#taffeta the cat

[sonicaspeed123]

REPOSTING - Bunch'a Miscellaneous Sonic OCs

[kats-creations445]

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Seven

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

AO3 Link

CHAPTER SEVEN - THE LOOK YOU GIVE

Abby and Helaena find their voices in different ways, and we have new arrivals at the Red Keep.

Abby pressed her hands against her bared collarbones, feeling the prickle of heat that crept down her cheeks and flushed across every bit of skin that was revealed by the square cut neckline of the new gown. Wylla Karstark’s ruby red pout was pulled into an amused smile while she tugged at the laces of the other girl’s bodice. The pale blue taffeta had a satin shine and was, by far, the loveliest thing she’d ever owned. The neckline and cuffs of her fitted sleeves were edged with the finest ivory lace. Her golden red curls hung freely down her back, with delicate, mother of pearl combs keeping her hair from her face and the light, ivory veil that covered her hair in place. She watched Wylla move in the reflection of the mirror, wishing her own hair could look as thick and lovely as the elder girl’s raven curls.

“You look lovely, my lady.” Wylla’s northern accent was a song in itself, her amusement nothing but lighthearted. “You might make him swallow his tongue, since he already can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Aegon’s…” Abby bit her lip before Wylla tsked at her like a cat so she could dab some coral paint onto her mouth. Abby remained still and silent until she was done. “Aegon does, well, I mean I do catch him looking. But,” her brow furrowed and her hands fluttered and smoothed over the bodice of the dress. She missed her woven belt, and the feel of the tiny mends she’d made in the fabric.

“But what?” Wylla asked with a finely arched eyebrow and promptly reached up to pinch Abby’s cheeks until they went a deeper pink. She’d been here only a fortnight, having come south with her brother while he discussed some sort of trade agreements, and was promptly pulled into service by the queen. Better than a Hightower cousin, in Abby’s book. With Wylla, she didn’t feel spied on like Lady Penrose, nor belittled. In the short time they had known one another, Abby thought she might be making a friend.

‘Maybe', came the shy, giddy thought, 'she could be a sister.’ She loved Helaena, who had been her sister and companion, with all her heart, but Wylla had quickly filled the empty spot in Abby’s chest that she suspected her own sister, Corynna, should have filled.

It was a strange feeling to not have to take care of someone. While she was still struggling to get used to the idea of being waited on, she wouldn’t deny that there was something in her that ached to be cared for. Wylla’s no nonsense and relatively pleasant manner, and surprising sarcasm, was a delight and a surprise and she found herself hanging on her every word, looking to her for guidance in only these last few days.

“But what, my lady?” Came Wylla’s repeated question, and her cool fingers touched her chin, rubbing off a bit of stray lip paint with her thumb. Abby crinkled her nose and huffed.

“But I feel as though this is too much. That I shouldn’t be… that it’s unseemly to attract attention.”

“Och!” Her fingers flicked the tip of Abby’s nose. “What southern nonsense are you spouting now? You’re betrothed to a prince, are you not?” Abby nodded. “You want him to admire you, and no others, right?”

A heated sensation curled in her chest thinking about Aegon looking at other girls, and resolutely ignoring her. “Well, of course I want him to admire me. I want to please him.”

“And he should also please you, that’s what my mother always says. A woman takes her own pleasure in a marriage, just as much as the husband, and if you flush any redder, you’ll turn into one of those apples, I’m sure.”

Abby nodded again, pressing her hands once more to the expanse of collarbone on display. She felt so silly being self-conscious about her dress. It was nowhere near as revealing as some of the dresses the ladies of the court wore. Nowhere near as revealing as what some of the women she’d seen Aegon flirt with wearing. Collarbones and shoulders and the swells of their breasts teased in the candlelight; Aegon flush with wine and preening beneath the attention.

“Mayhaps I should tug the shoulders down some more?”

Wylla did little to disguise the indelicate snort she let out and Abby felt her hands tug along the tops of her sleeves. “Won’t work on this dress but maybe you should push your breasts up.”

“My what?” Abby squeaked, her hands now pressing against her perfectly concealed bust.

Wylla rolled her eyes, and shoved her hands down her own top to adjust her breasts. “Now you try.”

“I… Oh, just…” Muttering soft curses beneath her breath, she reached down into her tightly fitted bodice to push her breasts up so they swelled ever so softly, framed by the lace. “Do you think he’ll like this?”

“My dear girl, he won’t know what to do with himself. Lucky for me, I get to watch. Now come on.”

Abby’s fingers carefully clasped the thin, silver chain around her neck. The charm was the shield and rivers of her house, tiny against her decolletage. It was so delicate she was always afraid of snapping it, but it was the one bit of jewelry she had. So fretful over herself, Abby did not immediately notice Helaena falling in step beside her, dressed in pale pink and silvery blue, sleeves puffed at her shoulders and elbows. Abby noticed her breasts looked nice in the wide cut of the neckline, not as deep as her own.

“It’ll be better once you have the jewels on you,” Helaena said as if picking up Abby’s self-conscious thoughts, or maybe she simply understood the look. “I like it when Aemond looks at my breasts. Aegon likes breasts, he talks about them all the time. Aemond says Aegon talks about yours a lot.”

Wylla, half a step behind, positively cackled. “Oh, this is going to be glorious.”

Abby knew she was as red as her hair. “I-I can’t do this, I have to change.” Helaena grabbed her by the arm and jerked her back, her other hand coming up to straighten the necklace around Abby’s neck.

“No you don’t. You change nothing, do you understand? There is nothing lacking, and there is nothing wrong with you,” Helaena said softly, brushing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

She opened her mouth and then shut it with a click of her teeth, nodding mutely and took a deep breath. “I’m not this nervous seeing him day to day,” she said softly.

“Nor when you pulled him behind the tapestry outside mother’s room to kiss him,” Helaena said knowingly, a smile playing across her face. “Or when Aemond found you pushing him up against the bookcase.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see Wylla’s face going red from how hard she was trying to keep her grin at bay. Failing, of course, but she appreciated the effort. She shifted on her feet and smoothed her fingers over the delicate satin bodice once more. “I don’t think that’s true. Tis I who…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely into nothing. “It’s rather unbecoming. He never initiates anything. He’s exceedingly good about it.” Which continued to confuse her to no end because she’d seen the way he’d ogle serving maids and the other ladies, not to mention how he did, in fact, like kissing her. She’d seen him reach and pinch a lady’s hip while passing, that stupid and devastating smirk crossing his features. His hands would encompass her waist or cup her cheeks, but other than that, he surprisingly did not reach for her.

He also didn’t complain when she reached for him. Aegon didn’t resist when she was the one who dragged him into quiet spots, grinning at her giggles and returning her kisses.

“It’s Aegon. He’s a fool, and he drinks too much, and if you don’t think he’s as nervous about you as you are of him, then I don’t know what you’ve been paying attention to our whole lives.” Helaena’s tone was gentle, if firm, as if patiently explaining to a child that the sun rose at dawn and set at dusk. Her lavender eyes looked down the hall towards the grand staircase and then reached up to adjust one of the combs in Abby’s hair. Helaena’s own silver-gold hair was braided back from her face, a vine of pearls woven into it. Guilt stung her that she hadn’t been the one to do Helaena’s hair.

“So you’re saying he’s too nervous to, um…”

“Accost you?” Wylla supplied helpfully. “In a good way.”

Abby huffed. “Yes. Accost me the way I want to accost him. No, surely there’s a better word than that.”

A smirk crossed Helaena’s features, wicked and lovely across her pretty mouth. “You want him up your skirts the way you want to see beneath his breeches.”

“Helaena!” Abby gasped just as Wylla let out a bubbling screech of giggles, unable to contain them. Helaena joined in the mirth and Abby growled at them both. “I am not dignifying that with an answer.”

The Targaryen princess, a dragonrider in her own right, with a mount older than most, leaned in to brush her cheek against her own, mouth close to her ear. “I know you were thinking about Aegon when we practiced kisses,” Helaena murmured, mirth in her voice but even amidst all the teasing, Abby didn’t feel belittled. “And you’ve been putting it to good use.” She pulled back, and Abby breathed through the heated pool in her belly and all the squirming wriggling that came with it. “It’s Aegon,” Helaena repeated.

She nodded. “It’s Aegon.”

“He calls his horse Mighty Mighty, and if he could get away with it, he’d likely go sleep in the Dragonpit next to Sunfyre.”

Abby felt herself smiling at that, a soft hint of a giggle escaping her. “Mighty Kostōba, the mighty mighty horse.” None had the heart to correct him when he was young, but the eventual teasing still made him growl. Helaena pressed her hands to her shoulders, turning her back towards the stairs and pushing her forward, smacking her bottom for good measure and earning a yelp for the trouble. The princess grinned, tongue poking between her teeth and blushing, Abby returned it, heading through the growing throng of people moving through the corridor.

“You’re not used to this, are you, my lady?” Wylla murmured beside her.

“Abby, please,” she returned with the anxious thread still in her voice, picking up her skirt out of habit. Thankfully her skirts did not trail. She wouldn’t want to ruin the finery worrying about picking her way through the city.

“Mmm, we’re in public now,” Wylla said but bumped her shoulder against her and the warm fondness usually reserved for the clutch bloomed in her chest at the elder’s camaraderie. “How scandalous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Abby giggled, inclining her head in greeting as they passed Lord Tyland on the stairs, who only spared a surprised look at her as he headed up. “You’re ridiculous and I love it, truly.” She felt the northerner keep close and Abby reached a hand behind her to take Wylla’s and give it a reassuring squeeze. The Keep was a lot, she knew, and she’d grown up there. She couldn’t imagine how much it was for a woman from the edge of the world and silently hoped that chaperoning them through the city would not be too much.

