#this would go so hard embroidered in my bag

[kukopelli]

Beasts o mine

[roguishcat]

Augustarion Day 7 – Underwear

Day 1 -🍓, Day 2 - 🌊, Day 4 - Mythologies, Day 6 - Cream, Day 14 - Protective, Day 15 - Shirt that goes hard

Pairing: female reader (You) x Astarion

Tags: fluff with a tiny bit of angst

Excerpt: “Astarion, my love,” you began in a deceptively light tone as he approached your bed, “Quite coincidentally, I was just going through the lovely collection of underwear which you have gifted me since we got to the city. And seeing as you embroidered every single thing with such meticulous care, I couldn’t help but admire the beautiful work that you did. Every piece of lingerie with my name, embroidered in elvish. How sweet.”

Astarion felt a chill run down his spine, the treacly sweetness of your voice making him want to run. You couldn’t have possibly found out, right?

Word count: 1.9k

A/N This was supposed to be smut, but ended up being feels.

Astarion was in an excellent mood. Everything was going according to plan as you bagged a win after win, defying all odds.

You managed to obtain the second Netherstone, proving yourself to be a strong leader and brilliant strategist, confidently leading them into battle against the cultists. You defeated Orin and rescued Lae’zel, although Astarion still couldn’t understand why the githyanki didn’t just kill the shapeshifter herself.

Honestly. For such a formidable warrior she was quite good at letting herself be the damsel in distress. Not that he would ever say that to her face. He quite liked his head to remain on his shoulders and was sure that a thoughtless comment like that would be all the reason she needed to reach for her sword.

Of course, his fantastic mood was not the result of rescuing the githyanki. Lae’zel was no fun, as she barely tolerated his antics even on a good day. No, what had Astarion excited was the delicious promise in your eyes when you brushed past him earlier.

The others decided to celebrate their victory with a drink or ten, but you pulled him aside and whispered that you were waiting for him upstairs, giving his biceps a squeeze before sauntering off. Seeing as it would be just the two of you not getting sloshed, Astarion had a strong inkling that he knew exactly how his evening would go. And he had a little something that he picked up at Facemaker’s Boutique that he couldn’t wait for you to try on!

When Astarion entered the shared room at Elfsong, he could see that you were already there and scantily clothed. So far, an excellent start! He smirked and closed the door behind him.

“Darling, you look ravishing. But why don’t you put this lovely set on instead, hm? The pearly beads on the front gave me all sorts of exquisite, wicked ideas," he dropped his voice and all but purred as his eyes travelled up the length of your legs.

“Astarion, my love,” you began in a deceptively light tone as he approached your bed, “Quite coincidentally, I was just going through the lovely collection of underwear which you have gifted me since we got to the city. And seeing as you embroidered every single thing with such meticulous care, I couldn’t help but admire the beautiful work that you did. Every piece of lingerie with my name, embroidered in elvish. How sweet.”

Astarion felt a chill run down his spine, the treacly sweetness of your voice making him want to run. You couldn’t have possibly found out, right?

“Except, Shadowheart was kind enough to translate for me. Most considerate of her, isn’t it? Making sure that I know exactly what is stitched across my butt.”

Astarion laughed nervously and backed away, feeling that there is very little he could say in his defense. Perhaps if he got away from you for a bit and gave you time to calm down, you would both laugh about it in a day or two. One could hope. Without breaking eye contact, he felt for the doorhandle, but it wouldn’t budge.

Shit. Arcane lock on the door. Apparently, he was in very hot water and this conversation was happening.

“Let’s have a look at what do we have here, hm?” you spoke with a smile, humming as you selected a delicate, pretty blue pair.

“Do sit,” you said in a tone that left no room for argument.

Astarion swallowed nervously and reluctantly did as he was told, sitting on the opposite side of the bed with a pout. He knew this whole relationship idea was bad news from the very beginning.

“Cheeky pup,” you read without looking at him.

“You have to admit, darling, it’s not that bad-”

“If you can read this, I’m going to kill you,” you went on, picking a silk pair next.

“Well, I suppose that it is open to interpretation.”

“If found, return to Astarion,” you snapped your head in his direction.

“Well,” he gave a nervous laugh, “you do have a tendency to get into scrapes. And this way you-”

“The one that got lucky,” you lifted your eyebrows.

Ah, yes. He didn’t have anything to say in his defense here.

“Sucked dry.”

Astarion did some mental gymnastics as he tried to come up for some justifiable excuse to his actions.

“It’s not going to spank itself.”

Your honor, he had nothing.

“Best meal,” you pinched the bridge of your nose, not sure which one of these you found the most ridiculous.

“And, of course, there is still the pair that I’m wearing now. Which, if I recall correctly, you said was your favourite,” you crossed your arms and gave him a hard look. Astarion tried to seem visibly chastened, like a man ready to repent. You didn’t fall for it. You saw the way his lips twitched as he tried to fight back a smile.

“Do you know how stupid I felt when Shadowheart asked me why I just took what you said at face value? I wouldn't mind it if it was us having an in-joke, although some of these are just terrible, but why did you lie? Was it to laugh at my expense?” You threw the scrap of fabric at his chest, Astarion catching it with a quick, smooth movement.

“No, nothing like that!” he assured you passionately, hating that he made you feel this way. “It’s more of a- I don’t know,” Astarion groaned and ran his hand through his curls, not really sure how to explain what he was thinking at the time. Perhaps he wasn’t really thinking at all.

“I suppose I’m still getting used to- to whatever this is,” he admitted with some reluctance, looking down at his lap. “To having someone to share my thoughts with. To not being punished for stepping out of line. This whole being myself thing… It’s new.”

Your eyes locked with his as he looked up at you. Astarion could be a very believable liar, but he did have his tells. Such as playing with his fingers when he got nervous, worried or a little too vulnerable.

In spite of still being annoyed, you hated seeing him looking this dejected.

“Oh hells, I can’t stay mad at you when you pull out those eyes,” you smacked his arm.

“I know, my sweet,” he took your hand into his, placing a kiss onto the underside of your wrist, his tongue darting out to give it a quick lick.  

“But this was so childish!” you tried to keep your voice steady as he kissed his way up your arm. That was cheating. He knew what made you weak at the knees a little too well and was not playing fair.

“I know, punish me as you see fit,” he pulled you closer until you all but fell into him. “I will accept my fate without a word of complaint.”

“Without complaint? Now that would be something to see,” you chortled, pushing him away as you sensed that he was about to pounce.

You were not really angry. Just exasperated and annoyed at having to constantly figure him out. But now that Astarion gave you an explanation, however limited and disjointed, you were not really sure what to do. Perhaps you could have a little fun, though.

You plucked ‘the lucky one’ pair off the bed and waved it in front of his face with a grin.

“Put these on?”

“My love, this is a punishment. Say it with more conviction, more authority,” he growled and gripped your thigh tightly.

“Now,” you commanded, eyes flashing, chin lifted defiantly.

