratching your lower cheek sheepishly. you then gave tanjirou your signature smile and added, "welcome back by the way! you must be tired from your mission."

he beamed. "thank you! but i'm probably not as tired as you. you should sleep on a proper bed since you're still healing from your injuries..." his gaze swept over the bandages on your body as his red hues flashed with concern. "how are you feeling?"

"some parts of my body are sore, but i'm generally feeling okay. kochou-san said i should avoid strenuous work for now," you said, shifting your body to sit properly.

suddenly remembering the flower in his grasp, tanjirou presented you with the sweet violet he had intended to give you, making your eyes widen.

"it's for you!" he chirped, "i found a flower that reminded me of you on my way here. i... think it suits you."

your cheeks heated up at his remark. with a shy "thank you", you happily accepted the flower and inhaled its sweet scent. "it smells nice... and it's so pretty."

"just like you," tanjirou blurted out before covering his mouth upon realising what he just said.

instead of getting embarrassed, you surprised him by leaning over to kiss his cheek, eliciting a blush from him.

"you're so cute~" you cooed, giggling.

tanjirou let out a huff. before your brain could register what was happening, you found yourself being carried like a princess in his strong arms. you immediately clung to his shoulders with a squeal, afraid that he might drop you (even though you knew that he wouldn't) as he strode away.

"h-hey! put me down!" you exclaimed, kicking your legs.

feeling a bit bold, tanjirou leaned towards your face and lightly bumped your nose with his, smiling. your breath hitched in your throat; that little gesture was effective in silencing you as he brought you inside the infirmary and tucked you in bed.

truly, you're a flower he wants to protect with his life.

[ladywhistlewrites]

Chapter 2 : face to face

The grand hall of Buckingham House was a symphony of opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung like constellations from the high ceilings, casting a warm, golden light that bathed the room in an ethereal glow. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries and gilded mirrors, reflecting the splendor of the assembled guests. The air was filled with the harmonious strains of a string quartet, their music weaving an intricate tapestry of sound that added to the evening’s elegance.

Y/N stood with her parents at the entrance of the hall, her heart a delicate flutter in her chest. Her father, Baron Y/L/N, stood tall and proud, his stern demeanor softened only slightly by the occasion. Her mother, the baroness, was a vision of grace, her gown a masterpiece of deep emerald silk that shimmered with every movement. Y/N herself wore a dress of lavender silk, the delicate lace trim and tiny pearl adornments catching the light in a way that made her appear almost otherworldly. Her hair was styled in an intricate updo, tiny curls framing her face and pearls woven into the dark strands.

“Remember to smile, dear. Confidence is your greatest asset,” her mother whispered, squeezing Y/N’s hand gently.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She scanned the room, noting familiar faces among the sea of nobility—friends and acquaintances, all adorned in their finest attire, each one a picture of elegance and poise.

The line of young ladies waiting to be presented to the Queen moved slowly forward, and soon it was Y/N’s turn. The grand doors to the throne room were opened by liveried footmen, and Y/N felt a surge of apprehension. Her mother gave her hand a final reassuring squeeze before stepping back, allowing Y/N to proceed alone.

With measured steps, Y/N advanced toward the Queen, who sat regally upon her throne, her discerning eyes fixed upon each debutante with an appraising gaze. The room seemed to hold its breath as Y/N approached, the weight of expectation heavy upon her shoulders.

She executed a flawless curtsy, lowering her gaze respectfully. “Your Majesty,” she intoned, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Queen Charlotte regarded her for a long moment, her expression inscrutable. The silence stretched on, and Y/N could feel the eyes of the court upon her, every heartbeat echoing in her ears. Then, to Y/N’s immense relief, a faint smile graced the monarch’s lips. “Rise, Lady Y/N. It is a pleasure to welcome you to court.”

Y/N straightened, meeting the Queen’s gaze with a mixture of humility and determination. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

With a nod from the Queen, Y/N was dismissed, and she made her way back to her parents, her heart racing with a mix of relief and exhilaration. She had passed the first test, but she knew this was only the beginning.

As the evening progressed, Y/N mingled with the other guests, her parents proudly introducing her to various eligible bachelors and influential figures. The atmosphere was a heady mix of anticipation and excitement, the buzz of conversation punctuated by the clink of crystal glasses and the laughter of the elite.

Y/N exchanged polite pleasantries, her mind partially preoccupied with thoughts of the future. She wondered about the paths that lay before her, the choices she would have to make, and the people she would meet. Her thoughts were interrupted when she was approached by a tall, handsome gentleman with striking dark eyes and an easy smile.

“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, bowing with practiced elegance. “Might I have the pleasure of a dance?”

Y/N curtsied, offering a gracious smile. “Of course, Lord Bridgerton.”

As they moved to the dance floor, the music swelled around them. Y/N found herself twirling gracefully in the arms of her partner, who she knew well as Anthony Bridgerton, the eldest of the Bridgerton siblings. His charm was undeniable, and their conversation flowed effortlessly.

“You handled your presentation with remarkable poise,” Lord Bridgerton remarked as they danced. “The Queen seemed quite taken with you.”

“Thank you, Lord Bridgerton,” Y/N replied. “I must admit, it was a rather daunting experience.”

He smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You certainly did not show it. Tell me, Lady Y/N, what do you look forward to most this season?”

Y/N hesitated, contemplating her answer. “I suppose I look forward to the possibilities,” she said finally. “To discovering what life has in store for me.”

“A wise approach,” he said approvingly. “Too often, we become entangled in the expectations of others and forget to seek our own path.”

His words resonated deeply with Y/N, and she found herself relaxing in his company. As the dance came to an end, Lord Bridgerton escorted her back to her parents, who were engaged in conversation with another couple.

“Thank you for the dance, Lord Bridgerton,” Y/N said with genuine gratitude.

“The pleasure was mine, Lady Y/N. I hope we might have another opportunity to converse during the season.”

She smiled, feeling a flicker of excitement. “I would like that very much.”

As the evening drew to a close, Y/N reflected on the day’s events. She had been introduced to society, had danced with a charming gentleman, and had managed to capture the attention of the Queen. Yet, she knew that this was merely the beginning of her journey.

Returning home, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. This season would be hers to navigate, and she was determined to do so on her own terms. She would not simply be a pawn in the matchmaking game; she would be the author of her own story, forging a path that aligned with her desires and ambitions.