It was then her eyes fell upon Aegon, lounging at the foot of the stairs against the bannister, arm slung over the carving of the dragon that reclined along the the end, its forelegs and head resting at the pillar. His moonlit hair was a cloud of soft waves around his head, his pale skin pink and very scrubbed clean. The leather jerkin he wore was new: buttersoft black leather with shining, golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads, their gaping mouths swallowing the flame closures. The shirt beneath was red, of all things, instead of the green his mother forced him and Aemond into. As crimson as the Targaryen dragon embolized on the banners around them, the cuffs of the linen were tied with gold lacing that criss crossed their way up his sleeves, his arms crossed while he waited. The golden belt around his waist was carved to represent dragon scales, and a dagger in a matching scabbard hung from it, the pommel also a golden dragon. Even the leather trousers he wore, shoved into shining black boots, had the same gold lacing up the sides.

She bit her lip, admiring him while he hadn’t noticed her approach, until she saw that his gaze was towards a group of women laughing near the doors. The fluttering, heated squirming in her belly increased, and she made a sound in the back of her throat, aware of it only because of how it scratched.

“Did you just growl?” She barely heard Wylla mutter before she was making her way down the stairs.

“There you are!” Abby declared, a smile on her face, feeling the chain of her necklace slide against her collarbones, feeling the warm metal of her sigil charm fall into the slight space between her breasts. Her voice felt too loud, for she did her best to ignore the other gazes that turned in their direction, focused only on Aegon who craned his neck at the call before he jerked up from his languid position to turn fully towards her.

There was a deeply satisfied feeling that trickled down her spine at the way his head meant to turn before looking back again, his lilac eyes widening and turning fully toward her. She smiled far more genuinely this time, feeling the flutter start up again as she approached and took the hand he offered her. “You look very handsome,” she told him softly as he simply gaped at her, her own mouth dry. Her belly fluttered again, and she reached up with her free hand to hook her fingers in the gold necklace he wore, the sapphires winking in the light streaming through the windows. She used her hold on it to tug him down enough to brush a soft kiss against his cheek, leaving behind just a slight shine of the coral paint over the flush of pink that suffused his own cheeks.

She heard Aegon exhale a muttered curse that had her swallowing, his hand warm where it enveloped hers, and he turned his head as she pulled back so his nose could bump against hers. It surprised her, and she let out a soft chuckle that had a grin spreading slowly across his face. Sharp and playful, safe and edged in danger all the same.

His pupils had blown black, the lilac a vibrant ring.

Abby rocked back on her heels, smiling back at him and let go of his necklace.

“Good thing we’re taking the damned carriage,” he said, his thumb stroking against the palm of her hand while he guided her down the last few steps.

“Why is that?” she asked and Aegon tugged her closer so she could slip her hand into the crook of his arm. They were being watched - they were meant to be watched - and she wanted to hide her face against his arm, but instead she only tilted her head towards his as he inclined his own.

“Because I fear someone would try to pull you from the horse and spirit you away,” he said, a sidelong glance towards the guards. She squeezed his arm, her other hand coming up to press against his chest while they made their way out the main doors to the courtyard. The usual smell of the baking red stone had given way to something that was earthier and fresh - the storms the previous few days having washed away the dust and dirt that clung to the air.

The carriage was waiting, the pair of horses attached pawing at the ground, their bay coats freshly brushed and harnesses clinking with the shakes of their heads. The Cargylls were both mounted on their horses as their escorts for the outing, Ser Harrold beside them, his polished helm gleaming beneath his arm.

Kostōba, Aegon’s horse, nearly as precious to him as Sunfyre, stood patiently beside the carriage, reins held by one of the stablehands while the footman stood at the open carriage door. The stallion was a gift for Aegon’s eighth name day nearly a decade ago, and had grown larger than most of the other horses in the stable that didn’t belong to the Kingsguard. His coat was a creamy gold color, dappled in a way that made it seem like he had scales of his own. Kostōba’s eyes, bright and brilliantly blue, took in his surroundings, and he let out a soft sound when Aegon whistled to him.

Abby’s fingers tightened in Aegon’s arm when he started to pull away, confusion tripping at her words. “A-are you not, are we not riding together?” The previous warmth had given way to an icy discomfort, and she reached up to press a hand to her belly, her fingers scraping against the fabric with nervous tension.

“We’re going into the city, so I thought you’d feel more comfortable riding with Lady Karstark.” He avoided her gaze, looking at some other spot on her face. His eyes darted lower, along her low neckline. Heat prickled against her skin, but she was not as giddy for it now.

“You said we’d be riding in the carriage, Aegon.” She hated how unsure her voice sounded in her ears, and she dropped her hands from him and instead held her skirts. A deep breath, and a glance at Wylla to give her a slight, reassuring smile. “Is this because we’re not alone? Because of last time?”

Last time they’d come from the Dragonpit had resulted in them being caught upon arrival, Abby half dragged across his lap, her fingers in his hair and his hands bunched in her skirts. The Queen had subsequently forbidden them from riding Sunfyre together. Abby’s feet were to remain firmly on the ground until the wedding.

She’d been the one to initiate that as well.

Aegon shook his head, a sound escaping him, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Immediately, she felt her mouth water, wanting to bite on the tip of his finger, and she allowed him to tilt her head back. The jealousy that lingered hoped those ladies saw this; that he touched her so intimately and not them.

“I meant what I said about rather you being in the carriage than someone thinking that you’re ripe for the picking.” While it was endearing in its own protective way, it now rang hollow to Abby’s ears. They were burning beneath her curls and the soft, ivory veil that hung around her.

“We have the Kingsguard, Aegon, I don’t understand. For that reason, I shouldn’t leave the Keep at all.” Aegon pulled away, brushing a kiss against her forehead, and she longed for more. She longed for his lips in other places. “Aegon-” she made to follow him but Wylla caught her elbow and ushered her towards the footman.

“Get in, make yourself cozy, I’ll handle this.” She said it so matter of factly that Abby could only stare at her. Wylla merely smiled back, bobbing a curtsy, and gathered her dove gray skirts in hand, marching over to Aegon.

Abby climbed in, but lingered in the doorway to watch in fascination as Wylla Karstark hissed something to Aegon, unafraid of whatever royal protocol should be followed. There was some gesturing, and she watched her lady point toward the carriage, angling her way into Aegon’s space, not to flirt, but very clearly to intimidate. Aegon seemed to hesitate, and then shoved the reins back in the stable boy’s hands, tenderly petting the stallion’s neck and murmuring to him, before he marched towards the carriage. Abby hurriedly drew back and took her place against the far corner from the door, smoothing her skirt.

“Better this than me getting Ser Harrold,” she heard Wylla mutter, half in the carriage to glare at Aegon who was behind. “I’m not afraid of some pampered southern boy, dragonriding prince or no.”

Wylla gave her a smile as she climbed in and Abby stared at her in confusion while Aegon followed, throwing himself into the seat across from her as the door latched shut.

“Kostōba not so mighty today?” she asked, her hurt feelings demanding she needle him, even as her usual cheerful mask slid over her features. Aegon barely spared her a glance, pouting like a child instead of a man grown.

The carriage jerked as they headed through the gate and down the road. Wylla had turned her attention to unlatching the lattice covering on the window to peer out, the illusion of privacy appreciated. Aegon’s neck was as red as his shirt. He was clearly refusing to look at her and it wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In fact, Aegon had jumped from any casual touch she gave for the past few months. It was why they hadn’t ridden on Sunfyre together until they’d gone flying on the picnic and he’d apologized to her. Where she’d kissed him. In the subsequent weeks, between kisses she’d stolen because it was her stealing all the kisses, and dragging Aegon behind blind corners, although he never complained.

“I meant it, you know. That you look handsome today.” While she didn’t mind silence, she didn’t like this silence. The type where it felt like there were teeth along the edges, chewing into it if they weren’t careful. “I don’t know why that seems to have offended you so much.” The words came out a little harsher than she meant, her arms wrapped around herself and her gaze turned away.

“It didn’t offend me. I just thought that you’d like some privacy.” There was a crack at the edge of Aegon’s voice and it drew her gaze to the prince. Her betrothed. The one who tasted like whatever sweets he’d stolen from her, and whose hands felt like they’d swallow her whole, so hot that she could feel them through the layers of her gowns.

Abby turned from the window to look at him and met his gaze. Not as black as it had been in the hall. His eyes always went dark when she kissed him, so she knew that it was supposed to be a good thing, and she couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. She had been agonizing for days about this. She had just been lamenting to Wylla and Helaena about this and thought ‘This is just silly, Aegon cares for me, look at how he watched me come down the stairs’ but his mercurial behavior was nearly as bad as his mother’s.

The comparison was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she met his lilac gaze with her own, blue eyes fixed upon his face, and said, “One moment, your hands are in my hair, and you look at me like I’m some sort of salvation or that you want to devour me. The next moment, like just now, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Lady Wylla had to threaten you to get in here-”

“She did no such-”

“I absolutely did,” Wylla interrupted. “Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to be listening.”

Aegon’s mouth snapped shut, and Abby didn’t glance over at the other side of the carriage. She kept her eyes on his. “If you don’t want me, then we’ll turn the carriage around and tell your mother.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt and took a deep breath. She was worried that tears would threaten, but her eyes remained mercifully clear and she raised her eyebrows at him. Aegon was staring at her, the pout faded from his sullen expression to look wide eyed in surprise. “We can. You can stop this. It’ll fade away, only just a rumor. A dalliance. There is no shame in being a prince’s momentary plaything, since we haven’t… I kissed you first, after all. I have only ever kissed you first and I will not let you keep doing this to me-”

One second, Aegon was frozen in his seat staring at her, the next, his hands grabbed hers and yanked her to him. Abby fell into him with the rocking of the carriage, and before she could straighten herself, Aegon kissed her.

Aegon kissed her first.

One large hand wound around her back while the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in the hair that escaped her veil. His mouth wasn't as soft as it had been before, this time moving as if he would claim her here in this carriage. She gasped when he tightened his hold against her, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue between her parted lips, to curl it behind her teeth. She swallowed his sigh, her fingers bunching up the soft, red linen of his shirtsleeves.