“Of course, my lady. Right away,” he gave you a shallow bow, making quick work of his clothes and then shimmying out of his underwear. You looking away with a blush was met with a self-satisfied chuckle. Astarion still delighted in the fact that even after all the times you were intimate, he still had the ability to fluster you with little effort.

“And you have to spend the whole evening in these,” you reminded him as he put his clothes back on.

“Hardly a punishment for me. It is you who will have to spend the whole evening imagining me in these. Do try to keep your composure in public. Wouldn’t want to find myself thrown against the wall in an alley and ravished as your hunger trumps reason. Now, allow your humble servant to assist you with your wardrobe, my lady.”

He got your clothes out and lay them on the bed, coaxing you out of your bathrobe and taking his time in dressing you, fingers gliding against skin as he delighted in hearing your breath hitch whenever he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Dearest,” Astarion lifted your chin with his finger, “I hope you didn’t feel the need to strip for Shadowheart to translate what is written on the underwear you are currently wearing.”

“No, I just assumed it was something silly and juvenile. Why?”

“No, nothing,” he answered a little too quickly.

“Astarion, just tell me.”

He took his time folding up your bathrobe and putting it away, not looking at you. And it could be a trick of candlelight, but you could swear that the tips of his ears were tinged pink.

“Mrs. Ancunín,” he mumbled and cleared his throat.

You did not react immediately. And apparently you not saying anything was worse than you rejecting the idea outright.

“I suppose it’s just wishful thinking on my part,” he gave a small, humorless laugh. “We don’t know if we can survive whatever horrors await us in the near future. And I am not exactly the best choice, far from it. There is very little I can offer and-”

You put your fingers on his lips and pecked his cheek, making his eyes fall shut as he savored the feeling.

“I’d love that. Truly. But I think that you are right. The next few weeks are going to be a lot. And if you still feel like asking at some point in the future, though I will love you no matter what you decide, I'm open to having this conversation. ”

He kissed your hand and then pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, letting up a little when he realised that breathing was a necessity for you.

“Can’t believe that you sort of proposed to me with a message on my butt,” he heard you mumble and laughed.

“You knew what you were getting yourself into,” he retorted as he heard the door unlock behind him, the spell no longer in place.

“Yes. I guess poor judgement was a prerequisite for entering this relationship?”

“Quite.”

And so the evening went on delightfully, if not quite in the way Astarion expected. You smiled and laughed with your friends. Astarion cheated at cards and won a small fortune, grinning widely as he swept the gold off the table and pocketed it. Occasionally, you saw him hover close by as he tried to listen in on your conversations in a way that would seem inconspicuous if you didn’t constantly catch him staring. From time to time, he frowned and shifted.

“Comfy?” you grinned, catching on to what was happening.

“No, these are terrible! How do you bear it?” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Well, they are cute and I like them. And to be fair, they were not made for comfort.”

“Tomorrow we are getting you the ugliest and most comfortable pair of granny panties which I will rip off just as enthusiastically come nighttime as any lacy number.”

You snorted and almost chocked on your wine.

A/N I imagine Astarion reclaiming his autonomy and learning how to be in a relationship is quite a learning curve, seeing that during the 200 years in servitude anything and everything could result in him being punished. The 'If you're reading this, you managed to bed or behead me. Either way, you got lucky' embroidery on his underwear was such a cheeky way to rebel. Brave too, all things considered. I imagine that it would take a while for Astarion to not hide something from others because hiding has been almost instinctive to him for so long.

Sorry for the long author's note. Hope you enjoyed the story!

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

[koolades-world]

The moment the om cast realized they fell in love with you (part three)

requested by a few people! here it is :)

Diavolo

He had been looking forward to the end of the week for what felt like hundreds of years now. He always wished it was the weekend, so that wasn't it. Although the thought of making every day Saturday was very tempting, Lucifer and Barbatos would not forgive him. What he really was looking forward to was his first one-on-one sleepover with Mc. Every time in the past they had happened to have a sleepover, everyone else was there. The brothers loved hogging Mc's attention. Not that he could blame them, though. He adored spending time with Mc. Just the fact that they agreed to come to the palace to spend time with him without the brothers present made him giddy. He wasn't sure if it was getting to have casual time with Mc and getting to learn human sleepover traditions.

When he initially suggested having a sleepover to Mc, it was because they mentioned having lots of fond memories when they were younger of sleepovers. It was only after the fact that he realized what he had just done. It didn't make him any less excited, but he felt more antsy about it. He had even worked extra hard and gotten more work done than he usually would to get Barbatos off his back for a night. Lucifer had even promised to keep his brothers away from them for the night so they could enjoy time together.

Mc had sworn to show him everything that humans younglings do at sleepovers, including doing each others nails and hair, throwing mini fashion shows, reading popular magazines, raiding the fright for midnight snacks, binge watching movies, and of course, playing games. He was looking forward to learning more about humans, but he found himself looking forward to spending time with Mc. He was always so busy, so this would be a rare opportunity.

The moment he heard Mc had finally arrived at the castle, he was scrambling to meet them at the door. Unfortunately Barbatos was too attentive for him, so he had to settle for meeting them in the grand hall. They were carrying a pink duffle bag that could barely close, something they borrowed from Asmo thanks to his name being embroidered across the side. They were dressed in pajamas, already prepared for the night. Mammon stood by their side, looking like he was ready to go out.

"Have fun, Mc. Let me know if ya wanna go home at any time. I'll come getcha even if it's three in the mornin'." He wrapped an arm around Mc's shoulders and side hugged them for a moment before letting go.

"I will. See you tomorrow. Stay safe, get home at a good time. Don't stay out too late." Mc patted Mammon's arm, and he reluctantly left after glancing at Barbatos, Diavolo, and Mc. Diavolo felt smug, but he wasn't sure why. There was no reason to be. He quickly let go of that feeling in favor of finally getting to spend time with Mc. "Hi Dia. Hi Barbatos." Mc waved to the prince and his butler.

"Please let me know if you need anything, My Lord. I'll be attending matters else where. Dinner will be done shortly." Barbatos excused himself.

"So, where are we sleeping?" Mc shifted the bag on their shoulder. Diavolo reached over and took it from them since it looked heavy.

"Well, would you be fine staying in my room? Of course, if you're uncomfortable, I can arrange something else-" Diavolo began to regret his earlier decision and grew anxious that Mc might not like it.

"I don't mind. That's part of a sleepover anyways!" Diavolo let out a mental sigh of relief. He should have known Mc would have been fine with it. They happily followed him through the castle, waving to Little Ds as they passed by. They arrived at his room eventually. He nervously opened the door. He had made sure it was extra clean before hand.

"Earlier today I went out shopping and bought loads of things I think you'll love! It wasn't easy to find some of this." They unzipped the duffle bag once they were in his room. Underneath the clothes and toiletries were an assortment of items. nail polish, various human board games, a Devil Switch that he recognized as Levithan's, and some magazines.

"Woah! You got all of this just for me?" Diavolo excitedly picked up a game box and shook it, listening to the pieces inside.