With each step she took, Y/N felt more certain of her resolve. The season stretched out before her like an uncharted map, full of opportunities and challenges. And she was ready to embrace them all, with unwavering determination.

The next morning, as she sat in the garden with her dearest friend, Eloise Bridgerton, Y/N recounted the events of her presentation.

“You were the picture of elegance, I’m sure,” Eloise said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And what of my brother? Did he behave himself?”

Y/N laughed. “He was the perfect gentleman, Eloise. We had a lovely dance.”

Eloise rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, that’s a relief. But enough about him. Tell me, Y/N, what do you truly want from this season?”

Y/N looked at her friend, feeling a swell of affection. “I want to find my own path, Eloise. To be more than just a debutante seeking a husband. I want to discover who I am and what I can become.”

Eloise nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Then let’s make a pact, shall we? To support each other in finding our own destinies, whatever they may be.”

Y/N smiled, reaching out to take Eloise’s hand. “Agreed.”

As the two friends sat together, surrounded by the blooming flowers and the promise of a new day, Y/N felt a renewed sense of hope. She would face the challenges of the season with courage and determination, and with Eloise by her side, she knew she could achieve anything.

This was her time, her story, and she was ready to make it unforgettable.

Just as she was about to resume her conversation with Eloise, a maid came to them with a tray in hand.

“Lady Y/L/N, Lady Bridgerton…” she whispered quickly.

“I believe you should read the latest Whistledown pamphlet” she stated.

****

author’s note:

sorry for late posting!!!! It’s still Friday tho so… no alright I’m sorry I should’ve posted this afternoon :(( promise I’ll do better next week!! see ya next Friday lovelies 🩷🩷

[noisycowboyglitter]

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[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. xiii: Girl's Night

Chapter Summary: The night is young, and so are they. 🍷🍷🍷

Word count: 4530

Sneak Peak: Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Warnings: Copious amounts of alcohol, public intoxication, a fun time.

T H E   R E D S

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Valeana was quite surprised at how fast she fell into friendship with Wylla Stark and the third Baratheon daughter, Ellyn. It was within their company that she realized a fundamental truth of her life: she had no real female friends. She had her sisters, but sisterhood bonds through blood and marriage was an obligation. Valeana was always on guard with Floris, and Shyla was… Shyla. A cross between a cat in heat and a drunk butterfly. She had little in common with her.

The day of the two house’s arrival was the same day the King and several of their family members left to attend the funeral of the late Princess Visenya, the youngest grandchild and only daughter of Rhaenyra. Val would have gone with her brother, but she was more of a stranger now to the crown princess. She might have known her better as a child, but after a decade, it felt improper to reunite under the dire circumstances. Clement, however, knew them more closely, having sailed back and forth to Dragonstone and Driftmark more times than she cared to remember. 

The days began somberly now that the Keep was garbed in black and bleak clothing. While the sun still blared overhead, there was a dark cloud over King’s Landing; even the smallfolk mourned the loss. Though life at court still went on, and the convergence of the castle’s occupants was required as if it was a job.

It was expected for all eight of the young ladies to mingle. Cassandra, the eldest, was nearly as hard to endure as Floris (Grafton). Always complaining and pinching her face in clear disgust over the most trivial things that bothered her. Maris was quite the talker; she loved the sound of her own voice almost as much as she loved correcting people. Though, Valeana had noticed whenever a male was present, she would go silent and red-faced. Little Floris was delightful though, but incredibly naive. She took to Shyla early on, but seemed to be struggling to keep up with her. When she did talk, it was only ever about Daeron Targaryen. To balance that out of course, Shyla would talk about Aegon, so it was really an endless circle of prince talk between the two. And then there was Ellyn, who was mostly quiet but often made silent looks behind the rim of her cup that clearly communicated her opinions.

At one point, Cassandra scoffed at younger Floris when she swooned over her absent lover boy, claiming it made her look desperate, and how she– Cassandra that is– “would never be so easy for a man” and how Floris should act more “mysterious and unavailable”, like her. Ellyn’s eyes widened and her perfect U shaped smile quickly hid behind her cup while her trembling shoulders exposed the internal battle she had with her own giggles. 

Valeana felt a bubble of laughter from the girl’s expression alone, and tried fruitlessly to swallow it, but it ended up coming out like a suppressed hiccup. 

Then there was Wylla Stark, who embodied mysterious and unavailable. She sat with her legs perfect crossed under her grey and blue skirts, glass goblet in her elegant hand with her long almond shaped nails, and asked:

“How is that going for you, Lady Cassandra?”

Valeana and Ellyn could have died at the way they were holding their breath to prevent themselves from laughing. 

After that moment, the three spent as much time together as possible. Valeana needed the distraction to keep her mind off of Aemond and his rejection of her peace offering. With Helaena and her brother at Dragonstone, and Aegon fucking off somewhere, she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. 

It was the evening sometime after the hour of the bat, and the three girls were deep into their cups. Their faces flushed with laughter, liquor, and the humidity that still lingered in the night air after a long hot day. 

“It is so bloody hot here, I do not know how you southerners stand it,” Wylla pulled at the loose fabric of her bodice to air herself out. It was enough to see the tops of her breasts, which Valeana caught Ellyn openly staring at. “I miss the cool breeze coming from the North.”

“You get used to it,” Ellyn said, moving her fan to cool off Wylla, who arched her neck in gratitude. “In Storm’s End, it’s always humid. We’re so close to Dorne, but with all our rain, it is never a dry heat.”

“I can’t imagine living somewhere where it storms that frequently,” Valeana leaned her head back into the armchair she sat on, closing her eyes in an attempt to stop the spinning of her head. “Claw Isle has its storms, but at most a few times in a moon’s cycle.”

“I do envy your home, Valeana,” Wylla sighed when Ellyn stopped fanning her to relax her arm. “I’ve always wanted to go to the beach.” 

“You’re in the south now– plenty of opportunity to see the beaches,” Ellyn suggested. 

Valeana made a face, “King’s Landing isn’t a place known for it. Unless you want to smell like fish and shit, and find severed feet along the shoreline.”

“Severed feet?” Wylla said appalled, “Why feet?”

“When people die at sea – or dumped in the water – fully clothed, overtime the water causes it to bloat and decompose. However, the shoes keep the feet afloat, so eventually it just–” Val makes a motion with her hands, micking a limb being pulled off. “--pops off and floats around until it gets beached.”

“That’s disgusting!” Ellyn looked both shocked, but morbidly entertained. “How in the world do you know that?”