Wylla’s presence was forgotten. All that existed was the way Aegon was kissing her like he was starving, as if someone had tried to take her from him - like in a song, like she was the source of every breath he needed. When they finally parted, Aegon tilted his head back against the side of the carriage, watching her with half lidded eyes and his mouth smeared with coral lip paint.

He hummed and she could feel it vibrate through her and she found herself humming in return, still holding herself with her grip on his arms. “I’ll fight anyone who suggests you’re a mere dalliance,” he said with his voice heavy. Abby reached up to cup his chin and stroke her thumb along where the color had smeared, wiping it away.

“So you’ll fight yourself, Your Grace?” She couldn’t help but point out that kissing her senseless was well and good, but her heart still felt sore and confused by his treatment.

Aegon scoffed and drew her closer with his fingers still cradling her head. She felt warm, and soft, and the sound that escaped her was equally so - a little mewl and a question she didn’t have the words to voice but that he seemed to understand because he licked along her cupid’s bow, teasing her and nipping at the swollen pout of her lower lip. “This is why I am the way I am, hunītsos.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured with a shake of her head. Aegon’s fingers tightened briefly and drew a soft gasp from her when his grip tugged at her scalp. She shivered and his eyes glanced down to her low neckline, his teeth scraping over his own lower lip like he wanted to bury her face between her breasts. The understanding of why Wylla was in the carriage with them nudged at her, because had they been alone, Abby didn’t think she would even deny him. In fact, she thought she might even invite him to do so.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked and his fingers slowly loosened from her hair and pet her curls back into place before drawing his fingers slowly down her jaw and along her hammering pulse in her throat. “Do you not understand how badly I crave you? Because I thought that I made it abundantly clear.”

She blushed and shook her head. His thumb stroked along the front of her throat and she stilled, the weight and warmth of his hand making her tremble, the ache in her breasts taking her aback. “Sometimes, maybe. I’ve felt very…” She tried to find the words amidst her shyness. “I’ve felt like I’ve been chasing you, that I desire you more than you do for me.”

The wicked smirk she adored cut across his plump mouth and he squeezed her throat gently, pulling a gasp from her. “Abrogail Strong, I desire and crave you to madness and if I let myself go, I fear that I won’t keep myself from devouring you whole.”

Helaena pretended not to notice that there was a smudge of what looked like strawberry jam on the corner of little Floris’ mouth. Instead, her eyes took in the way one of the girl’s black braids was a little looser than the other. It lacked symmetry in a way that made her fingers itch to fix it. The girl’s dark eyes were wide with excitement and she could hardly keep still - a grasshopper bouncing on her feet and trying as hard as she could to contain herself in their presence. It did little to stop her from darting her gaze around, little mouth parted in wonder. She supposed the Red Keep was a magnificent sight to one who’d never seen it up close like this, let alone on dragonback.

Helaena’s lavender eyes slid to the elder girl.

Cassandra, the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters, was more sedate in her observations. She did not share the same bubbling excitement as her little sister, and the black traveling gown she wore underscored the radical differences between her and the butter yellow clad Floris. Despite outer appearances, there was a blatant curiosity in her gaze as she took in the bustle of the courtyard; the Baratheon caravan had arrived ahead of the ladies, and the last of the trunks had just been carried inside to their new lodgings. Now it was courtiers and guardsmen, and servants all.

She felt Cassandra’s eyes fall on her critically, not unlike other ladies at court. Helaena had grown used to their gazes and the fact she did not fit the mold of a princess. She was not vibrant the way stories of her elder sister painted her - The Realm’s Delight, laughing and shining and riding and dancing. Helaena was quiet, far preferring the solitude of the garden to being in crowds, but she made every effort to be nice, to be friendly, and while she’d never heard a whisper about some perceived cruelty, Helaena felt as if she couldn’t quite get it.

She could not mirror the way Cassandra Baratheon looked to her, a golden necklace made up of antlers around her regal throat - a look that even a good week in a carriage could not take away how utterly put together she appeared..

How much of a princess she looked.

‘Sharp and soothing,’ Helaena thought. ‘The mint winds and chokes like ivy. The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.’

She blinked, shifting, and her shoulder brushed against Aemond’s where he was a warm presence beside her. His mouth was pressed in his usual stern expression, but at her movement, he lifted a hand to touch between her shoulder blades.

It was moments like these where Helaena felt most grateful for Aemond. Not when he was railing about their future together, the one that he’d decided and she didn’t deny, or about his place in life. It was the softer moments, when it felt like before: before the loss of his eye, before Vhagar, when it felt like her brother was there beside her once more. Quiet in his companionship, unwavering in his support, near supernatural in his understanding of her.

This was the Aemond she missed. The Aemond she cared for, the Aemond who was so absent.

Emboldened by the moment, Helaena straightened, a smile soft on her face. She did not need a crown or a herald to announce her place.

“It is our pleasure to welcome you both to King’s Landing. I hope that your journey wasn’t too difficult,” Helaena said, pushing past the urge to scream nonsense and make scary faces at them both to send them running all the way back to Storm’s End.

“We saw a bear!” Floris exclaimed with bright excitement. “Didn’t we, Cass? It was huge! I thought the guards were going to kill it, but they managed to chase it -”

“What my sister means to say is that the journey had its moments, but thankfully was uneventful, your Graces,” Cassandra cut in, a hand placed on the younger’s shoulder and a smooth curtsy performed. Her voice wasn’t unkind, but perhaps the long journey had made Lady Cassandra less tolerable to her younger sister’s excitement.

“Hmmm,” Aemond said, and Helaena smiled. Floris’ gaze was darting back from Aemond’s face to Helaena’s hands and she felt her brother shift beside her uncomfortably. “If you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to her grace, Queen Alicent, to be greeted.” Floris’ eyes went wide and Aemond was already turning on his polished boot to lead the way.

Cassandra’s own eyes widened some, her hands spasming against her skirts before reaching for Floris’ hand, jerking her behind. “Come along and don’t gawk,” she hissed softly, and Floris whined in response, a grumbling, “Not so tight, Cassa.” Helaena pursed her lips and followed Aemond, leading the pair.

It was, amusingly enough, Cassandra who let out the first quiet gasp entering the entry hall to Maegor’s Holdfast. The ceiling rose up so high that it was obscured with shadow. It was the early afternoon and the place was bustling with courtiers and administrators, all giving Aemond wide berth as he cut a path like a shark through the water.

“Your rooms will be within the ladies apartments,” Aemond explained when they reached the second landing. He paused, gesturing to the right. “It’s where the unmarried attendants of our mother’s stay.” His voice was even and steady, ever the proper one, ever the confident speaker. Ever everything, that was Aemond. Yet it rankled her that he would take charge of this when it should be her.

‘He’s only trying to protect you’, Helaena thought and while he was good at that, while she was grateful for it, Mother did the same. Everyone did the same.

“However, since you shall be serving me,” Helaena said, raising her voice and plastering a smile on her face, remembering that smiles could be heard in voices, “And Lady Abrogail, you shall come to us in the mornings for duties once things are settled. No need to worry about that now.”

Floris nodded excitedly, but her sister looked on more sedately, her expression polite. “Is it possible to have our own rooms until you… have everything sorted?” She asked. “I hope you can appreciate that given our station and our familial connection, such things would be appropriate.”

Familial connection? Helaena thought. She did not look at Aemond, not needing him to think he had to step in for her.

“I appreciate your concerns, Lady Cassandra. If you are concerned about your sleeping arrangements, you may bring it up with our mother, the Queen.” Helaena smoothed her hands over the soft pink of her skirt and gestured for them to follow. “This way!” Her voice rang through the hall and she fell in step beside Aemond, head held high.

Wylla stepped on her heels again with a half-distracted ‘sorry’ that Abby waved off, again. King’s Landing was bursting with activity that threatened to rival the crowds that were sure to arrive in the next moon for Aegon’s nameday tournament. The festival was to go on for a fortnight at least, as apprentices across the guilds presented their masterpieces to be judged and reviewed. It meant that the stalls were filled to bursting and more had sprung up in every nook and cranny and side street of the city. From finely woven fabrics and dyes, to ropes and carefully crafted saddles, the market was bright and loud with the calls of commerce.

Aegon’s right hand gripped her left, fingers entwined, and kept her between him and the stalls rather than risk losing one another in the stream of traffic down the center lane. They paused in front of a smith, the heat of the forge not as uncomfortable in the heat of the city for the breeze that kicked through.

“Oh, he’s a handsome one,” Wylla murmured, and Abby followed her gaze to the handsome smith covered in sweat and black soot, his linen shirt soaked, his arms bulging with the effort of hammering. Abby giggled softly, humming in agreement. She glanced at Aegon, who was perusing over the line of daggers on display, and noticed his own gaze flicking towards the blacksmith with clear appreciation.

Abby hummed and leaned over to brush her mouth against his ear. “Do you think he’s prettier than me?” she whispered.

Aegon didn’t glance at her, he didn’t even pause in his dual inspection of the merchandise nor the man before him. His tongue darted out, pink and wet, to slide along his lower lip in thought as he reached for another dagger. “I think he’s taller than you, which has its own advantages, especially with those shoulders,” he told her softly, tapping the hilt of the dagger. “Open, I want to see if it fits you.” She held out her free hand - she still hadn’t let go of his and he had not let go of hers - and he pressed the dagger into her palm, instructing her to wrap her fingers around it. “Sometimes one needs a good handling.”

Abby’s gaze flicked up at him, Aegon’s lilac eyes fixed on adjusting her grip. “I don’t usually hold a dagger like this. Aemond did teach me properly. Also, are you implying that I couldn’t give you a good handling?”

“I don’t think you are big enough to pick me up over your shoulder and slam me down on something.” Aegon’s lilac gaze met hers from beneath the soft bits of silver hair hanging in his eyes and he pulled the dagger from her grasp and set it back down. Even as she blushed, Abby didn’t look away. She smiled prettily at him instead and was pleased when he grinned back. She liked this side of him. No, she adored this side of him. The way he flirted, and held onto her, and the way it felt as easy as breathing between them like it always had. Only now, her gaze was more obviously drawn to that infernal tongue of his that kept swiping along his lower lip.