"I would say let's not start too much right now since Barbatos said dinner is almost done, but, I have another idea. A core part of a sleepover is ordering takeout! My favorite is Chinese and Thai, but pizza is more typical. Actually, do you even have that down here? I'm still not sure." Mc began removing the things they needed from their bag.

"Are you suggesting we... skip dinner?" Diavolo looked at Mc.

"Well, not exactly. We can still eat some, but just leave room for takeout later. I can't deny, Barbatos' cooking will be better." Mc nodded, with mischievous grin. Diavolo felt his heart skip at that smile; the smile they gave to everyone in the room. But, this time, it was all for him. It actually reminded him of the smile of an angel. He basked in their glory.

"Alright! You don't think he'll figure out, will he?" Dia questioned. Mc turned away from him, and when they turned back, he felt blasted by their smile again.

"Oh, there's no way he won't know. I don't think he'll stop us though as long as he eat a little. We can't waste his hard work, after all." Mc stacked the boxed games in a pile, placing the magazines on top of that. They pulled a laptop out of the bag and placed it with Devil Switch. He suddenly felt very stupid. He should have known that Barbatos would know, and probably knows right now.

He could blame the pounding in his chest for this forgetfulness. He always felt this way around Mc. He always managed to find a way to act afool around them. Before their arrival, he was always more put together and serious. Things were more chaotic now, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. He finally had someone to be less princely with, someone who would indulge his shenanigans. He would trade the fun with consequences for the boring days of paperwork any day.

Diavolo suddenly received a text from Barbatos telling him dinner was ready, and to bring Mc. "Barbatos says dinner is done and we should go down to eat." Mc looked up from their things.

"Alright. Let's go then." They began giggling as they left, leaving Diavolo to follow. They pretty knew their way around the castle from how often they were there. They excitedly told him everything they had planned for the rest of the night. He chimed in with all the questions he had, to which Mc answered diligently. Once they reached the grand dining room where Barbatos had set out their plates. Tonight was brushetta, dinner rolls, and a fancy looking pasta dish.

"Thank you Barbatos!" Mc thanked the demon. Despite saying they would not eat very much, they finished their entire plate. The entire meal, both Diavolo and Mc were chortling together to which Barbatos looked at them knowingly. As soon as the meal was over, they both thanked Barbatos again and scurried off quickly.

"First, we have to order the pizza, because we need to eat that before we do our nails, otherwise we might mess them up." Mc turned on their D.D.D. and placed the order online with Dia's opinion. As soon as the order was placed, Mc moved onto the next thing. Dia found it a little hard to keep up, but was excited. Time flew when he was with Mc.

First, the played a few human board games. They played Scrabble, Operation, and Life. Mc had brought more but they decided to stop early since they thought they might run out of time if they kept going. Their food arrived in the middle of the second game, so they ate as they played. After that, Mc insisted they do their nails and skincare. All the products they had were curtesy of Asmo. After using the products he knew he needed to get them for himself. After that, they played games on the Devil Switch that Levi had lent them. However, time seemed to slow when Mc brought out the magazines.

It wasn't the magazines themselves. Mc had brought a few choices, just in case Diavolo wasn't in the mood to read one of them. Mc recommended one fashion magazine to him, but he found himself lost in several places, so Mc suggested they read it together. What he wasn't expecting was for them to climb into his lap. They began flipping through the magazine in his hands, pointing at things on the pages, but all he could focus on was Mc on his lap. No other real thoughts went through his head. Luckily for him, Mc didn't notice and eventually, he was able to pay attention to what they were saying.

He felt warm with all the feelings buzzing inside him. At one point, he thought they might leave him, but they just leant far enough to grab their laptop. They pulled up Deviltube to put on a movie. Again, the entire time, the only thing he could focus on was Mc. Mc was so trusting and kind to him. They had been nothing but the best to him. He just couldn't place what he was feeling for them. It felt oddly familiar. As Mc leant back into his chest, he suddenly realized what that feeling was. He sat on it for a while as the movie played in the background.

"Mc?" Diavolo whispered after the movie was over. Mc didn't respond. He tilted his head and realized they were asleep. He smiled and tucked a blanked over the both of them. Now he was just left with his love for Mc and where he might go from there.

Barbatos

Barbatos carefully set up the tea table for two. He was expecting Mc over at the castle that evening, just after dinner. He would have preferred before dinner in order to steal them away from the brothers for longer, but this still worked. He has to make sure everything was just perfect, for them.

He made sure the tea he made was the kind the liked and all the little snacks were their favorite. He has grown to have them as his favorite too, since it reminded him of them. He thought the little set up for two was quite cute after looking back at his work.

“Barbatos! Mc is here!” A little D called out to him. He quickly stopped rearranging the table cloth. Was it really that time already? He grew slightly embarrassed at losing track of time and not being there in person to greet them.

“Thank you. You are most appreciated.” He made sure he was put together before heading to the door.

“Barb! So happy to see you!” Mc smiled at him as soon as he opened the door and practically tackled him into a hug. He chuckled and patted their back.

“Hell, Mc. It’s a delight to see you as well.” Mc took a step back to look him in the eyes.

“I have something for you!” They rocked on the heels as they presented him with a little gift bag that had a cute little label that said “for Barbatos.” He felt his heart begin to race at how giddy they looked.

“How thoughtful of you.” He accepted the gift and met Mc’s expecting eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Open it! I’m excited to see what you think.” They giggled. He carefully pushed aside the tissue paper to reach what was underneath. Inside, was a few small bags of tea was labels he didn’t recognize. “It’s tea from the human world! I figured you must have tried pretty much all of them by now, but when I went to the human world the other day, I couldn’t help but wander into that shop and think of you.” They clasp their hands together, swinging them around.

“Thank you very much. It smells lovely. You always know exactly what to give as gifts.” He found himself lost in their happy grin.

“If you like them, we can go to the human world together. I remember the name of the shop. I think you would like it in there.” They flipped over one of the small bags to reveal the name of the shop hand written on the back.

“That sounds wonderful. We must do that.” Despite how collected he looked, on the inside he was scrambled. Mc invited him to the cute little tea shop. As… a date? Was he thinking too far into this? They both enjoyed tea, that’s all. Surely that wasn’t their intention.

“Let me know what you think. I tried the green tea, and that one in particular reminded me of you.” They showed him a different bag of a green, almost silvery colored tea with various little pearls of some kind mixed in.

“You really are the most endearing human I have ever met.” He held the bag up to the light, watching as the light eddied and danced around it.

“I’m glad you like it.” Mc smiled nervously. He felt himself begin to melt at their precious smile.

“Let me go drop this off in kitchen, then we will be off to our tea. Please excuse me for a moment.” Barbatos bowed and turned to leave the room. As he left. He heads Mc saying goodbye. He wasn’t sure what they would do while he was gone, but he needed a moment to regather himself.

He placed the tea with the rest, leaving the little gift bag on the counter for later. He glanced in a nearby mirror for a moment. He looked as he usually did. Nothing was amiss with his appearance. It was always perfect. Despite this, he still fixed his hair and shirt. He took a deep breath and made his way back to where he left Mc.