“Me and– and Prince Aemond,” invoking his name already gave her a headache. “We used to walk along the shores of Blackwater Rush with Ser Criston, and we would find them more often than I’d care to admit. Maester Orwyle explained to us why. Now this knowledge haunts me to this day, so I must pass it onto others.” 

“How considerate of you, Val,” Wylla shakes her head and takes a sip of her wine. “I will treasure it always.” Val cracked open her eye and pointed at her with a heavy arm, “Good! It will be useful information. In the North… where there are no beaches. Just snow… and hairy men… and-and, whatever it is in the North. Whatsitcalled? Cold Walkers? Ice Soldiers?”

“Shhhh,” Wylla chastised her through her laughter, “They’re called White Walkers, and please do not say it so loudly. It will summon my brother and that is the last thing we want.”

“I mean,” Valeana lifted her head and wagged her eyebrows, “It’s what you don’t want.” 

A pillow went flying at her face, causing both her and Ellyn to bark out laughing. 

“What? What?! Is that not why we are all here? To marry? Find a husband, and all that–” Valeana made a raspberry noise with her lips. 

Ellyn snorted, covering her face, “Oh, gods, do not remind me. That is all I’ve been hearing from not just my father, but all my sisters.”

“You would not want to marry Cregan, darling, trust me,” Wylla waves her off. “He will bore you to tears.”

“But he’s nice on the eyes,” Valeana smiled sheepishly, knowing she was baiting her Northern friend.

“Just wait until your brother returns from Dragonstone, Celtigar. I’ll climb him like a tree.”

“What’s stopping you now, Stark? I’ve got a brother right here.”

“Little Arthor,” Wylla mock pouted, “He’ll suffocate too easily between my thighs.”

“Oh, gross,” Val covered her face, “Please do not paint that image in my head.”

Ellyn shook her head, mildly amused, mildly horrified, “I am so glad I do not have brothers.” 

“Yet,” Wylla reminded. She adjusted herself in her seat, tucking her bare feet under herself to get more comfortable. “So, ladies, tell me: what are your goals for this Conclave? Who do you desire to be betrothed with?”

The Baratheon snorted, “Like we have a choice?”

“Let’s suspend belief for a moment, and pretend we do.”

“I haven’t thought of it,” Ellyn confessed, pulling her knees up to her chest, mug delicately cradled between both hands. “To be honest, if I had a choice in the matter, I would not marry at all.”

“Here, here!” Valeana raised her drink. 

Wylla snapped her head in her direction, “Oh, I find that hard to believe. You grew up in court, surely you, of all people, are more knowledgeable of all the noble born bachelors here in the south, and have an idea or two who you’d like to attach yourself to.”

“I lived here as a child. I spent most of my years here tailing the princes like a lost pup… I barely remember anyone that ever visited,”  Val scrunched up her face in thought. “I vaguely recall the Greyjoys visiting one moon… Only because they were hard to forget. Their sons were absolutely batty, especially the eldest, Dalton.” She straightened herself in her seat, now that her memory was catching up with her. Gesturing with her hands, she continued, “I remember, actually, even at seven years old, that little shit would find every opportunity to accidentally bump into, graze, or even so much as grab my arse! I was nine!”

Wylla huffed a shocked laugh, “Hells, what a little monster. I can only imagine what he is like now, a man grown.”

“Did you tell your father this?” Ellyn asked, face equally appalled. “Mine would have lost his mind.”

Val heaved a sigh, laying her head back against the chair once again, her entire body practically melting in the seat. “No.There was some tension at the time, not sure what it was, but I remember my father telling me to not upset Lord Greyjoy’s sons,” Suddenly, lost in her reminiscence, the blonde laughed. “But-but, Aemond, he–he, oh gods…” She snorted loudly to contain her laughter, covering her face as it got beat red. “He, Aegon and the Greyjoys were sparring in the training yard. He kept on dodging Dalton and using the flat end of his training sword to slap him on the rear, like thirty bloody times. He-he–” Her laughing intensified as she used her hand to illustrate the image she was trying to explain, “He was bruised all over, and so severely he could not sit or lay down on his back for two days.” 

While Valean giggled (by herself) Wylla and Ellyn exchanged knowing glances and smirks, then turned back to the drunk flustered crab.

“Well, I suppose that answers my question,” Wylla quipped smugly, nestling into her seat, smile barely being hidden behind the rim of her goblet. 

Val ran a hand over her face in an attempt to calm herself down. She blearily peered at her raven haired friend, a bit confused, “What question?”

“Who you desire to be betrothed with.”

Valeana looked at her incredulously, “Dalton fucking Greyjoy?!”

“No, you idiot!” Ellyn flailed her arms, “Aemond. Prince fucking Aemond.” 

“Ooh, gods,” Val scrunched up her face, digging the butt of her palm into her eyes as the two girls gushed and agreed with themselves. She had forgotten for a moment that she was no longer friends with Aemond, and he, in fact, hated her. “No, no, not Aemond,” she shook her head vehemently. 

“What!” Wylla nearly shouted, dark icy blues wide, “My Lady Valeana, what do you mean not Aemond? The way your face glowed at just talking about him.”

“And it makes perfect sense!” Ellyn added, “The two of you grew up together, you were quite close from what I was told. Of course it would be Aemond. It’s so sickly sweet, it almost makes me want to vomit my dinner.” 

“No, no, no, Aemond– Aemond would never want me,” Val kept on shaking her head. “He hates me. Loathes me, even. Do-do you two even know what he did to me? Why my family left King’s Landing in the first place?”

The two exchanged looks, faces scrunched as they tried to recall. 

“You injured yourself, I believe?” Wylla tilted her head.

“My father told me that Aegon accidentally knocked you down the stairs? I think?” 

“You two are close– It was Aemond,” Val noticed her cup was empty and bent forward towards the squat table to refill it with red. “And it was not an accident. Our fathers were discussing our betrothal, which he disapproved of, apparently. I was under the foolish impression we were the best of friends, and were meant for each other. Stupid, really, in hindsight. 

“He decided that he disliked me so much that he needed to get rid of me, so he pushed me down a flight of stone stairs after calling me a pig.” She surprised herself at how casually she spoke of the event, but it was likely the alcohol that numbed the reality of her emotions. “Broke my leg so severely they had to cut it off a few moons after.”