He was doing it on purpose. She was sure of it.

“I feel like you’re challenging me, Your Grace. Must I also now throw myself in the training yard and hope that I grow as big and strong as my brother? I think you’ll be sorely disappointed.” Aegon snorted and picked up another dagger. This one had an ebony handle carved with grooves for the fingers to fit and a thick silver inlay that encircled it and along the guard. “I don’t need a dagger,” she protested when he had her hold it and frowned at the fit.

“You see,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her hand and having her properly adjust her grip. “I already know you can handle me, my Lady. I think you’re a natural at it, even small as you are. But if you’d like to be handled, be exposed to new ways of doing things…new techniques…” He trailed off and made an approving sound at how she was holding the weapon. Somehow it made her flush all the more. “I’m at your service to give you whatever demonstration you desire.”

He met her eyes then, mouth twitched in a slight grin, but she saw the nervous look in his gaze.

Abby pushed up on her toes to press a kiss on his smirking mouth and drew away before either of them had a chance to deepen it. “I’ve been told I’m a very astute learner, and I always like to learn new things, especially with demonstrations.” Flushed, she reached for Wylla who was still admiring the blacksmith and took her hand. “We’re going to look at the fabrics over here.”

She’d much rather they do that than make a scene in front of the attractive blacksmith.

“If you two wanted privacy, then we’ll find it. I’ll stand guard outside the carriage door. Or, he’s the prince, I’m sure he can just get a room somewhere.” Wylla’s look was innocent and compassionate when Abby looked over her shoulder to glare at her, cheeks flushed red. “You know, people like us don’t marry for love often, but if you have that with one another, there’s no shame in being so affectionate before marriage.” Wylla nudged her shoulder against hers while they plucked at the delicate spools of ribbons and carefully embroidered lace.

“Being accosted in front of the blacksmith is something I’d hardly call simple affection,” Abby said.

“Weren’t you only just complaining that he didn’t accost you?”

“I need to find another word for that, and yes, I know I was! That’s not what I mean.” Abby ran a length of silky, vibrant green ribbon through her fingers, and tried to find shades of red and blue to match. “I just mean there’s a difference between doing it in public! And…”

“And?” Wylla prompted, plucking up a spool of black linen thread in hand.

“And I simply get very flustered. That’s all.” She reached into her the small purse hanging off her arm to retrieve the delicate fabric samples the seamstress had brought the previous week. “I need embellishments to go with this.”

“Oh,” Wylla breathed and ran her fingers gently over the ivory satin. “Abby, these are lovely.”

“Do you think so?” She held the pieces up to the spools of lace. “I’m half tempted to simply make my own lace but that feels so extravagant and excessive.”

Wylla clucked her tongue. “Must I remind you again, Lady Strong, that you are marrying Aegon Targaryen, Prince of the Realm? You will become a princess on your wedding day. You should have extravagance and excess because if you don’t have it for that occasion, what occasion will you allow it?” Her voice was not quiet and Abby noticed the pair of girls managing the stall perk up from where they were attending to another lady and her daughter at the mention of marrying Aegon Targaryen. The other customers looked at her as well, and Abby smiled politely back and resumed her perusal of the lace embellishments. She let her veil fall forward enough to hide some of her face, uncomfortable with the attention now that Aegon was not distracting her, moving easily through the crowds as if he were born for it.

That’s because he was born for it, she reminded herself.

“These look a bit like dragon scales, don’t they?” Abby ran her thumb gently over the uniquely shaped scallops of soft lace, mind thinking of decorations and embellishments and appliques for the gown that they were making. So many Myrish knots to embroider. She knew there was more fabric on its way, and that the delicate and sought after Myrish lace would be beyond comparison but presented with what was before her, Abby’s mind turned in contemplation. “Excuse me, my lady.”

The woman did not appear much older than Wylla, with a shock of golden curls peeking out of her little white cap. She was the younger of the pair who were manning the booth, and she bobbed awkwardly behind the counter.

“I am no lady, milady,” she said, her accent a proud, Westerlands clip. “Neva, if you please. Is there anything that you like before you? This isn’t everything we have but-”

Abby smiled, raising a hand to slow the girl down. “Neva, is this all your work? It’s absolutely beautiful.”

She glowed as bright as her hair, nodding exuberantly. “It is, milady! I’ve been an apprentice for nigh on ten years. I’ve submitted my masterpiece for guild acceptance.”

She couldn’t help but keep smiling back at the excitement Neva shared and gestured for the threads that Wylla was picking up. “Well, I’ll take these, if you’d be so kind, as well as… well I don’t want to take the whole spool of this.” Abby pursed her lips.

In the pause, Neva continued. “I can also make custom pieces, should you need something particular, milady.” The girl blushed but pushed on. “I did hear you mentioning a wedding, but I wasn’t dropping eaves! So if there is something in particular you’re looking for.”

Abby hummed softly, fingers still holding the delicate spool of scalloped lace edging. “I would like that very much. If you have more samples, I want you to bring them to the castle a sennight from today. The seamstress is coming back to do a fitting and I would like to look at what we can make. Is that too soon?”

The blushing cheeks of the Westerland girl went pale before flushing even deeper and she looked as if she was about to burst like a Dornish fire flare right there in the street. “Milady, I don’t know what to say! Yes, yes I will certainly be there. Thank you…” She trailed off suddenly, eyes widening before dropping into a curtsy, followed by the other women behind the booth. Abby felt Aegon brush against her back as he leaned over her shoulder to pluck at the lace.

“Pretty,” he said. “Do you like them?”

She nodded. “I thought the-they would look nice for my wedding dress. Do you like them? I want you to like them.” Abby tilted her head to look at him, teeth catching at her lip while Aegon’s cheeks flushed lightly pink.

“Aye, I like them.” His voice was soft and he gestured to the lot, almost negligently. “And the ribbons? We’ll take it.” Aegon spared a look at the gaping Neva, plucking the bag of gold from Wylla’s hands and tossing it to the girl.

Abby blushed, glancing between the gaping girls and Aegon, who was already looking around. “Thank you, Neva,” she said, which seemed to pull the other girl from her shock and start plucking items. “I do hope this isn’t all of your hard work.”

“Oh, no, not at all, milady.” She was positively glowing. “Good fortune to be sure."

[Chapter Eight]

[tiphares]

the new vintage vestor italian reversible taffeta bedspread be hittin 😎 cant believe i found it mint w tags for 13 bux (it was 50 to dry clean it but worth it! these go for 1200 usd n mine is miraculously from the 1950s 🤯🤯🤯)

im still puttin a throw on it tho cuz my cats back claws....

[jewellery-box]

Embroidered silk taffeta evening ensemble and parasol

French, ca. 1862–1865

This strikingly elegant evening toilette plays on the theme of the oval, both in the shape of the dress and in its ornamentation. The deep bertha, the sash with its long écharpes (streamers), and the fringe trimming are all stylish details illustrated in French fashion journals of the early to mid-1860s. The large-scale yet delicate intertwined ovals and rectangles trace an unusual pattern against the expansive crinoline skirt and streamers, while the lustrous ivory taffeta sets off the embroidered motifs in polychrome silk floss, black chenille thread, and beads.

To create the elaborate fringe, short lengths of chenille, ending in silk-covered balls, were woven into a passementerie band. This type of ball fringe was known as grelots, meaning small round bells and aptly connotating a shivering movement. As noted in the captions of contemporary French fashion plates, fringes and passementeries were produced in Lyon, the leading center of the European silk weaving industry.

By the 1860s, women's dresses were generally made with both a day and evening bodice. The richness of the silk moiré parasol with matching ball fringe suggests that it may have been part of a carriage ensemble, for which extravagant display was de rigueur. The carved Italian coral handle with a climbing cat and the coral-and-ivory stick are associated with the late 1850s and 1860s. The coral rib tips in the shape of hands suspended from rings are a delihgtfully whimsical feature of these luxurious parasols.

Cora Ginsburg

[izvmimi]

cw: part of three princesses au. written from the perspective of highland princess. female reader. sfw.

“Princess, are you sure that this is the correct location?” 

Your handmaiden looks and sounds concerned, as she should, and so are you really as the carriage slows to a trot, and you find yourself drawing closer and closer to what appears to be a list field, an arena for jousting. Taking a longer peek through the small carriage window, then looking back to your attendant, you frown. There’s a semi-crumpled piece of paper in your hand which is the Rendezvous letter received by Coastal Princess at the close of the Courting Ball last night, and it clearly gives the current address, you judge by the map plastered on the side of your carriage. You probably should have looked at exactly where you were going before agreeing to swap with Coastal Princess, but she was so eager to get the letter from Valley Princess that the exchange happened in enough of a whirlwind to disorient you. 

“It seems to be correct,” you reply. Your handmaiden tuts, but once the horses come to a stop, she’s quick to help you out of the carriage and you thank your driver with a hefty tip. After all, you are partially buying his silence. 

Your dress is less extravagant than that of the ball, however the brightly-colored light pink taffeta fabric appears wildly inappropriate for the setting. You hike up the bottom of your dress as it skirts the mud and muck, already slightly disgusted by the way your heels sink into the ground with every movement. Your handmaiden holds your elbow as you move along. 

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath. You would have appreciated a warning if you were to end up in a place like this. Before you is a large crowd, a mix of people of all stations from elites to common folk to beggars, but you are clearly one of the most extravagant-looking attendees of this event. Cheers abound, mixed with the clashing of metal against armor and the whinnying of battling horses.

“Most ridiculous,” your handmaiden agrees. You are at a joust and Prince Midoriya is nowhere to be found, not that you’re sure you would absolutely recognize him within the hundreds of faces you’re now seeing.

Warmth rises in your neck up to your cheeks and you realize you are embarrassed. Here you are, at a sporting event, with a man you have never met, with a man who is not betrothed to you, and you are possibly being stood up.