When he reentered the room, he couldn’t find Mc at first. He grew nervous. Had they left him? Was it something he said? However, the situation had no time to escalate. He heard Mc just down a nearby hall, conversing with a Little D.

“Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with Mammon. Maybe Lucifer will let us do a trade! You’re both yellow.” Mc laughed. He has heard that laughter about a million times now, but he never grew tired of it, and how gorgeous is sounded. When he pushed open the door a little more, he saw Mc on the ground. Barbatos rushed over to check on them, just in case something might be wrong.

“Hi! Sorry I wandered off a little. Just helping #2.” Barbatos looked at what was in their hands. They were holding a dust pan flat against the ground. Little D #2 was holding the matching brush and pushing some debris into the pan.

“You are a guest here. Please do not feel obligated to help out around here.” Barbatos knelt beside them to take the dust pan.

“I wanted to! I love #2. I just happened to see them here, and lent a hand since this is what they were doing. You know me. I hate standing around while those I love are hard at work.” Mc placed a hand on his shoulder. At first, he was unsure about how to feel about what they said. Then, he felt a little jealous that Mc had admitted they loved Little D #2. It was stupid of him to be, and he knew it was more of a parental love (even though #2 was much older than Mc). But he couldn’t help it.

Barbatos got back up and watched as Mc finished cleaning with #2, musing over his thoughts. He replayed their words in his head over and over again. Maybe he was looking too deep into it, but he still grew hopeful. Maybe Mc loved him too. Mc always found a way to interrupt his cleaning duties and take them over. He still found it odd that even though they were just a human and were limited on everything that he wasn’t, such as energy and time, they still went out of their way to reduce his work load.

He waved these thoughts away. He was most definitely looking into it too much. “If that’s what you so wish, I will not stop you. If you’re done here, may we proceed to our tea?” Barbatos offered his arm to them once they stood up. He hoped they would take it.

“We may! You’re such a gentleman.” They giggled and accepted his offer. They leant close to him, placing their head on his shoulder. “Bye #2! Nice seeing you!” As Mc waved to the Little D, Barbatos led them to the tea table he set up. He was so giddy at how close they were to him. It felt nice to have them all to himself. It felt good to not have to compete with the brothers or His Majesty.

While he would never admit it, he was always unsettled of sorts that Mc might choose someone else and never return to him. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling despite living for as long as he had. He recognized the underlying reason behind all of his bubbling emotions when he was around Mc. It has been so long since he felt like he loved someone they way he did Mc. But he wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet, at least.

The whole way to tea, Mc talked his ear off. Barbatos enjoyed listening to their chatter. He felt like he could listen to it forever. He chimed in at their request, as when they asked questions and such. When they finally reached the cute tea table he had set up, he proudly presented it to them.

"Barb! You shouldn't have! You're so sweet! This is adorable. You remembered my favorites too!" Mc squealed and did a couple little happy hops. They pulled Barbatos into another tight hug. Before they pulled away, however, they gave him a peck on the cheek. He felt himself seize up, his arms frozen around them. Mc didn't notice, as they continued shaking him around joyfully.

If he had felt this before, he surely would have remembered it. He had felt love before, but it hadn't been nearly this strong. The love he had for Mc had him in a tight chokehold. Despite him working hard everyday, nobody appreciated him as much as Mc did. Every little thing he did for Mc did not go unnoticed and they always tried to take some of the work off his back. They always said thank you, which even Lord Diavolo and Lucifer couldn't even match. Once they let him go, he tucked them into their seat and let them pour about how amazing his work was to him.

"Awwww, you even iced my name on the little treats! Next time, you should come to the House of Lamentation, so I can do the same for you! It won't be this but I want to do the same for you." Those words are what finally sealed the coffin. He was most definitely in love with the person across from him. Nobody ever did anything for him. He found himself sad once their time together was over. He insisted on walking them home, so he could keep them safe and enjoy a little more time with them. He had always taken time for granted despite being the one to understand it to the fullest. Now, he treasured every second.

"Thank you Barb. I really had so much fun. I hope you enjoy the tea." Mc leant in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was like the one from before, but this one was more deliberate, and lingered.

"It was my pleasure. Please feel free to stop by the castle anytime. We will have to arrange another gathering shortly." He felt himself avoiding eye contact. Mc was the only person with the ability to make him nervous.

"We should! See you tomorrow." They waved to him. Before they shut the door, he saw Lucifer greeting them. He turned to walk away, but before he was out of view from the window, he glaced back. He saw Mc enthusatically waving him goodbye. He waved back with a warm smile.

Once he got back to the castle, he stared down the gift bag. He admired their handwriting on the tag. He found himself almost reluctant to return to his work. He took the little bag to his room and tucked it away in a drawer. He touched his cheek, and sighed. He couldn't wait for tomorrow.

@mona-aiko sorry I took so long!

will do the next part for sol, thirteen, mephisto and simeon!

[leighsartworks216]

Prompt for whenever you want it: the reader grew up in a household where she wasn't allowed to be very feminine/like cute things. Her family was adamant that she be tough and that anything remotely feminine or pretty would be wasted on her. So she secretly likes cute and pretty things, but has internalized all the things her family told her so she never let's it show. I would love to see astarion pick up on it and how he would react? I just imagined one day he presents her with a delicate handkerchief with her initials (he embroidered them himself) and I practically bawled my eyes out ���😭😭

Idk why I really struggled to write this one. I just had a hard time starting it. So I'd write an opening, hate it, leave it for a bit, come back, leave it again. But I finally got it to a point that I am happy with it

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader

Warnings: vague references to trauma, self-doubt, swearing

Word Count: 1,041

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

One gets quite good at reading people when that’s all you did for 200 years. Someone would twitch and Astarion could know exactly what they were thinking. Reading you was as easy as opening a book.

Every time you passed a market or merchant, Astarion could see the way your eyes flit longingly over jewelry or dresses. It was always brief. If the vendor noticed, they’d try pitching the item to you; the same old lines: “A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady!” But you just smiled politely and shook your head, muttering how it wasn’t your style.

It was curious. Throughout your journey so far, he’d noticed other things, too. How you’d save the most beautiful, feminine dresses for your female companions. At first he just thought you wanted to give them something nice, but it was odd when you’d provide them an item much more suited to your strengths than their own. How your eyes would linger a little longer on flowers and lace gloves. But the moment you felt eyes on you, you’d turn away, the distant longing gleam in your eye replaced with a set determination.

He’d even caught you staring at the embroidery on his clothes once or twice.

(“Distracted, are we?”

“I was only wondering what it says. An odd poem for a shirt.”

“Hmph. Clearly it’s meaning is lost on you, darling.”)

So, with 200 years of experience, Astarion came to the only conclusion he could plausibly find. He accounted for your own attire - masculine or purely functional - your steadfast avoidance of anything feminine, the sorrow that visibly washed over you when you came across something particularly beautiful.

You didn’t allow yourself these things, because you couldn’t.