She lifted her left leg then, her dress falling down above her knee to expose her wooden foot and calf. Then with a gentle wave of her hand, she motioned along the appendage as if presenting a great trophy, “I call her Lady Footlyn Woodsby, first of her name. Her heir is Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, the E-bone-knee Knight.”

The two other girls had fallen into a shocked silence for a moment, but that was short lived after Valeana’s introduction of her leg. 

Wylla clamped her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, “Val-Valeana…” She snorted into her palm. “That’s– I’m so sorry.”

Ellyn had both her hands upon her face, brown eyes peeking through the cracks of her fingers, “Oh-ooooh, I should not be laughing. I am sorry, Valeana.” 

Val waved them off, returning her skirts over her leg, “Worry not. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”

Her heartbreaking admittance, despite being veiled with self-deprecating humour, did not go amiss. Wylla and Ellyn’s expressions went soft as they shared another knowing look between each other. The former reached out and placed her hand on Valeana’s knee, thumb moving in comforting motions. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you, my dearest. Men are horrible creatures, especially the ones closest to you.” 

That simple gesture and those kind words were enough to crumble her all at once. It had sobered Valeana enough to allow her sadness seep through the armour of numbness she had been trying to craft around herself. Her mouth, nose and eyes felt watery all of a sudden, forcing her to swallow and tilt her head back to stop herself from crying. 

Ellyn made a cooing sound as she unfolded herself from her seat and walked over to her friend from behind and enveloped her shoulders in a hug, resting her cheek on top of her head. It was that gesture of comfort that had made the waterfall finally break through. Valeana had not realized how touch starved she was, how hungry she was for comfort over her heartbreak. This was a level of vulnerability she had never allowed to be exposed around her family, not even Clement. Despite her love for him, men were not well equipped to handle emotional women; he would’ve reacted how men usually did, either dismiss it with aggressive advice, or unsheathe his sword and wage a war in her name. Her step mother, despite her natural maternal instinct, was a woman who would cuddle her to her breast and smother her as if she was a child, not unlike a kiss on a bruise or scraped knee. Nothing substantial, nothing deep or empathetic. Just a salve to numb the pain for a few hours.

No, the comfort from a friend– from a fellow female –was different, almost stronger. 

Like her tears, everything rushed out of her; a great purge of words, of pent up sadness, of suppressed emotions. She shared how much she loved Aemond, missed him down to her bones, how he broke her in more ways than physical, and then she shared the story of her return and the catastrophe she had made that could have been avoided, and how in her most earnest attempt to reconcile, she was ultimately left scarred more, and still yearning for him. A stuttered breath left her lungs when she finished, her shoulders caving in as if the weight of her heart finally did her in. Ellyn still cradled her head from behind, but Wylla had moved to squish in beside her and hold her middle and lay her head upon her shoulder. 

“He does not deserve your love, my darling,” Wylla stroked Val’s hair. “No man alive deserves any of our love. Selfish, fickle-hearted beasts, they all are.” 

Valeana sniffled, head laid in Ellyn’s arm, cheeks sticky with tears, and red from humidity, alcohol, and spending the last several minutes pouring her heart out. These three women were effectively strangers not three days ago, and yet now Valeana never felt more close to another human being. Not since him. Not since Aemond. 

“Except for Cregan,” Val muttered in a small voice, light but coarse through the dryness of her throat. She reached out and patted Wylla on her arm, “Him and his manly shoulders and broad chest–”

“Please shut up,” Wylla replied with a small voice and a weak smack to Val’s face. 

“Let him know I’ve got the hips to birth more of his heirs.”

“I will kill you.”

“Ladies,” Ellyn lifted her head up with a heavy sniff to clear out her sinuses. She wiped her nose and peered over to the table in front of them. “We’ve run out of wine.”

All their heads perked up to glower down at their empty bottles and carafes. This would not do– the night was still young, and so were they. The three ladies also sobered too much for their liking, and the only way to heal this disease was to drink more. 

“Where’s that serving boy?”

“We sent him away for the night, remember?”

“We were fools.”

“Indeed.”

There was a beat of silence, until: 

“Wait, wait,” Val sat up, forcing the two girls to unravel their arms. “I know this castle. I know a shortcut to the kitchens… There’s a secret door over there– behind that tapestry.”

“Which tapestry?”

“The one with the orgy.”

“... They’re all having orgies.”

“This-this one! Where she’s sitting on his face and eating a fig out of the other woman’s mouth,” Valeana stood up, wobbling a bit when she did. She hadn’t realized how much she drank and how long she had been sitting until that moment. But, she was convinced that she was too sober, and that wouldn’t do, so she marched over to the tapestry, unevenly and ungracefully. With one swift movement she shoved the tapestry aside to expose a stone wall.

“Valea–”

“Shush!” The silver haired girl eyed it for a moment before moving her hands along the edges of the stones until she could feel the cracks that formed the outline of a door. With a wicked smile she pushed her shoulder into it, throwing her whole body weight into moving it. With a groan the secret entrance wedged open, an amber glow emitting through the gap from the torch inside. 

Ellyn gaped at it, “How did you know that was there?”

Val waved dismissively, “I was a fat child. If there was a quick route to the kitchens, I was aware of it.”  

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

They had reached the kitchens in a fair amount of time, but they did not, in fact, find wine. But they found bottles and bottles of dusty ale, and they weren’t about to complain. The problem they inevitably had was the trek back. Now that their minds were fully in the thick of inebriation, they got lost within the walls of the Keep and ended up in a completely different part of the castle than they were originally. 

“Valeana, where the hells are we?” Wylla hissed as they rounded yet another stone corridor with very few windows. 

The blonde squinted around them. The three were hanging off each other’s shoulders for dear life. Each clutched a large bottle of ale by the neck as if it was a lifeline; as if it was the only thing that was keeping them from floating away. Valeana craned her neck over their arms and took a sloppy swig of her drink, a droplet escaping her lips and dribbling messily down her chin.

“The barracks hall?” She said after a swallow.

“Are you askin’ us?” Ellyn laughed. “Chisisyerhome, and y’dunno where you ARE?”

“I know where I am!” Val shouted, brow furrowed in determination. “And this is not my home.. It’s-it’s– hic – my personal hell. Fuck it’s so hot, why is it so hot?” She cried out, slumping a bit, forcing the girls to bend at her weight. 

They stumbled forward until they heard the tell tale sound of metal armour clanking ever near. A form of silver and white rounded the corner and immediately halted at the sight of the three noble women linked together by their shoulders, sloshing around drinks shamelessly.