A few more minutes pass, and you and your handmaiden stand on lookout, waiting for someone, anyone to claim you, or to at least tell you where to go. It is painfully embarrassing, and while the people of Central City in Welstranha are not particularly aware of what the royals of the surrounding nation-states look like, if you were to be seen by anyone of importance, standing with partially soiled clothing with no aim,  you’d be a laughingstock.

Your father alone would berate you for months. 

The fingers of your right hand tighten on the rendezvous letter as you consider tearing it to pieces. Hanging from your contralateral wrist is a small pouch in which a golden watch is contained. It is meant to be a gift and you are already deciding to keep it to yourself, because if he doesn’t show up in the next few seconds, you will absolutely turn on your heels and -

“Highland Princess!?”

In a flash, it seems like Prince Midoriya is suddenly before you, green eyes widened like a cat falling from a great height. While he is approaching, you stay put, analyzing, and somehow, your anger seems to leave you as though a demon exorcized by prayer and blinding light.

It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Prince Midoriya, but it’s the first time you’ve really seen him. He’s dressed far more casually than you are, however no one would mistake him for a commoner by the crisp appearance of his beige color tunic accented with gold thread or the shine of the brass buttons in his dark navy banded pants. He’s dressed in boots that fare better against the mud than your shoes, and he looks genuinely surprised by your attire and also clearly tries not to stare. His stark dark-green curls, portenders of his lineage from Grascendres’ royal family, are more grasslike in the bright sunshine, and the freckles on his face are numerous and incongruent with his royal status.

But he is undoubtedly handsome, you have to admit, even if his pedigree is otherwise not up to par with yours. He’s quite tall, with broad-shoulders and slightly sunkissed skin, and the rolled up sleeves of his shirt reveals nicely toned forearms, revealing some physical training, although he looks more like a knight than a royal.

“Prince Midoriya, you appear to be late for your rendezvous,” you say, attempting to be polite and yet still communicate your irritation.

He smiles rather than look accused which surprises you. 

“Am I meant to rendezvous with you instead?” he asks. It’s meant to be tongue-in-cheek and this has you tight-lipped. He senses this and continues to explain himself.  

“I was expecting Coastal Princess and did not consider that you’d be coming.”

You nod in acceptance and present the letter to him as proof.

“It is true that we probably should have given you a heads up, but Coastal Princess, Valley Princess and I were hoping to meet each other’s future beaus instead.”

Prince Midoriya’s eyes seem to be watching you a little too intently and it’s hard to read his expression. He frowns, tapping his chin with his hand as he thinks.

“Was I that unimpressive to Coastal Princess?”

“Not at all. We girls simply hoped to have some fun,” you state, and then you smile, sweetly but poisonously. Your handmaiden bristles, knowing what you look like when you aim to taunt or tease.

“Prince Midoriya, am I unimpressive to you?”

He looks up, previously somehow deep in thought, and but looks you in the eyes quickly, meaning to correct any offense.

“Oh no, I just was a little startled, I-”

He looks down at the sullied bottom of your dress, then back up, and you find your cheeks warming again. Perhaps he really does think that you are inferior to Coastal Princess and the simple thought of that makes you feel momentarily bad about yourself.

“If you are disappointed, I could leave,” you offer, disallowing your tongue to be bitter. You give your handmaiden a look and she prepares to help you back to the carriage but he quickly stops you from beginning your transit.

“Wait, no, I would be flattered to accompany you, as long as Coastal Princess is okay with it.” 

“Well, she does have Valley Princess’ letter and will be meeting with Prince Bakugou.”

“Ah,” is all Izuku can offer. There is another round of cheers in the background that fills a now mildly uncomfortable silence, and your heart starts to thump as you consider that this may perhaps be a bad idea overall. For a moment, you find yourself looking at your feet, then catch yourself, raising your head up high. He should be excited that he gets to meet you - your family had first dibs on suitors and must not have selected him for a reason, whether it is because his kingdom is nouveau riche or because you are too good for him in other domains. 

Ignoring all that, you attempt to regain control. “What did you have planned for Coastal Princess?”

He looks up again and the slightly downcast expression is gone, now replaced with an expression far too sweet for a young prince. Suddenly produced from his right side in almost a sleight of hand is the most beautiful bouquet of flowers you’ve ever seen.

He takes your hand and bows.

“I’d like to start over,” he asks. Your eyes widen as he takes your hand and bows, keeping his face at eye level with yours.

“Greetings to you, Highland Princess. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a joust?”

The palm of his hand is calloused against your soft fingertips, and you’re surprised by his boldness, the actual nerve to touch you, but you allow it.

“Yes.”

—

Prince Midoriya did not tell you he’d be IN the joust, and the fact that you sit in a stand, a parasol held over your head lest you bake in the sun watching him in a full suit of armor is not what you expected in the least.

But you are intrigued. You’ve never seen such a violent match up front - in fact, you’ve never met any of the soldiers of the land, and given that you’ve had no brothers or close male cousins, you are not particularly aware of what it means to swing a sword or stab with a lance - but something about the way the prince seems to effortless dodge and thrust with purpose and pride has you captivated. His mount appears to be an extension of him, and he moves seamlessly in the wind. In a fluid, effortless motion, he makes his mark and the man unfortunate enough to be set up against him topples from his horse in a heap. Prince Midoriya stops and watches, offering a hand as the victory is decided, gentlemanly as a royal is wont to be but often is not.

Prince Midoriya wins the tournament, as though he had expected to, and looks up in the stands at you. His smile asks you if you were watching and yes, you were. Every second.

—

“Congratulations,” you state. Your handmaiden is long gone, off to explore the remainder of the city with a few coins you’ve given her as bribery in her pocket, and you take that opportunity to make your way down the field to praise the prince once the last match is over. “Assuming you did not pay everyone to throw the match, I’d say you are a formidable fighter, Prince Midoriya.”

“Izuku,” he says, removing his helmet. “Call me Izuku.”

“Izuku,” you repeat. The name is unfamiliar yet significant on your tongue. As though you should remember it forever. 

He smiles at the careful way you say it. You don’t yet offer to drop your own name, and he doesn’t ask, continuing to address you by your title. You don’t drop formalities with him just yet, either. After all, he is not your betrothed and you may not see him again.

“Were you impressed?” he asks. 

“I am not particularly easy to impress,” you reply, slyly. He smiles as he removes the shoulder pads. A pageboy presents himself to help with this process and for a moment you wonder if you really should be there watching him undress, and yet you don’t move. No one is there to judge you anyway; no one will recognize you even if you stand out like a sore thumb.

“Is that a no?” he asks. His curls stick gently to his forehead and he blots most of the sweat with a handkerchief. You watch him too entranced, then wonder if you just haven’t met enough men to be so easily swayed by one.

Coastal Princess is lucky, you will leave it at that.

“It’s not a no,” you reply. He beams and his eyes nearly close shut with his smile. You look away suddenly, watching the other fighter’s wounds be tended to. 

“Do you have wounds to care for?” you ask him.

He shakes his head. “Not very many, but I appreciate you caring for me.”

You should say “you’re welcome” but your mouth opens and closes. Saving you the embarrassment of gaping like a fish, Izuku changes the subject suddenly -

“Highland Princess, have you ever been to a tavern?”

Your eyes grow wide. A tavern?

“I don’t think I belong in such a place.”

Izuku grins. “The whole point of a tavern is that everyone belongs!” He’s quick to link arms with yours, and your heart flutters.

“Come, let me show you what it’s like to live a little less lavishly but a little more fully.”

—

Grenadine is sweet on your lips as you answer Izuku’s every question about yourself, your childhood and your hopes and dreams. Leaning in over a mug of beer, he hangs on your every word, offering a few and then some more to challenge your thoughts. It’s been a while since you were challenged but not oppressed in conversation - he listens easily and speaks freely. 

“Izuku, did your parents let you choose your potential list of matches?” you ask. 

You shouldn’t ask this question, but you want to know now, if he ever had the chance to consider you. You think perhaps you would have not been so upset to have been picked as his bride - but perhaps it is the high of making a good friend that makes your heart stir as such. 

He sips his beer, then looks away shyly, before looking at you.

“I never saw the list.”

You nod, and then you ask, and you probably shouldn’t but you do anyway.

“If you had seen the list, would you have considered me?” you ask. 

He blinks and you can see his cheeks redden. He pulls at the collar of his shirt as you wait. Your eyes remain intent on him but your heart thumps and your insides twist. It shouldn’t matter what he says now, because he is Coastal Princess’ husband to be.

“Yes. Very much so.”

He hasn’t said he prefers you and you don’t want him to, but your heart swells. You consider leaning in further to kiss him, his face is so close to yours anyway, but you remember your gift instead.

A keepsake.

“I have something for you,” you tell him, removing the watch from your satchel. His eyes take a little too long to pull away from you but then he follows you as you unwrap your watch. 

“It’s been in my family for a few generations,” you offer. “I think you should have it.”

The clock face is gilded gold and encrusted with small emeralds. It costs a fortune, but your family has always been prone to flaunting its wealth. 

“I am not-” Izuku starts.

You won’t let him refuse it.

“I have other gifts I can give Prince Todoroki. I want you to have this for being so kind to me today.”

Izuku tilts his head in confusion. You push it towards him and look away, taking the last of your grenadine with a gulp.

“Princess, I…” he starts. He looks embarrassed, then confused, then you can see him pull his lower lip between his teeth. You don’t want him to say again that he shouldn’t actually have anything to do with you.

“Would you please accompany me home?” you ask. Perhaps you’ve had too much grenadine, enough to saturate your tastebuds, because there is a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your suggestion has saved him from making a fool of himself. He nods and helps you rise.

“Of course, Highland Princess.”

—

Your handmaiden asks you if you’ve had a good date as your carriage returns you to Gokon palace, where you and the other princesses share wings throughout this marriage rite. You decide to reply honestly.

“The best I ever had.”

She smiles at you knowingly and clasps her hands over yours.