Well, you could, he supposed. But you weren’t. Perhaps, like him, you felt you didn’t deserve it. Or perhaps, like him, it had been ingrained into your very being that you couldn’t have it. Either way, the result was the same.

He wasn’t honestly sure what came over him when he realized. And it had taken him a few days to think about the idea that formulated unbidden, itching at the back of his mind in a way that put the tadpole to shame. But one night, after feeding (on you and a boar), he sat within his tent and got to work. He threaded the eyes of needles with practiced ease, steadily guided it back and forth through the material in his hands, creating elegant shapes. If he was being honest, it was some of his best work.

It took him even longer to gather the nerves to give it to you. You handed out gifts freely - armor, weapons, trinkets, blood. But he’d… well, he’d never really given anyone a gift before. Nothing as genuine as this, certainly. His mind, his own worst enemy aside from Cazador, kept plaguing him with thoughts of how you’d hate it. How you’d take one look at it, struggle through a smile, and tuck it away at the bottom of your bag. And so it remained in his belongings, safely hidden.

And then you just had to go and be so damn good. You just had to stand up to Araj Oblodra when she kept insisting he drink from her. You just had to quietly tell him that he could, if he wanted to, but only if he wanted to. And you just had to respect his choice. He’d never been so overwhelmed with emotion before. Nobody had ever done that for him. His choices didn’t matter, his comfort didn’t matter. But you didn’t even hesitate.

When you sought him out at camp later that night, you even told him he was free. No longer a slave who had to get on his back for mere breadcrumbs. Too many emotions - relief, fear, euphoria, worry, gratefulness - flooded his chest.

He cleared his throat. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to give you,” he admits with a nervous chuckle. “Consider it a… thanks, for what you did for me back there.”

He pulled the neat, white handkerchief from his pocket and presented it to you. Red eyes flit over your face, trying to read every little expression that passed, as you stared at the cloth. On the corner, embroidered in the same golden thread as he used on his shirt, were your initials. Immaculate and shiny.

Your mouth opened. Your eyes were wide, your brow furrowed and then raised. You struggled for words. You met his eyes with shock. “A-Are you sure? I mean, this is much too fine for me - I was happy to stand up for you - Not that you needed any help! I mean-”

“Darling,” he hushed. So you did enjoy it, after all. “It’s a gift. Consider it repayment for all the nights you’ve bared your neck for me, if nothing else. A simple exchange.”

A dying sound left your throat with a breath as you looked back down at the handkerchief. With shaky hands, you took it from him. You held it as though it was a religious artifact from the gods, not a folded square of soft silk with lace borders. It had the same smooth feel as running your fingers over the surface of still water. Tears welled at the corner of your eyes as you ran a thumb over the letters.

“I…” You took a shaky breath, looking up at him again through the building water in your eyes. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

He smirked, though your blatant joy made his lips twitch into the start of a genuine smile. “You… deserve something nice. Something more than, well,” he gestured vaguely at your worn cotton attire, “this.”

You laughed and brushed away the tears beginning to slip down your cheeks with the back of your hands. “You’re still a bastard.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“But a nice bastard.”

“Careful, darling.” He leaned forward with an even wider smirk, fangs peeking out as a mischievous twinkle glinted in his eye. “We wouldn’t want word getting out.”

And if he caught sight of that little cloth poking out from a pocket or resting at the top of your bag, well maybe he let himself enjoy that warmth in his chest.

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnlovesloki @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @httyd-chocolate @bloopthebat @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171

[kittenintheden]

Professionals

*boops fingers together and bats eyes @ u*

Rating: E Word Count: 1,650 Content: 18+, roleplay, sex work, biting, blood kink, oral sex, PIV sex

---

Sharess' Caress is busy tonight. A woman stands near the bar, perusing the evening's johns and janes, giving them mental scores based on personality, appearance, and style. She sips her drink, eyes lidded, and turns away a four, then a six, then a seven. She can afford to be picky.

She's making smalltalk with the barkeep when she feels light fingers brush the back of her arms. She sighs and plasters on a smile, expecting another modest offering, but she's met with a full-stop ten. In looks and style, at least. If the personality matches...

"Hello, lovely thing," he purrs, his voice sending a tingle up her spine. "Don't you look delicious. I'm called Astarion. And you are?"

"Very interested in what someone like you is doing in a place like this," she says playfully, lifting her glass to her lips for a sip. The liquor inside stings just right. "But you may call me Lily."

He grins, seductive and predatory, and places a satchel of gold on the bar. "Five hundred gold says I can call you whatever I like, I think. I’ll be honest. I’m a connoisseur, and there are occasions when I’d like to partake in… top-shelf talent. I believe you fit the bill, if my instincts are correct. And they usually are." He tilts his head to the side, daring her to say no.

She gives him a hard look up and down, finally meeting his ruby eyes. She sets her glass on the bar and uses two fingers to nudge the coin purse toward the barkeep. "We've a high-rolling customer," she says to them. They give her a knowing smirk, look over the john, then accept the bag.

"The Chartreuse Room is free," the barkeep says, going back to their mixing.

"After you," Astarion says, gesturing to her to take the lead. She does. As they ascend the stairs, he ghosts his fingers against her lower back. Gentlemanly, one might think, if one’s unfamiliar with the different ways people touch. She is not unfamiliar.

The Chartreuse Room is, predictably, quite green. Bottles of liquor line a shelf on the nearest wall beside a small bar. Lily walks around, trailing her fingertips over the polished wood and leans onto the surface, letting her cleavage rise up enticingly over the top of her corset as she gives him a coy look.

"Could I make you a drink?" she says. She reaches out and teases the neck of the nearest bottle suggestively.

Astarion moves toward her, already undoing the buttons of his beautifully embroidered jacket. He smiles, showing off too-sharp canines. "I didn't come here for a drink, pet. Not of that, anyway."

She shrugs. "Thought I'd offer, nonetheless." She pushes off the bar and approaches, letting her shoulders rustle the strings of glass beads hanging from the ceiling so they tinkle together. She stops in front of him, admiring his bare chest before raising her gaze to his face.

"And what would you like?" she says lowly.

He shrugs off his jacket and undercoat. "Honestly? I'd like to bite. Hard enough to break skin." As he speaks, his timbre drops seductively. Almost like he’s trying to seduce her.

Cheeky man. Cheeky man with expensive taste. She can work with that.

She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Well. That's not one I get often. But, for such a generous patron, I'll allow it."

"Good," he says. Then he's on her, fast as lightning, a hand on one side of her neck and his sharp teeth piercing through the opposite, a jolt of cold radiating through her nervous system. She gasps and grips onto him, surprised, but in seconds she's relaxing into it, eyes going half-lidded as pleasant numbness spreads. Before she goes weak in the knees from blood loss instead of lust, he pulls away, licking her off his teeth.

Blood play. Unusual, but not her first time.

"You are... fantastic," he breathes, dropping his chin and looking at her from under his brows like he wants to consume her another way. "Now... on the bed, on your stomach."