The knight stepped forward, concern marring his face, “My ladies. Are you quite alright?”

“Ser Arryk!” Valeana shouted, arms shooting up in the air, narrowly missing Ellyn’s brow. 

The knight bowed his head, “Erryk, my lady.”

“Oh, right, ‘m turribly sorry,” She threw her head back and jutted out her bottom lip in a pout at her own stupidity. “Forgive me.”

The corner of Erryk’s lip twitched upward. It didn’t take him very long to understand that these three girls were skunked out of their gourds. He gave her a nod, containing his amusement, “You are forgiven, Lady Valeana.”

“You see!” She launched herself forward, disentangling herself from her friends and reaching the white cloak’s side. Her bottle of ale fell from her fingers, clattering and rolling away along the flagstones. She then prodded her finger into his plated chest and looked over at Wylla and Ellyn, “Y’see how easy that is? I apol-ap– apolojiz–fuck me– Apo. Lo. Gized– there you go…— hic — N’you forgave me. Because yer a good man, Ar-Erryk. ‘M sorry, yer names are similar too, is very confusing.”

“Good Ser,” Wylla sauntered over, “Mayhaps you aid us troubled maids… Our foolish guide, full of hubris, led us astray, and now we are hopelessly lost.”

“How dare you insult your future Lady of Winterfell!” Val shoutted, pointing an unsteady finger at Wylla with a step towards her, but ultimately ended up wobbling on her bad leg, forcing Erryk to hold her upright.

Erryk was having a hard time keeping a straight face. It wasn’t every day that he stumbled upon drunk noble born daughters; it wasn’t very ladylike to get this drunk this publically, but he wagered that this wouldn’t be an isolated event these upcoming weeks. 

He snaked an arm under Lady Valeana’s shoulder and hoisted her up on her feet, allowing her to lean against him.

“You’re below the Throne Room, my ladies,” Ser Erryk informed, and the three of them exchanged looks. 

“How the hell did we end up here?” Valeana asked, chin turning up to her anchor. “Erryk, we were in the kitchens. The-the north one. I think.”

“No wonder we are lost!” Ellyn threw her head back. “Ugh, father will be furious.”

“Do not worry, ladies, I’ll safely escort you back, and arrange for a wheelhouse to bring Lady Wylla back to her pavilion.” 

“Such a good man. Ser Erryk,” Wylla’s words slurred when she took an uneven step towards him. “May I ask…Why– no –would you ever consider breaking your vows?” 

“Wylla!” Valeana weakly smacked the Northerner, then promptly turned to the knight. “Do not – hic – listen to her, Erryk. Don’t let this–this–temptress tempt you.”

“I am only saying,” Wylla and Ellyn started to follow the knight as he made his way out of the maze of halls beneath the Throne Room. “All the honourable ones end up being a Kingsguard. It’s such a bloody waste to womenkind!” 

Erryk smiled to himself, though decided to ignore the comment, “Up these stairs, ladies.”

“Oh no,” Ellyn grinned, “Valeana’s mortal enemy.”

Wylla barked a loud laugh and the victim in question craned her neck to shoot her a poisonous glare. 

“I’ll send you to the Wall! Ser Erryk, send this Baratheon traitor to the Wall.” 

“Mayhaps tomorrow, my lady. The hour is already late as it is,” was the Knight’s gentle, albeit amused, reply as he helped her up the stairwell and into the cavernous Throne Room, where he immediately paused upon seeing a pair of men with silver hair.

The women’s collective gasps and loud attempts at quieting themselves had naturally gained the attention of the Throne Room’s sole occupants. 

Ser Erryk immediately bowed, “My Princes. Apologies for the disturbance, I was merely–”

“Egg-On-Toast!” Valeana shouted so loudly it echoed like a lion’s roar. Her arms flew to the air above her head, then immediately marched over, completely ignoring the second prince. Her vision was tunneled, and hadn’t realized that Aegon wasn’t alone. Her warm and slightly sweaty hands gripped the eldest’s face, then she started laughing when he started laughing.

“Valeana–” Ellyn tried to reach her, eyes flickering over to the stiff Aemond that stood not six feet away. 

Aegon’s eyebrows reached his hairline, his grin uncontainable. His hands gripped her wrists, but he didn’t remove them from his face.

“Are you drunk, my darling?”

“... Yes,” she giggled sheepishly. “I see why you do it so often now, is’so fun. Egg-y. My Prince of Scrambled Eggs. Eggs and Bacon–” Val sharply gasped, mouth agape at her genius. “We are Eggs and Bacon, Aegon. Tha’s a good bard song– Ellyn, write that down.”

Aegon turned to look at his brother, shit eating grin plastered on his alabaster face, “This is the best day of my life.”

Valeana’s entire body swiveled around, brow furrowed with clear confusion. “Who are you– SHIII–T!” When she turned she was immediately greeted by the imposing, towering form of Aemond Targaryen. Standing there, head tilted, with his judgey one eye, lips in a thin line and looking delicious with his narrow waist she openly stared at. 

Wylla and Ellyn were snickering behind their fists, nearly down to their knees, failing to contain their nervous laughter. 

Val turned her wobbly, heavy head back at Aegon, lowering her voice in a very poor attempt at a whisper, “Where the fuck did he come from?”

“Darling, he was here the entire time.”

She peered at him skeptically, then looked back at Aemond, and then back at Aegon. Her head dipped to his ear, and attempted to whisper conspiratorially, “Fecker comes outta nowhere all the bloody time, pilfering through the darkness like a thief of joy– hic. Is he a man or a forlorn ghost?”

Aegon contained his laughter when he bit down on his lip, and then glanced up at the silent shadow that was his brother.

“I can hear you, Lady Valeana,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice irritably condescending, which instantly bristled her. 

Val peeled herself off of Aegon’s side and approached Aemond, angling her chin in the air to peer at him with as much dignity as she could possibly manage. And on wobbly knees, she curtseyed and said in the most patronizing tone the Throne Room has ever witnessed: 

“Prince Almond.” 

His eye narrowed, alight with challenge and something else.