“The only one you’ve ever had,” she teases. You smile back at her but your stomach turns a bit. The golden watch is gone and you hope he’ll wear it some time to check the time. You wish you had more of it together.

A small part of you hopes your friend’s dates went as well, or perhaps it would be better if they didn’t.

The wheels of your carriage turn and you hope your fate will be kind to you.

[pupil-of-law]

@mettleborn

Sebastian and his friends, idle before a charity dinner at the Rag club, were sitting in the drawing room of the Athenaeum at dull talk about foreign office investments. Sebastian was brushing at pieces of fluff on his no.1 jacket. He had not wanted to come here, but it would have been indelicate to voice his dissent. Ever since he had returned to London, he had felt the prickle of Lord Cavendish’s warning - of which he remembered every word, and often at night did, in the thrall of insomnia - at his back wherever he went. He hadn’t seen nor heard tell of the man at all. It appeared he was out of town; likely at his crumbling old fortress in Cornwall with his coterie of doting servants. Or perhaps still with Miss Adelia, of whom Sebastian also sometimes thought on cold nights in wind-battered tents. And so he sat with relative ease in his armchair at the Athenaeum, one of Cavendish’s old haunts, until at one seemingly harmless moment he looked up from his jacket - and saw the man, standing on the landing at the top of the stairs, with hanging on his arm, Sebastian’s sister Florence.

It took a moment for the sight to register properly. Sebastian’s pale eyes became dilated and a cold flush went through him which drained the colour from his face. It was only when his fellow Second Lieutenant, Henrik, noticed that Sebastian hadn’t passed the tea when asked, that anybody else was drawn to the scandalous sight. Henrik frowned, and then laughed. ‘Well that’s an Emperor’s Triumph if I ever I saw one.’ Indeed, a more perfectly executed glorious return to society could not have been imagined. Only Cavendish could have strategised such a scandal, and Sebastian was suddenly reminded of how deeply he hated the man.

‘How dare he?’ Sebastian breathed, hardly aware that the others could hear him until someone replied. ‘I think it’s very enterprising of him. She’s developing charmingly.’ Sebastian turned with a brow creased in pure bafflement at this assessment. Florence was, despite Sebastian’s myopia, a perfect example of a young English rose. Under the club’s skylight ripples of sunlight streaked her crimped hair, and her little tyrannical mouth, with its expectant parted lips, was as pink as the taffeta bow on her dress. This was all most ordinary in girls of her age and class - as was her slight chubbiness of the arms and ankles, her pale skin and her impudent expressions - and in her ordinariness she never usually made any particularly overwhelming demands on mens’ curiosity.

‘Come Sebastian, it’s only to be expected,’ said one of Sebastian’s superiors, grey-haired and wearing the blue ribbon and garter star. ‘Her mother at that age was just same. There is nothing like breeding, is there?’ Sebastian did not join the light laughter of agreement that followed the comment. Seeing Cavendish turn his back on Florence to approach the bar, he was on his feet at once and advancing towards her, sword on hip, as if approaching an enemy officer. She had one hand on the rail of the balcony and the other still resting on Cavendish’s arm, and was smiling at her brother like the cat that got the cream. Instead of addressing her, Sebastian gave her a silent, stern look, before looking to Cavendish as he turned around from paying the barman.

‘May I speak to you outside, Lord Cavendish,’ he said. ‘Alone.’ A little twitch of pleasure passed across Florence’s chubby face, and she almost - almost - rolled her eyes at him. ‘Don’t pretend you’ve had no part in this, Sebastian,’ she said. ‘Talk at home has been of nothing but your infamous machiavel Cavendish for months. I have been looking forward to meeting him for ages.’ ‘I hardly think there will be much in common between you and Lord Cavendish, Florence. Please go home and for god’s sake say nothing about this.’ ‘Or what, Sebastian? Are you going to strike me down with your sabre?’

[freshmangojuice]

Favourite Cat Outfits 6/10

Indigo crushed velvet tailcoat with decorative buttons and stiff gold lace cuffs over a ruffled taffeta shirt in lilac, tucked into purple scale-textured leggings with stirrups secured over the arch of purple shoes. His accessories are purple and gold and include a crowned crest brooch, an oversized gold cross earring, a gold chain belt with medallions which dangle in the middle, and purple gloves with a gold ring on each hand, one of which has a large purple stone. Designed by Howard Burden

[pacthesis]

áo dài month - week 1

day 1

no raglan sleeve!

cool piping!

looks kinda masc imo!

embroidered and 3d flowers!

sequin bird! cool tassel!

the headpiece (khăn đóng) is a type of turban! it was a gift from my mom's coworker! she wore it on her wedding day!

day 2

the iconic raglan sleeve! like a baseball tee!

first made their debut in the 1950s apparently!

floral appliques!

short sleeve!

my parents got this from a nice local!

day 3

ditched the raglan sleeve for a trendy puff sleeve!

but still kept the iconic high collar!

crystal beading along neckline and sleeves!

double layered chiffon!

looks regency romance imo!

day 4

embroidered flowers!

iconic raglan sleeve!

iconic high collar!

iconic long panels!

cropped blazer and denim.. probably less iconic!

many vintage áo dài use snap fastener buttons in the front! now more áo dài use a back zipper for ease and convenience!

day 5

floral print!

sheer raglan sleeve!

taffeta long panels!

the headband (khăn vấn) is another type of turban! i think..

my mom said she thinks it resembles more of the northern style!

day 6

embroidered flowers along sleeves, bust and panel!

thrifted lace duster!

my mom wore one over her áo dài for her wedding!

áo dài can be worn whenever! work, school, casually, formally- by men, women, kids- everyone!

day 7

knee-length panels!

round collar!

jacquard!

sakura, butterfly and dove print!

2023 is the year of the cat! meo! this year’s element is water!

anyway the vietnamese zodiac uses cat! the chinese zodiac uses rabbit!

[pridepages]

(On a Thursday, I'll be on time one of these days...)

Henry and Cat are figuring out that growing up doesn't always mean outgrowing your past...

Her eyes fell to Henry’s wedding band. “I wish I knew how to be the kind of person someone chooses to love.” “We chose you,” he reminded her. “Your Papa and I, all those years ago and every day since. You don’t need to become the sort of person someone chooses to love. You already are.”

Cat shook her head. “It’s not the same—”

“I know, but—”

“—you didn’t really have a choice.”

That brought Henry up short. “What?”

Cat shrugged. “We all know you, Dad. You’re just…” she smiled faintly, “too good for your own good. You wouldn’t let Aunt Bea give up her career. Nan was getting older, she’d already raised three kids. No one wanted to let Great-Gran have me—may she rot in hell—”

“Hang on—”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She ran a tired hand over her face, missing her father’s appalled expression. “Who did that leave? So yes, you chose me, but it wasn’t really a choice at all.”

“How long have you been thinking like this?”

“A couple of years? I don’t know. At some point, I grew up enough to stop being a selfish, only-child teenage asshole and like…think.” She picked up her tea. Looked at it. Put it back down again. “You weren’t that much older than I am now. You had this whole life ahead of you—you could have gone anywhere and done anything. But you had to give that all up. You sacrificed so much just to raise a fucked up kid.” 

She looked so small when she said it—

Breathless and bundled in taffeta, bounding downstairs—“I can stay?”

Little arms locked tightly around his neck—“I won’t go!”

All this time, he’d been resigned to setting her free…

When really what she wanted to know…

“I don’t want to get in your way.”

…was that she was still his.

Maybe we never completely outgrow our childhood fears, Henry realized. Maybe we’re never too old to hope Dad’s coming with a light to show us there isn’t really a monster hiding under the bed.

“It wasn’t a sacrifice,” he said quietly. You can’t outgrow me.

She didn’t look up, but he could always tell from the way she held herself still—like a little bird on the edge of taking flight—that she was listening carefully. 

“It wasn’t a sacrifice,” he repeated. “It was a gift. Freely given.” I’m right here.

I’m not going anywhere.

[sychosid]

I've prayed enough, I rolled the dice

"Hangman" Adam Page/Swerve Strickland

[Ao3 link]

Swerve Strickland's forgotten, until he's reminded, and now he has to follow the chain into the unknown, way out there.

(Lord Huron inspired AU)

Ancient Names, Pt. I.

It was by a roadside stop.

A young woman, with ochre tinted skin and green eyes sat there, at a table just outside the entrance to the brown brick building. She had jet black hair, a thick curtain of bangs covering her forehead. Her clothes were unremarkable: a purple and red hoodie, ripped black jeans, and black converse shoes. More notably were her various black piercings and tattoos. Industrials, conch, multiple lobe piercings. A septum piercing, a labret piercing, snake bites, and an eyebrow piercing on her right eyebrow. All black, either small hoops or simple studs. Around her wrist, just barely peeking out from her hoodie sleeve was a tattoo of barbed wire that seemed to go up her arm.

By all means, nothing was flashy about her to Swerve. Some girl into alt culture.

Her feet tapped along to an unknown beat, as she shuffled cards and aimlessly laid them down on a taffeta tablecloth. The cloth was red, embroidered in a rainbow of different celestial shapes. Stars, moons, ringed planets, suns. There was a clear handmade quality to the embroidery job. She would pick up the cards, roll some dice, lay cards down, and pick them up after looking them over. Her face changed from apathetic, to amused, to something adjacent to excited. Intrigued, even?

Swerve had been watching her for a while from his seat in his car. Ditching the sports car at home, he rented an SUV with some reasonable mileage. It still was a nice car, a deep red and only a year or so old.

He had been traveling alone. Leather jacket, fur lined around the neck covered his torso. He wore a hoodie, black, under the jacket, and tight fitting jeans with basketball shoes. His own scheme was reds and blacks. It amused him, the overlapping color scheme between himself and the young woman. The smirk on his face wouldn't exactly go away. Something was tempting him to humor the young lady. He had been observing as people walked by her, either ignoring her like she didn't exist, or whispering to each other and avoiding her like she was toxic to the touch.