"Yes, saer," she says, swaying on her feet a moment before walking toward the low, round bed, covered in cushions of varying shades of green. She takes her time, lowering herself to all fours and stretching forward like a cat, her back in a deep arch with her arse in the air before she brings it down. Once she's in place, she hears the beads tinkle as he comes closer, then feels the weight of him on the mattress as he puts his knees on either side of her legs.

He leans down over her, not quite touching, and puts his mouth to her ear. "Call me darling," he says. “And I’ll call you whatever strikes me.” Then she feels his fingers at the sides of her hips, undoing the laces keeping her shorts on her body.

"Anything you like if you keep doing that, darling," she says.

He disrobes her from the waist down, pulling every article of clothing from her with aching slowness. Lily bites her lip, desperate to turn and see his pretty face again, but he paid his fee and he's calling the shots. She feels his weight shift lower, his dexterous hands spreading her open and angling her hips, and then she feels his tongue run along her. Instantly, she arches her back with a groan.

"I think that's supposed to be my job," she gasps, pressing her face to the silken sheets and biting her lip as he continues to work her like an expert. "I feel like I should be paying you. Darling."

He chuckles against her most tender of places, giving her another long draw from behind. "Hush. Let me enjoy my night."

She’s certainly not going to argue. A john who gives back? What a rare treat this is.

His hands draw her closer until he's drowning in her, until he shouldn't be able to breathe, and he lavishes her in a way she knows no other customer down below would ever. As her pleasure builds, she squirms against the mattress and he puts a firm palm on her lower back to hold her still, humming every now and again, the sensation making her shiver and cry out.

"Darling," she pants. "Darling, darling, darling."

Finally, she can tell his collected exterior is beginning to crack. At every cry of the pet name, he goes a touch sloppy. As her peak comes closer, he begins to murmur and pant against her as if sensing her heightened arousal, as if it drives him mad. Finally, she screams into the sheets as she comes harder than she has in recent memory, his mouth relentless until she can barely stand it. She doesn’t even have to act. Not a bit.

Astarion rolls her over, his chest heaving and his chin covered in her slick, and crawls over top.

Her head lolls as she gazes up at him in adoration. "What now, darling?" she whispers.

He goes up on his knees to undo his own laces, his arousal clear and present against the material of his fine trousers. He keeps his eyes on her.

"Now I make love to you like you're the only person who matters, Tav," he says, voice like gravel, and she melts clear into the bed. Whoever Tav is, they must be very lucky, indeed.

He's naked and beautiful, lowering himself over her, kissing her deeply. She accepts, circling his tongue with hers, tasting her cunt and her blood and her passion on him. One by one, he unhooks the buttons keeping her corset on her body and tosses it aside.

Briefly, she wonders how she ever managed to score this big. His hand, cooler than it should be, palms her breast firmly and then he's inside her and she moans like a wanton… well, whore.

Astarion kisses her neck, gentle on her sore spot, and sighs out his own pleasure. "You are perfect," he says. "The only one in the entire place I could ever... oh, you make me lose my mind. Tav. Tav."

She wraps her legs high on his waist, seeking better connection, and he angles himself to draw over the place near her entrance, the one that lights her up, and she clings to him like he's life itself. The range of motion in his hips is absolutely maddening in the very best way. He’s fucking her better than anyone else ever could and she uses every single technique in her book to give it back to him.

They rock and thrust against each other. He kisses her. She kisses back. They climb, and climb, and climb together, reaching for the sky.

Toward the end, his facade fully breaks to pieces and he sobs tiny breaths into her ear.

"Darling," she gasps. "Love me, darling."

"I love you," he says. "Always you."

Their mouths press together in open ecstasy as they come one after another, bursting into delicious, whole-body pleasure.

Astarion all but collapses on top of her, her legs spread wide to accommodate him. She gasps in several deep breaths, coming back to earth. Then she breaks into giggles.

"Stop that," he grumbles at her. "I'm a paying customer."

"Oh, that was good," she says, wiping the corner of her eye. "That was a good one. We have to do that again."

He sits up on an elbow, staring at her bleary-eyed. "How many asked before me?" he says.

"At least three," she says.

"Should've been much more than that," he says. "You're top-shelf merchandise."

She cuffs him upside the head. "Well, someone didn't let the scene go on very long, did he."

"We have the room until morning?" he asks, avoiding her accusation.

"So the barkeep told me when I asked."

"Well. Better make it worth five hundred gold, then, shouldn't we?"

[sisters-sideblog]

And my other fill for Ravioli ship week, for that most classic trope of "Only One Bed!" Read it here or on Ao3.

△△△

Link wasn’t home much for a while. After his recovery and agreement that Ravio could use his house while he was away, he promptly found himself halfway across the country chasing clues for several weeks straight. 

He did make it back home eventually. Shaking off the dungeon dust, he staggered back to rest and resupply, so tired he’d forgotten Ravio would be there and nearly drew his sword at the enthusiastic greeting that waited for him in what he was used to thinking of as an empty house. 

In fairness, his abrupt return seemed to startle Ravio as well. 

Now he slumped over dinner, already eyeing the corner where his bed had been shoved aside. It looked like there was just enough room to push one of Ravio’s added tables out of the way and crawl in.

…In fact.

Yes. 

There were scuff marks on the floor. New ones, as if someone had been doing exactly that for several nights. 

Link realized he’d stopped chewing, spoon dangling precariously from limp fingers. At his back, the sounds of Ravio enjoying his own meal fell suspiciously silent. 

It occurred to Link. Finally, belatedly. That he perhaps should have thought of this sooner. 

He hadn’t seen any of Ravio’s possessions aside from the stuff he sold. Wasn’t honestly sure he even had any. But the bag was obviously magical, so maybe…?

Link cleared his throat. Ravio twitched at the sound, spoon clattering against his bowl. 

“Where have you been sleeping?” Link asked in the most neutral tone he could manage. 

“Um. Well. You see.”

When Ravio didn’t continue, Link waited. But aside from clearing his own throat in a distinctly nervous manner, Ravio didn’t continue. Link finally turned to look at him. From the way Ravio dropped his spoon entirely, there was some kind of expression on his face.

“You’ve been sleeping in my bed.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mister Hero!” Ravio immediately returned in a loud but not terribly sincere tone. “I had to leave home so quickly, you see, and I was sleeping on the ground with all those dreadful monsters around before you so graciously lent me your home. It isn’t very comfortable down there. As, ah. As you know. since you’ve probably been sleeping on the ground, too.” He faltered to a stop rather than try to dig himself back out of the hole he’d talked himself into. His hands were wringing together, his posture hunched in a way that made Link think he might be about to throw himself back down on the ground like he had when he was begging for a place to stay. Link couldn’t see the extraordinarily sad puppydog eyes, but he could feel them aimed right at him. 

He had spare blankets and a bedroll. The space in front of the fire would be perfectly warm. 

But Link wouldn’t get any sleep himself if he made Ravio sleep on the ground while he enjoyed the comfort of a bed mere steps away. If the guilt didn’t keep him up, the sounds of Ravio shifting around certainly would. 