Notes: This and the next two chapters are my favourite chapters of this series, so I really hope you guys enjoy it too.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[soulofapatrick]

I’ll keep you safe Darling - Ominus Gaunt x Female Reader

Summary: Ominus finds you in the common room after Sebastian used the Cruciatus Curse on you

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: reference to pain

Y/N’s POV 

I collapse into one of the armchairs facing the dwindling fire in the Slytherin common room, the pain almost unbearable as it still ricochets through me in spasms. The memory of Sebastian’s use of the Cruciatus Curse lingers, tormenting me even as I try to catch my breath. My vision blurs as I try to focus on the crackling flames before me, seeking solace in their dancing glow. The darkness threatens to consume me, both within and without. Each wave of agony serves as a reminder of the horrors lurking in the shadows, waiting to ensnare me once more. 

As I struggle to regain my composure, the sound of footsteps echoes through the room, drawing closer with each passing moment. A familiar presence fills the air, accompanied by the subtle scent of Elm wood and the faint rustle of robes. 

“Ominus,” I whisper, relief flooding through me at the thought of his arrival. Despite his sarcastic demeanour and guarded exterior, there’s a warmth in his presence that I find comforting, a flicker of light amidst the darkness. 

I hear him approach, his footsteps measured yet purposeful, as if navigating the world with a sense of certainty born from experience. His voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sharp yet tinged with concern. 

“Are you okay?” Ominus’ words are more a worry than a question as he was there, he saw Sebastian cast the curse and could do nothing to stop him unless he wanted us all to die down in the Slytherin Scriptorium. I wasn’t going to let Ominus go through the Cruciatus Curse again after his childhood. 

I can sense the tension in the air, the weight of unspoken truths between us like a veil. He wants to move closer but it’s as if he’s scared to get too close but before I can tell him it’s okay I feel another spasm of pain sweep through me. My hands grip the arms of the chair so tightly I think I bend a nail back and my whole body trembles, a whimper of pain escaping my lips. 

Ominus lets out a soft sound in response, a mixture of sympathy and frustration. Before I can process it, he’s kneeling in front of me, his hands gently prying mine from the arms of the chair and into his own. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh realities of our world. 

I can feel the warmth of his hands in mine, a comforting presence amidst the storm raging within me. His fingers intertwine with mine, a silent promise of support and understanding. And as he whispers soothing and sweet nothings, I find myself drawn to the sound of his voice, a beacon of hope in the darkness. 

The pain begins to subside, gradually fading into the background like a distant memory. I take a deep breath, willing myself to focus on the present moment, to find solace in Ominus's presence. For in his clouded blue eyes, I see a reflection of my own struggles, a shared bond forged in the fires of adversity. 

Ominus knelt before me, his clouded blue eyes reflecting the flickering flames of the fire. In this moment, he appears so open and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the guarded facade he often wares. His pale skin, dotted with moles, seems to glow in the dim light of the common room, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline and cheekbones. His blond hair, starting to stray from his usual slicked back style, framing his face like a halo, adding to his air of mystery and intrigue. Dressed in black trousers, a matching button up shirt and a sleek waistcoat, he exudes an aura of elegance and sophistication, a vision of dark allure in the midst of chaos. 

As I gaze into his eyes, I feel a surge of emotions coursing through me, sending butterflies dancing in my stomach. I had always admired Ominus from afar, drawn to his enigmatic charm and razor-sharp wit. But I never dared to hope that he could ever feel the same way about me, that beneath his cynical exterior, there lay a heart capable of love. 

Yet here he is, kneeling in front of me with a tenderness that takes my breath away. In his presence, I feel seen and understood in a way that I have never experienced before. And as he reaches out to brush away a stray tear, I can’t help but wonder if perhaps there is more to our connection than mere friendship. 

Something in me seems to break, a dam bursting forth with emotions I can no longer contain. I’m sliding off the armchair and into Ominus's waiting arms, my face buried in the crook of his neck as he wraps me in his embrace. His arms not hesitating to encircle me like a fortress, offering solace and protection in the midst of the storm. 

I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek, a comforting cadence that soothes the turmoil raging within me. His whispered words wash over me like a gentle tide, reassuring me that I am safe, that nothing can hurt me now. And in this moment, surrounded by darkness yet bathed in the warmth of his embrace, I know that I have found a sanctuary in Ominus's arms. For in his presence, I am no longer alone, no longer adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

I pull away just enough to search Ominus’ face for some sign, any hint of what lies beneath the surface. In the dim light of the common room, I catch a flicker of something in his clouded blue eyes, a spark of warmth amidst the shadows. It’s enough to embolden me, to give voice to the feelings that have long lain dormant within my heart. 

With trembling hands, I cup Ominus's face in mine, guiding his gaze to meet mine with an unspoken plea. His lips part slightly, a silent invitation that I cannot ignore. And in that moment, I lean forward, closing the distance between us with a soft, cautious kiss. 

As our lips meet in a soft, cautious kiss, I feel a surge of electricity coursing through my veins, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed. Ominus' lips are warm and inviting, a tantalising promise of the unknown. His touch is gentle yet insistent, drawing me deeper into the embrace of our shared moment. 

For a heartbeat, the world falls away around us, leaving nothing but the intoxicating sensation of his presence. I can taste the faint hint of raspberry ice cream lingering on his lips, a lingering reminder of our shared meal earlier in the evening. It's a bittersweet symphony of flavours, a testament to the complexities of our connection. 

As we lose ourselves in the rhythm of our kiss, time seems to slow down, allowing me to savour every moment, every sensation. I feel the soft brush of Ominus's fingers against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. His lips, warm and tender, press against mine with a gentle urgency, igniting a fire within me that threatens to consume us both. 

But just as the kiss reaches its peak, Ominus breaks away, a rare smile gracing his tantalising lips. His eyes sparkle with a mixture of amusement and affection, a sight that takes my breath away. A chuckle escapes him as I try to follow his lips with mine, desperate to recapture the fleeting moment of intimacy. 

"You're eager, aren't you?" he teases, his voice laced with amusement. His fingers gently trace the contours of my cheek, sending waves of warmth cascading through me. "I've been wanting to do that since I first met you, you know," he admits, his tone soft yet filled with undeniable sincerity. 

His words hang in the air, a confession of longing and desire that takes me by surprise. In that moment, I realise that perhaps I'm not alone in my feelings, that Ominus harbours his own hidden depths of affection beneath his guarded exterior. 

And as I gaze into his clouded blue eyes, I see a reflection of my own desires, a shared bond that defies all logic and reason. In the warmth of his embrace, I find solace and strength, a sanctuary where love knows no boundaries.

“I’ll keep you safe Darling.” 