There was a plastic fold out chair across from her, tucked into the table. In the twenty or so minutes he observed, not a single person sat down.

It wasn't a surprise. Normally these booths were set up to sell things like honey or local fruits. It wasn’t like there were any prices or things like that written down. Just…this young lady dealing cards and rolling dice to herself. 

Eventually, she stood up and went inside the rest stop building. That was when Swerve made his move. He exited his car, and walked to the folding table. Curiously, he looked over the set up, before pulling the plastic chair out and sitting down in it. There was a slight creak, the hard plastic bending a little under him. He leaned back, taking a photo of the table in front of him.

“That'll be five dollars.” The girl was next to him, silent like a stalking cat, holding a cup of something. Hershey's Ice Cream, with a straw in it. A milkshake.

Swerve hadn't even heard her come out but he didn't jump when she spoke. Still, a chill ran down his spine that he ignored, before looking up at the girl. He could better see her makeup too. Red around her eyes, thin black eyeliner, and black lipstick.

There was something about her dark green eyes; the amused smile on her face. It left another chill down his spine. This girl was cold.

“I’m kidding. I do everything for free. Sort of. I don’t take cash.” She moved around the table, sitting down across from the dark haired man. “I’m Caroline Cain.”

“Swerve. Strickland.” He introduces himself, leaning back in the plastic chair. He keeps up the unphased demeanor, despite the skin crawling sensation that wouldn’t get away.

Caroline hummed in response. “You’re looking for something, aren’t you?”

“Looking for something? Little lady, I'm not looking for anything.” Swerve knew he was lying, to her, and to himself.

“You’re searching. Wandering. Aimless. You forgot, and you need to remember.”

“Listen–”

“YOU listen.” Caroline snaps, squinting her eyes. She has the cards in hand, shuffling them and putting them down before grabbing the handful of dice. She holds them out, right in front of his mouth. “Blow.”

He follows the command as if compelled by her words.

She rolls the dice, the sound against the taffeta soft.

And then again,

And again.

Swerve looks over at the dice. A skull, a six, a four, and two twos.

“You’re looking for the Dead Eye. Your luck has been set back. You don’t even realize it. There’s much in your life you don’t even know you’re missing, you’re not seeing.”

Swerve stared down at the dice. At the skull.

“It counts as one. You’re real lonesome. A lone cowboy, hm?”

“I’m not the cowboy.” The response was automatic, Swerve snapping his head up. Caroline looked…smug? Curious? Her face was unreadable to him. It unsettled him.

“Mmm…no you’re not.” She nodded, putting the dice aside and grabbing the deck of cards. They were playing cards, simple enough. 

The joker. And two twos. Three cards. 

The joker, a dancing skeleton. One of the two cards was a skull, and the other was two moons. He’d never seen cards with suits like this. 

“You’re looking for him. The joker, and you’re walking parallel paths. He and you, you’re undergoing a great change. You both have to follow your intuition. The ■■■■■ is broken, but you can fix it. Follow the ■■■■ ■■■■■. You need to–”

“That’s it. Whatever bullshit scam this is, it’s over.”

“Scam?” Caroline hummed, looking to the side. “If you say so.”

He pulls out his wallet, taking out a twenty dollar bill and throwing it on the table before walking away. She waves a little, smiling.

Swerve doesn’t look back.

The sky had been clear, but there was thick cloud coverage moving in from the southeast. It was dark, gray clouds. A storm was rolling in while Swerve got in his rental car. He drove away, turning his headlights on as he exited the parking lot. Something was harrowing about that interaction.

There was a chill in his bones as he drove into the storm, his head drowning in thoughts, flashes, memories that he couldn’t remember.

Hail hit his car, small pellets, 

before driving into rain, 

into snow. 

The roads were winding,

up and down,

unfamiliar to Swerve.

His car drove into the mist, descending into the valley of a hill. 

He was driving for hours. 

He was driving for minutes. 

Through decades, through eons, through nothing, through everything. 

His younger self, somewhere on the streets of Seattle. His veins, filled with void. He didn’t know, but he did. He wanted to be somewhere, he had to be.

Where did he have to be?

A familiar face, familiar dirty blonde hair, blood spilling out. Choking on it. Gurgling up, uncanny taste of metal as he can’t breathe anymore, his neck is chained, he can’t breathe–

Swerve sits up with a start, in a motel room. Cold sweat drips down his forehead, the hum of the radiator and his own breathing filling the room. A car passes by, headlights briefly illuminating the room. There’s the shadow of a man, tall and broad. His hair is to his shoulders, and that’s all Swerve can tell. He’s familiar as much as he’s unfamiliar. 

At the edge of the bed, there it is. The chain from his dream. The chain that was wrapped around the shadow’s neck.

He reaches out, and it’s colder than ice, and it hurts, but he reaches out and holds it and brings it up, and sees it, sees the rust and the dried blood, flaking off, and something compels him, draws him in, and he brings his lips to the blood and it’s sweet and it’s warm and it’s like everything he’s needed and it’s like nothing he’s ever had.

He knows now, his soul does, that this was what he needed to find. What Caroline had said. What she was saying. This chain was binding, and it had been broken, and now he had to follow it to way out there to find what he needed.

He had to follow the chain.

To him.

[theamazingchickenman]

"No, new Tumblr features, you are a bad. No one wants to look down here and no one's coming here for boobie streamers. Go get a job. File your W-2 forms. Pay a taxes. Contribute to society and hug all the trees. Move to Romania. Start a spice garden. Store fennel in your armpits during the rainy season. Play hour upon hour of Ski Free and pee your pants every time the yeti eats your guy. Tell your racist uncle he smells like pennies. Sit and play inappropriate sound clips from the presidential debate on your phone during Christmas mass. Adopt a penguin. Put her through college. Appoint her to the Supreme Court. Move to Iowa. Move out of Iowa. Convince stupid children that Iowa is actually Tennessee. Convince people from Tennessee that they've been bought out ad hoc by the government of Thailand. Call Nashville Bangkok. Make popcorn in a blender. Tell your mom you're going to Stacy's but go to that one graveyard behind the derelict ruins of Radio Shack and summon Cat Stevens even though he may not actually be dead, then share kielbasa with him. Eat the Alamo. Join a ska band. Play rock flute for Nine Inch Nails. Trim them down to 8.756 inches just to mess with Trent Reznor's hamster. Buy him a second hamster. Teach them to love. Go to the movies and put Junior Mints in all the cup holders. Consider taffeta. Send me twenty bucks for a new belt buckle. Hide in the cargo hold of a 757 and make obnoxious crunching sounds while you eat three pounds of cabbage and two entire elaborate trays of charcuterie. Feed the ducks. Forget who you are for five minutes. Imagine dragons. Drag imagines. Imagine dragon drag shows. Drag Imaginations. Pour Spaghetti-Os into the mouth of a sleeping Japanese businessman and have him invest in your fish rodeo ponzi scheme. Tell the fish they've been laid off and you're moving your company to Mexico. Become Zoltan the Ever Living. Sweat. Turn inside out on the Jersey Turnpike so that Matthew Mcconaughey loses a bet to late jazz singer Ella Fitzgerald. Be a bottle of Mott's Applesauce for exactly 22 minutes. Laugh at a stock photo of a woman laughing with a salad. Put a bench in front of the door so people can't get in at night and try to sell you Shamwows. Be real maple syrup.

Do all this and maybe. Just maybe. I'll become one of the Digidestined and stop slapping mailmen whenever I go outside.

I love you."

[trevlad-sounds]

Friday 7 July 2023 4:30 pm Mixtape 334 “Desolate Sails”

2023-07-07

Ambient drone instrumental sleep

Wednesdays, Fridays & Sundays. Support the artists and labels. Don't forget to tip so future shows can bloom.

There Is Another System-Le Corps Atomique-00:00

taennya-anemone-02:15

Cosmic Ground-Desolate-07:49

Swansither-The Great Teacher-17:17

IDRA-Ritual III-21:19

Lori Scacco-Interactivity in Plastic Space-28:27

A Winged Victory for the Sullen, Adam Bryanbaum Wiltzie, Dustin O'Halloran-The Slow Descent Has Begun-33:05

Tone Language-A Plants Day In Stages-37:33

Cate Brooks-Found Metals-43:44

Two Way Mirrors, Thomas Ragsdale-Lurking At The Well-46:54

Nueen-Wait Until Then-50:52

Maps and Diagrams-Bringtide-54:32

Cat Tyson Hughes-Taffeta Sails-56:58

ZENYA-Sim-58:44

[rhaaclaws]

Putting all of this under a cut btw since it ended up being 2k words long and. lol

Andros Stellar*

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion

It’s… Quite bad. It’s a mix of both but you have No idea if they're mad at you or not because they always keep the same stern look in their eye. You can go a while without knowing about their anger. If he decides he’s fed up with you or you tick them off with something seemingly small [such as complaining about Pixies when doing your report], he’ll suddenly blow up at you. He’ll suddenly be very aggressive and will in fact punch you or do something life threatening on impulse. For example, one time Pixies annoyed him a bit too much on a car ride and Andros drove them off the road to get him to shut up for a bit. If you want to instantly anger them it's quite simple actually. You just have to touch them. It can be something as simple as a hand on his shoulder to get his attention but that’s the most sure way to get decked on instinct. The only people allowed to touch Andros are Pixies, Fausta, Rabanne, Idai, Masami, Akemi, Dani, and Meldal. Pixies and Fausta are free to do it whenever, though, everyone else has to ask beforehand. [Princess and Prince are also allowed to hang out but. They’re cats so] The one who takes the absolute brunt of Andros’ anger issues is actually their stand, Supermassive Black Hole. When Andros looks at it, he sees the weakest parts of himself.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

Andros is essentially my love letter to astronomy. I think it’s quite obvious, considering their stand, day job, and just overall design. Black holes are something I want to specify in, and I wanted to share that. One thing was certain and I wanted him to have a black taffeta miniskirt and a sleeveless top that had a straight neckline. For everything else, like backstory, it was actually kind of a long journey. You can ask Atlas for confirmation but at first I had absolutely no idea on What to do because they’re really my first OC. I’m very happy with how I’ve developed them now though, and huuhhohohuh I really need to just Post about them more instead of keeping him in containment in Atlas’ dms

🚆 TRAIN - what is their answer to the trolley problem?