He sighed. “Fine.”

Rounded shoulders immediately straightened. Link swore the fake ears on the hood perked straight up. “Really? Oh, thank you, Mister Hero! I promise you won’t even notice I’m there!”

Link doubted that. 

△△△

The problem of logistics returned once, after much arguing, they had cleared sufficient space around the bed for them to both now be standing on either side of it. The dying fire cast a dull orange glow through the room, the door locked and the shutters closed for the night. Link was halfway through trying not to think too hard as he stripped down to his nightclothes before he realized Ravio had pulled his boots off and stopped, reaching to fold back his side of the covers with the bunny hood still on.

“Are you going to sleep with that on?” Link didn’t really want those giant embroidered eyes staring at him in the middle of the night. 

“I usually don’t,” Ravio said, which wasn’t an answer. 

“I don’t care what you look like,” Link tried. 

It didn’t seem to help. Ravio faltered, wringing his hands and just standing there awkwardly. He finally cleared his throat. “Could you turn around?”

Eyes narrowed, Link gave him a suspicious visual sweep. “Why?”

“I’m going to take it off.” 

“I might roll over in my sleep,” Link warned. He still didn’t have the faintest idea why Ravio didn’t want him to know what he looked like, but obviously he cared quite a bit. It was only fair to warn him.

“I know, friend, I didn’t mean you had to stay facing away all night! I have this!” He pulled something from one voluminous sleeve; after a bit of squinting, Link first thought it a mask, then a blindfold. But it had no eyeholes to be the former and looked too padded and comfortable to be the latter. 

“I’m not wearing a blindfold!” he said hotly. 

Ravio, Link had noticed, seemed to almost fluff up and out when he worried he’d angered someone against himself. Like a frightened cat with puffed out fur trying to make itself bigger than it was. “It’s not for you, it’s for me! And it’s a sleeping mask, not a blindfold!”

They stared at each other from across the bed. One beat. Two. 

Feeling red in the cheeks and more than a little foolish, Link turned around. Rustling sounds behind him; the covers folding back. He heard Ravio sit, then near silence for several long moments, save Ravio hissing a brief curse to himself. 

“You can turn around now,” he finally said. When Link did, he found Ravio sitting upright in the bed, hugging the far side, his hood traded for some kind of silk wrap that completely covered his hair and ears and the “sleeping mask.” Between the two, he was still nearly as covered as with the hood alone. Unlike with the hood, it was obvious he could no longer see, the direction of his head aimed somewhere more towards the middle of the room than Link himself. 

“Well. Good night, Mister Hero,” Ravio said, sounding as awkward as Link felt. 

“Good night,” Link echoed. He watched Ravio lie down and roll onto his side, facing away. 

Climbing into his bed with someone else already in it was… odd. Link tried to lay on his back, since that seemed the safest way to not actually touch his bedmate. But he’d never been much of a back sleeper. It didn’t take long for things to start to ache, and no amount of fidgeting was making it any better. 

Ravio politely didn’t mention Link’s shifting, but his shoulders drew up under the covers. 

This wasn’t going to work. Time for Plan B. 

Trying hard to roll over without pulling any of the covers off of his bedmate, Link gave in and flipped to his side. 

This presented a new problem. His bed wasn’t terribly large. When he tried to curl up it pressed their backs together; a feeling startling in its intimacy. But more importantly, drawing his feet up meant he encountered Ravio’s own. 

“Your toes are cold!” Link yelped. 

“So are yours!” Ravio lied. 

“They are not!” Link yanked them further up regardless to get his poor innocent calves away from Ravio’s freezing toes, but that just pressed their backs more firmly together. Grumbling, he flipped over again. Onto his stomach now, head turned to the side on his pillow so he could breathe, one arm hugging the pillow and the other curled up against himself; a position Gully had found him in more than once when he was sent to see why Link wasn’t yet awake and working at his apprenticeship. He’d turned his head habitually to the left, and so now faced Ravio, his nose nearly tucked all the way up against the back of his neck. He thought he saw Ravio shiver when he exhaled. 

Link liked the way he smelled. 

“Is this okay?” He felt the need to check. 

“Perfectly fine, Mister Hero!” Ravio returned in a pitch that could accurately be described as a squeak. Link didn’t have the mental energy left to check whether he meant it. The past few weeks had been long, and now that he was finally comfortable they were catching up to him. Incoming slumber weighed down all his limbs. 

It felt nice. To fall asleep next to someone. It felt really, really nice. 

Not falling asleep on a hard dungeon floor helped, too. Ravio was right. Sleeping on the ground sucked.

Even if he did wake up in the middle of the night to find that Ravio had stolen all the covers. Ravio put them back when he rose before Link did in the morning; Link woke to the warmth of someone else’s lingering body heat in the blankets heaped up over him. It was a feeling he thought he could very quickly get used to.

[comikbook]

do you have any character design tips? all your characters look so cool and i struggle so hard with designing characters lol

hi yes !!!! okay okay so first off all of my characters are dnd characters, so i will start with going thru the list of races available and pick one that i think is cool or interesting.

the next thing i do is i come up with a theme. is this character based off of an animal ? does this character have a trope i want to explore ? is there a specific setting i want to make this character fit into ? these are all questions im asking myself

for example, this is my character mercy !!

i knew when i was making her my first idea was “i want a cowboy oc” !! I also knew i wanted a vampire character, i mashed the ideas together !

I thought to myself about cowboy media I had seen and enjoyed, and decided she would be based on one of my favorite movies, true grit (the 2010 version)

you may see the resemblance to the two main characters !! i picked different things from each character that i liked, most of her being based on the character on the left, with some elements of the one on the right. this gave me my “base” to work with !

I then started to think about outfits, my favorite part !!

I will always always always reccomend searching thru pinterest when designing a character. look at runway/ high fashion pics to get an idea for interesting sillhouettes. what is your characters ethnicity or time period ? look at historical clothing associated with either. look at pieces made by fashion students, find different elements that you think look interesting and make a list of what it is you particularly are drawn to. heres some images i gathered when i was designing mercy.

while not exact the vision was starting to come together !! this is the point where i start sketching, trying out different outfit combos and cycling thru the elements i listed before. Once i have a very basic sillhouette/idea of the outfit, this is when i start embellishing !!!!

for example, i liked the tassles on the hat, okay done, where else can i include tassles ? i considered the vest, but ultimately decided on the cuffs of the sleeves. the cool thing about that is the tassles from the hat coming down to the cuffs creates a triangle shape in the figure. This enforces a sillhouette and creates a balence to the design !!

I also liked the idea of an embroidered vest, and embroidery in general that is seen in a lot of cowboy outfits, i embraced that and brought in more embroidered details in the bag and the gun holster.