Harry Potter Masterlisr TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[theabysss]

Hearts

pairing: sagau!Childe x Reader

summary: After Child completed your task, he returned to you with a gift.

warnings: religious + cult themes, possessive & obsessive thoughts, cannibalism, mentions of people's deaths, suggestive.

word count: 850

note: I post again at night, it seems it is becoming a bad habit. I need to do something about it. And I, successfully survived more than half of my exams, there is still a little bit left and I will be free. ＼(￣▽￣)／

Childe enters your throne room, bringing with him the thick, iron smell of blood. In his left hand, he firmly holds the casket by the handle, slippery with blood. Inside was his gift to you and he hoped you would like it. His eyes light up when he sees you sitting on the throne. Your elegant posture, full of superiority, the feeling of your power at the border of his consciousness - you were perfection, a true deity.

You gesture to him to come closer and he immediately obeys. The soft carpet leading to your throne muffles Childe's steps, he kneels in front of you at the very throne and bows his head.

"Ajax, have you dealt with those infidels?" His real name escaping from your lips will ignite the blood in his veins.

"Yes, Your Grace, no one is left alive and I gave each of the apostates the most painful death." Childe's voice is full of pride, he carried out your order, maybe you even praise him, he would really like it.

When you lift his chin and Childe meets your eyes, your beautiful eyes, he swallows noisily, enjoying the sight of your features.

"Good boy, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me." You put your hand on Ajax's cheek, completely oblivious to the blood.

Childe blissfully closes his eyes, and tilts his head, trying to cling to your palm even stronger. There is nothing that he could not do for you, because you were his everything. Give him any task and he will complete it no matter how difficult it is, just to hear you call him that again.

"I have a present for you Your Grace." Childe hands you a fairly large casket with both hands. His blue eyes, half-closed with fluffy eyelashes, burn with loyalty and reverence.

You place the carved casket on your lap and open the lid. When you see the contents you take your breath away; human hearts lie one on top of the other on scarlet velvet. You touch one of them, heart is warm and quietly continues to beat, as if not realizing that it has not been in the chest of its owner for a long time.

"It's beautiful." Your voice is full of admiration and you smile at Childe happily like never before.

"I'm very glad about that Your Grace." Childe smiles back at you and your imagination draws a fox tail wagging from side to side behind him.

Childe tilts his head and rubs his temple against your knee, silently begging for affection. You chuckle briefly at his behavior, but yield and bury your blood-stained fingers in his hair.

"I hope you enjoy the taste, Your Grace." Childe lets out a pleased hum as you scratch his earlobe with your fingernails. Your hand running through his hair made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

"Do you want to try?"

You whisper this question into Ajax's ear and a wave of goosebumps runs down his spine. Your warm breath, lips lightly touching his ear and your wonderful seductive voice, Childe hardly suppresses a sob that almost breaks from his lips.

"I would consider it a great honor, Your Grace." His voice trembles, he would take anything from your hands.

You take out one of the hearts and bring it to Childe's lips, he obediently takes a bite and blood splatters on his face. The rest you quickly eat up with your mouth wide open, much wider than a human could, and for a second you demonstrate your sharp fangs.

"Sweet." Childe licks his lips and looks into your eyes faithfully.

You absolutely love his blood-covered face, those blue eyes that make him look innocent and hide the monster from the abyss that he was. His chaotic nature, passion for battle, cruelty and complete immorality, which is why he was one of your favorite followers.

You run your thumb over his lip, smearing the blood and Childe playfully tries to lick your finger, after which you put the casket on the floor to make it more convenient to perform your next steps.

Childe's breath catches when he feels your lips on his and when you deepen the kiss, passionately responds to you. With trembling hands, he clutches at your shoulders, desperately trying to pull you closer. When, due to a careless movement, your fang scratches Childe's lip, he only groans, welcoming the taste of blood, which is now even more intense. The hot dance of your tongues, the way your palm moved from his neck to his chest, made his legs tremble and give way.

As you pull back, Childe looks at you with thirsty eyes, like a human who hasn't had a drink in weeks, desperately, hungry.

"Please Your Grace again… I've been a good boy, please." Childe's voice trembles as he reaches out his arms to you in the hope that you won't reject him.

You grin and give him another kiss, and then another and another. Until eventually Childe sits on your lap and anyone who walks past the door to the throne room can hear his moans.

Reblogs, comments, are always greatly appreciated! ヽ(o^ ^o)ﾉ

[els-wonderland]

Ranking Bridgerton Outfits: Season 1 Penelope

Photo credits to Tv Costumes on Pinterest!

Penelope's Debut Dress, Episode 1

I love this dress! It's one of the only Penelope dresses this season with the Season 3 fit that doesn't cut the bust in half. The undertones of greenish-yellow on the cream fabric look lovely with her red hair, and the jewelery is understated and elegant for her presentation to the Queen. No notes.

2. Pink Floral Dress, Episode 2

She looks so fru-fru in the best possible way. The floral embellishments pop here and there without looking garish, and the accessories of her frilled sheer gloves and the flower-and-ribbon headpiece tie everything together so sweetly. Her hair is great too, with the one long ringlet.

3. Lacy Green Dress, Episode 3

Give Penelope more greens like this! Her hair almost reminds me of 1960s updo, and the diadem and necklace tie in well with the lace overskirt. I love the scallopy pattern of the flowers on the lace, it makes her look a bit mermaid-y!

4. Pink Feather(ington) Dress, Episode 6

This one is just so delicate and ethereal, the feathered appliques against the pink satin bodice make her look like an angel. Do you see her walking down the hallway, with that pleated skirt flowing behind her? The only thing that doesn't work with this look is the necklace, it's just too harsh for the softness of the other accessories.

5. Pink Fern Dress, Episode 3

1989 Little Mermaid, take notes. This is how you do red hair with a vibrant shade of pink.

6. Garden Ballgown, Episode 1

So pretty, almost fairy-like with the sprinkling of little flowers in her hair. Something about the overskirt with the flowers climbing up over the already flowery fabric reminds me of a rambling meadow. I don't even mind the polyester gloves, because at least they match decently well.

7. Butterfly Ballgown, Episode 1

Is it in your face? Obviously. Is it giving more Art Nouveau than 1813? Yes. But a little campy? Her prettiest yellow dress? Inexplicable how she could blend into a crowd in something like this? Yeh

8. 'Sunflower' Dress, Episode 3

Probably one of the most historically accurate costumes all season. In certain lights it gets into the nauseating yellow green that I hate on Pen, and the pink gloves are heinous, but I give love the froofy like gathered sleeves, the lower cut of the bust, and the details of the train.