Ok I’m gonna use the version of the trolley problem where its 1 person they care about and 5 ppl they don't know of for all of the characters so

Andros would sacrifice the 5 people for someone they cared about. For any friend of theirs really but ESPECIALLY if it’s Pixies or Fausta. For Fausta because well, that’s the love of his life. For Pixies, they have a pact where if one dies the other one is also going so they can never be alone again. Go figure.

Dani Navarro

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion?

He has a very good temper actually, It’s something she has constantly been working on for years. Of course he gets mad from time to time, everyone does, but usually just goes somewhere where she can be alone for a bit and just blast some music. She also channels this anger into playing his bass. After needing an hour or two to calm down by himself, he goes back to normal like nothing happened. Not too many things really piss her off though.

Dani wasn’t this calm though. He spent a lot of his childhood with a lot of anger and would constantly lash out at people. She was… very aggressive and just had this expression of hatred at all times. At the time that's how he expressed all of his emotions, including when she just wanted to help. I’ll elaborate later but, the reason why she makes such an effort to be kind no matter what, is because one time he blew up at a close friend and the very next day when he went to apologize, he found that friend dead on the floor.

The only ever ‘relapse’ of this was when he got hazed by Pixies in entry to the org. When she realized that she was just repeating the same mistake as that time with his friend, he instantly stopped using his stand and began profusely apologizing to Pixies. Dani could’ve killed Pixies right then and there if she had gone too far. These two are now friends though.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

I wanted to make someone who was genderfuck lol. And then i was like hmmmm this character should be a metalhead and BOOM. Though what came first was actually his stand, Can’t Stop, and I had the idea for the ability for a while and midway through explaining I was like ohhh my god it could be called Can’t Stop. so Dani was assigned a peppers fan before anything lol. When I realized huh this stand could be very good for looping repetitive tasks, and well when ur on bass u do the same riff for the entire song, I mixed those two together and that was one for the foundations for Dani before he even had a name. Here’s a thing from my very first convo actually

🚆 TRAIN - what is their answer to the trolley problem?

In the classic trolley problem where it’s random people, Dani would choose to save the 5 people. He doesn’t enjoy needlessly killing more people than necessary.

In the version I mentioned with Andros… Dani would not know what the fuck to do. But if she has to act fast then… He chooses his loved one over the 5 people. She’s in the org after all, you have to make sacrifices. This doesn’t mean Dani would not care though, each person she sacrificed had a family and friends and people that cared about them. He knows that better than anyone.

Darling Nikki

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion?

Darling Nikki doesn’t get too mad often actually. Of course some people do in fact annoy her, but she knows they're gonna become her next meal so there’s not much to worry about. But if you Do manage to make them fully angry, you’re not even given a second before you’re dead. Those claws are sharp, after all. This isn’t too often though, and they prefer to take their sweet sweet revenge on those that begin to piss her off [remember the shotgun person who called her out on her bullshit?]

But if you want to make her angry as fast as possible? Mention something like “would your mother be proud?” or call them her birth name [which is always by accident by the way, they would never share this information with anyone]. Anything to do with Nikki’s mother is a death sentence.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

See the idea for her actually came to me in a vision while I was on a long ass long distance bus [6-7 hour ride btw.] and it was like i got fucking possessed and had to write down any and every idea that came to mind about her. Here are my notes from it actually, one thing i Needed though was for them to have a connection to blood in one way or another

🚆 TRAIN - what is their answer to the trolley problem?

For classical trolley problem, she would make it only kill one person. Not for any actual kind reason or for wanting to save people, but because she’d rather one 5 full meals that aren’t destroyed to bits instead of 1. Everyone’s dying lol.

For the ver I usually think of, Darling Nikki doesn’t actually really care about anyone, or at least before canon. Matejka is immortal so he wouldn’t die from this, but she’d save him the trouble of being in pain for days [aka not being able to see him for a bit] by killing those 5 people. If in this problem the person strapped in there was any of her lovers/special victims, they’d also kill the 5 people. For specifically Jane, while yeah she could just dematerialize to get away, Nikki would Not fucking take their chances in this and absolutely kill the 5 people because Jane really is… one of the only people Nikki has Ever loved. Not that fake love where they say “I love you” to future meals, but genuine love.

While the result of the following scenario would be the same as the ones I just talked about… I need to point out the one with their mother. Nikki was born before there were even trains invented, so this wouldn’t really be a problem but if for Whatever reason her mother is around right now, Nikki would do Anything to keep her mother alive. She would do anything her mother asked.

Akemi Masuwaka

🌋 VOLCANO - how bad is their temper? is it a slow boil, or a instant explosion?

Her temper is very good actually! She has a way of making stuff not affect her as much, insults just pass through her in a way. Some of the most frustrated you’ll see her is actually in cheer and when her make up isn’t looking good or if her hair is just not cooperating. But these moments of ‘anger’ do pass super quickly. The reason for it is. Quite horrors but that’s not the focus ^_^

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

One day I just went up to Atlas and was like “wait holy shit how have we not made a gyaru charcater” and he was like “she should have a bestie who’s emo” and well the rest is history. The emo friend is Masami btw ^_^ but something I wanted to do about Akemi’s character is a story about realizing she was a lesbian. And it’s something important for me yaknow, specially with how for so long Akemi was in denial about it.

🚆 TRAIN - what is their answer to the trolley problem?

In classical problem: She chooses to sacrifice one person to save others.

In my ver: She struggles for a second because like What The Fuck. Akemi would give it all for Masami though, including in this. She’d never forgive herself for killing her best friend

Chamber Of Reflection

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

Alright so I’ll only be doing this question bc. This is a House/stand. But I wanted this place to be one where time is thin in a way. I read this one tumblr post of this person who lived in a victorian house and saw this little boy occasionally and how that little kid would be called by [presumably] his mother to stop talking about ghosts or something. I thought that story was soso interesting, so it got me thinking of making a stand based off of that. Where YOU are the ghost in someone else’s life.

[styleofdiamandis]

             PHOTOSHOOT: L’OFFICIEL MAGAZINE

Marina once again demonstrated her commitment to her glamorous style for the US version of L’Officiel. Photographed by Michael Beckert in NYC’s The Pierre Hotel back in February 2019, the editorial shows Marina wearing the finest runway pieces and high jewelry.

Styling by Yael Quint and Mina Erkli, makeup by Mariko Arai and hair by Sean Bennett.

For the first look, Marina wears a full Chanel Spring/Summer 2019 look which comprises a beaded white knit sweater with the house's signature camellia flower sitting on each shoulder, and a bouclé midi skirt featuring multicolored palms embroidery, and a high slit.

The Greek-Welsh beauty was decked in lots of high jewelry for this editorial! These stunning morganite and diamond teardrop earrings are courtesy of Jacob & Co., whose designs we'll see much more of later!

Personally, no editorial is complete without some romantic Valentino in it! The off-the-shoulder black silk taffeta awe, our girl poses in, was the opening number from the Italian house’s Spring/Summer 2019 collection.

The look was accessorized with a diamond necklace which is courtesy of The Pierre NY hotel, and the Roger Vivier Maharaja black velvet slingback pumps with white feathers.

Both the Josie embellished floral embroidered chiffon sleeveless midi dress which looks like it could have been picked up straight from a painting...

...and black floral lace wide-brimmed hat with matching organza veil, M wrapped around her neck, are from Erdem’s Spring/Summer 2019 runway show!

She crowned the look with Bvlgari’s Serpenti Obere white-gold and diamond huggie earrings.

Next, our girl is seen wearing a Zac Posen Spring/Summer 2019 off-the-shoulder draped mermaid gown in blue polka-dotted degradé taffeta.

More high jewelry from the house of Bvlgari! Firstly, a pair of Serpenti earrings in 18k white-gold, set with pavé diamonds ($60,123.41)...

...and, of course, the Serpenti Viper two-coil bracelet in 18k white-gold, set with full pavé diamonds.

In this beautiful shot Marina lounges in her bed while wearing a cotton terry bathrobe from The Pierre NY featuring their logo embroidered in gold.

The house of Jacob & Co. signed her earrings crafted from 18k white-gold earrings set with 8 natural Colombian briolette emeralds totaling 68.98 carats highlighted by 245 marquise, pear and round brilliant cut diamonds totaling 11.96 carats...

...and the matching show-stopping necklace, featuring 16 Colombian briolette emeralds!

Last but definitely not least, we got a Gucci Spring/Summer 2019 look! This is the nautical-inspired long-sleeved A-line midi dress with collar in contrasting blue & red, and buttoned front.

Slim-silhouetted eyewear was a huge trend back in 2018/19 and these Poppy Lissiman Le Skinny clear cat-eye glasses definitely fit the bill!

Bvlgari created her snake head-shaped Serpenti earrings in 18k white-gold, set with emerald eyes and full pavé diamonds.

As you might have guessed by now, they’re also behind her Serpenti Viper 18k white-gold ring set with pavé diamonds.

The final piece of this look (and this spread) is this Gucci mini Zumi purse in burgundy lizard leather. It features a top handle, detachable gold-tone chain strap and the house’s logo and signature horsebit hardware in silver & gold.

[nyantsuderp]

A collage I did of my OC Taffeta! I actually doodled her in a different sketchbook, so that explains the layering;;;

Btw if anyone's interested, the Mao cat snack sticker and cat stamp washi sticker are by joiingart!

Oh, and did you know that the Mao snack sticker is actually inspired by Tora, a Malaysian childhood snack? Tora's like those lil' chocolate biscuits, and it comes with a small toy! Tho I'm 100% sure this snack is popular in the ASEAN region.