9. Regency Barbie, Episode 7

Nicola Coughlan and the costume designers really predicted Diplomat Babrie all the way back in 2020. The little band of posies around the bust really makes this look for me, thought I could do without the big chunky necklace. Portia definitely picked that out for her.

10. Yellow Walking Dress, Episode 4

Cute! So cute! The shimmery polka dots remind me of a Barbie doll yet again, and the light pink trimming and rosettes under the sleeves make this one memorable for me. Surprisingly simple for a Penelope look.

11. Flowered Promo Dress, Episode 3

I do prefer the promo version with the tiara to the flower, but I'm not mad at it. I think I'd find this dress very over-the-top if it had flowered appliques all the way down, but the way they peter out into tendrils across the skirt puts me in the mind of a country garden. It's nice to see some pops of red on Pen.

12. Orange Leaf Dress, Episodes 1 and 3

I wish they gave Penelope more over-the forehead curls as opposed to the little clusters on either side of her face. Little curls on the forehead feel more 1810s than the latter. The yellow adds a lot more dimension to this fabric, and I do prefer the yellow/ruched trim to the yellow and orange ribbon/plain neckline.

13. Engagement Dress, Episode 6

I don't even mind the black waistband. In fact I'm kind of a fan-it's giving Parisian-themed bedroom-but the white lace descending from it rubs me the wrong way. Love her big, fluffy ringlets.

14. Floral Spencer, Episodes 3 and 5

It's giving a bit of Hawaiian shirt, but I kind of love the combination of the froggy green, saffron yellow, and flamingo pink. I like how the appliques overlap the edges of her spencer, the slightly overgrown vibe of some of her flowered looks really scratches my brain.

15. Yellow Flowered Dress, Episode 8

Abhor the way they did her hair here. The fabric is so dainty, but the dress is a little boring, and I hate the chunky necklaces on her.

16. Grandma's Couch Dress, Episode 7

Grandma's couch/pos. A very soft, cushy, slightly musty-smelling couch. Don't like the centered corsage, it doesn't match anything else on the outfit, and they need to stop putting that necklace with so many otherwise nice looks.

17. Pilled Dress, Episode 8

This dress looks like it's wool covered with pills, and the dark green and hot pink of her necklace and hair ornaments respectively pull my eye from the dress, which I honestly don't mind, because the fabric looks itchy as all hell.

18. Yellow Floral Promenade Outfit, Episode 2

If they'd just take away that waistband, give her a gauzier shawl, and stop piling her hair so high, this one wouldn't be half bad.

19. Yellow Dinner Dress, Episode 4

I truly do believe that pinks and greens suit Pen better than these bright yellows, or even just a more pastel yellow.

20. Dandelion Dress, Episodes 3 and 6

I understand why Pen is holding her arms like that, because having those little yellow balls rubbing against my bare skin would drive me absolutely crazy.

21. Meeting Marina Dress, Episode 1

The hair and that big ol' bow really ruin this one. The fabric looks so peachy and light with her red hair, and I just think some soft curls falling around her shoulders would make her look like such a doll.

22. Yellow Upholstery Dress, Episode 5

This looks like a Target throw pillow. Burn than necklace.

23. 'Mine Is Yellow' Evening Gown, Episode 8

I CANNOT STAND the greenish-gray look of the embroidery on the bodice, which is sad because her hair looks perfect. The cut of the bodice is cutting her bust in half.

24. Chartreuse and Pink Dress, Episode 8

Frankly pukey-looking. The pink trim makes it infinitely worse.

25. Tadpole Dress, Episode 1

Something about this fabric just reminds me of those Tiktoks of people putting frog eggs in jars. That pink shawl is not necessary.

26. Black and Chartreuse Dress, Episode 1

See above- the green, the pink, the black-no.

[writer-at-the-table]

Marriage Contract by Ben Shahn, 1961, Ink, watercolor, paint, and graphite on paper

Most decorated Jewish marriage contracts use ornamental motifs as framing devices for their written Aramaic text. Ben Shahn's Ketubbah is a marked departure from this model. In the superb execution of this document, the artist has integrated floral and foliate decorations within his lyrical Hebrew calligraphy, the predominant design element.

While Shahn's artistic personality emerged through the religious themes in his illustrations for the 1931 Haggadah for Passover, he would not return to such subjects for many years. The artist spent most of the 1930s and 1940s as a social realist painter. Along with so many other painters and sculptors during those difficult years, Shahn felt that art could help right the inequities of society. His terse visual commentaries on such topical subjects as the Sacco and Vanzetti case, Nazism, poverty, and labor problems brought him great recognition as both a humanitarian and an artist. It was after World War II that he turned inward through what has been called his transition from social to personal realism. During this period he incorporated allegory and religious and philosophical symbolism in his work, often based on his own cultural heritage.

Shahn's updating of the traditional ketubbah results from his changing stylistic and subjective concerns. He became fascinated with letters, both Hebrew and English, which became essential elements in his work. This calligraphic preoccupation led to his 1954 illustrations for The Alphabet of Creation, a book which related a parable of the origin of the Hebrew alphabet. His own combination of these twenty-two letters become a personal stamp and appears on most of his prints and drawings after 1960, including this Ketubbah.

Like the butterfly stamp of James Whistler and the Japonist monogram of Toulouse-Lautrec, this symbol shows Shahn's stylistic inspiration as coming from outside mainstream Western culture. The expressive style of Shahn's Hebrew characters changes with the meaning of each theme he depicts. For this Ketubbah, which is presented at the joyous celebration of marriage, he develops a commanding but elegant Hebrew appropriate to the legal nature of the document and the solemnity of the moment-a calligraphy markedly different from the flame-like evanescences in his tribute to the Feast of Lights, Hanukkah. As had been the custom of Hebrew scribes throughout the ages, Shahn adds eccentric elements to certain letters. Most notable here is the oft-repeated, stylized Star of David.

Shahn's meandering floral and foliate forms refer to Psalm 128:3, a common visual allusion in Jewish marriage contracts: "Thy wife is a fruitful vine in the midst of thy house, thy children are as young olive trees set around thy table." (Kleeblatt, Norman L., and Vivian B. Mann. TREASURES OF THE JEWISH MUSEUM. New York: Universe Books, 1986, pp. 192-193.)