At this point I had my outfit sketched out ! then I went onto coloring !!! picking colors for a design is typically the hardest and most time consuming part for me, however with mercy i had a clear idea. I wanted to create a sepia color scheme, very neutral, to emulate old western photographs !! so thats what i went with ! lots of browns, brassy metal, black, and cream. I also knew she was a vampire, and knew I wanted to draw a lot of pieces with blood and thought the red would stand out white nicely from the neutral tones of her pallet :) (another cool thing to consider which i did not do for mercy is color langage and using certain colors with certain meanings to emphasize the theme)

With all of this done now, i had my design !!! after this point is where I make a series of sketches of the character to really get the hang of drawing them, different poses to figure out personality, things like that !! Things evolve over time of course, but usually my characters i am able to do a one and done type approach and rarely have to entirely scrap and redesign them. its all about having fun and learning what it is you want to see in the design of characters in media !!!

I hope this helped some !! im not the best with my words but this is a pretty good run thru of what i do for each character !!

[jjunberry]

HE LOVES ME NOT ˚* ❀ part eight ✎

y/n rushed out of her dorm towards jake’s car. she had her tote bag ready. “should i be worried with how big that bag is?” jake asked when she got in the car. “no i never actually fill it.” the girls laughed. jake sighed before starting the car again. “don’t sigh today will be fun!” she cheered.

jake stopped and got the girl coffee and finally pulled into the parking lot of the bookstore. she squealed before hopping out of the car. jake following behind. her first stop was the new romance books. she picked up a few but was having a hard time balancing all of her belongings. jake noticed and held his hands out. she smiled and placed her phone and coffee in his hands.

jake even wore her tote bag with embroidered flowers on his shoulder. “i think i like this one.” she said putting it in the bag. she ventured over into the next genre which was manga. her fingers grazed over the different books. she finally settled on her sailor moon.”can i get two of these?” she asked. jake nodded. “of course.” she smiled and grabbed the next two in the series she didn’t have yet.

she placed them in her bag before scurrying off. jake tried his best to keep up with her. “y/n?” he called out when he finally did end up losing her. he couldn’t call her because he was holding her phone for her.

he decided to just go look at the different collectables since she’d have to find him anyway. he had her tote bag after all. her phone kept buzzing and buzzing. curiosity got the better of him and he peaked at her lockscreen. multiple messages flashed across her screen.

his eyes widened when he took notice to the name and contact picture. heeseung. “no way.” he said. “no way what?” her voice startled him. jake jumped and turned towards her. “no way you only want three books.” he laughed it off.

“i told you not to be worried!” she laughed and took all of her belongings back. her tote bag on her shoulder. she unlocked her phone and frowned. “is everything okay?” jake asked. she sighed and nodded. “i think so, my boyfriend is messaging me.” she started walking towards the check out. jake followed.

unsure if he should tell her he knows about heeseung. he knows what heeseung has been up to. “how..how long have you been dating him?” the girl furrowed her eyebrows. “just about a year and a half now.” she said placing the books on the counter. jake felt his stomach drop. in the last few months all the girls he’s seen heeseung with. not one of them being y/n.

he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. does he tell her? would she be mad he’s friends with him? would she be mad he read the messages? would she not be his friend anymore?

their day was cut short when y/n had to meet up with her friends. jake didn’t protest. he needed time away from her to think. think about what he was going to do with this new found information.

masterlist

tag list ˚* ❀ @jjunieworld @304files @mrchweeee @sionshiii @kayleeshinee @crybqbyme @yizhoutv @jaeyunluvr (if your name is bold i couldn’t tag you)

author’s note ˚* ❀ i need to start updating this more often! im sorry y’all 😭 forgive me

love, echo ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪

© jjunberry

[simp2537]

Moon Helios

a/n: we start the actual series with this chapter. This will also be the end of act one. I will post the act two characters later tonight or tomorrow. Enjoy and READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

꓄ꃅꀤꌗ ꎇꂦꈤ꓄ ꀤꌗ ꎇꀭꍟꋪꀸꍏꈤ

Word Count: 4,162k

Series trigger warnings:Child abuse, anxiety, religious trauma, racism, manipulation, division of canon, Alina hate?, trauma, ptsd, bullying, insomnia, self-neglect, mental health issues, guilt tripping, cult theme, blood consumption, cannibalism?? Lost of murder, talks of SA in other characters, S/A, Sexual acts, future smut, predatory behavior(not from Aleks) and all other shadow and bone stuff

Act I : The Return

Chapter Seven

The snow hadn’t stopped, if anything it only raged on. Y/n stood overlooking the sanctuary. Her armor glimmered under the sunlight. A bag was slung over her shoulder, golden circlet in her hair. Her hair woven into a braid with the comb from Ville as she stood next to her grey horse.

It nudged its nose into her metal stomach as she pet its mane. Maja laid on the ground sleeping soundlessly. Footsteps came up behind her.

“You’re really leaving?” He sounded hopeful, maybe this was a joke. Turning around she met Niko’s brights eye. She stared at him for a while. 

“I have to go. I promised I’d be back.” Her eyes were blank, hardly softened at the sight of him. He scoffed softly kicking at the snow. The snow bounced into Maja’s coat and she growls softly. He mockingly growled back at him. 

“Will Egon even let you leave?” She nodded her head soundlessly. She didn’t care whether or not he would let her. He couldn’t stop her even if he wanted.

“Alina is going to join the ravkan army, I can’t let her do that alone.”

“Bullshit! Mal will be with her won’t he?” Slowly she turned her gaze back to the snow wrapping itself on the ground. 

“It’s been five years Niko, I have to go back.” He glared sharply at her back. Niko couldn’t understand it, the want to go home. He hated his home, and he had a real one. He knew the orphanage was not her home.

“Why? You are home!” He yelled grabbing at her shoulder. She shrugged him off as her armor slowly fell. The thick wool cape cascades down her shoulders. Her thick black gloves embroidered with roses held tightly onto the ropes.

She attached the small cart that would hold Maja and a few trinkets of hers. Her palace wasn’t to far, she would drop the stuff off before leaving.

“How many years have I suffered for our saint.”

“We suffer always for her! It is our sacred duty as Helios.” He uttered. Y/n moved Maja into the small cart so that she could sleep. She covered her wolf in thick furs to keep the snow off her.

“I was twelve when they took me, when they took me from Kermazin. When they took me from Alina and Mal.”

“I was twelve when I was blinded. I was thirteen when my flesh was burnt and cut, the scar is still as red are the poker used. I was fourteen when I bite off a chunk of my friends hand.” She told him as she turned around. Her gaze was hardened. 

He couldn’t speak, what could he say to combat her words. He too had be scared by the life of a Helios.

 “I was fifteen when I was sent to Fjerda, forced to kill the boy I loved for a fake ring. I was sixteen when I murdered my best friend.” She trembled as her words left her throat. She mounted her horse, her hands gripping the harness. Niko grasped into her gloved fingers, a single tear falling down his cheek.

Slowly she reached her hand down, the soft leather brushing the water from his face. She held his check for a few seconds, her eyes softened. 

“I was sixteen when my friends tried to take the bones from my body. And now has a seventeen year old I have murdered countless I have become something truly ruthless. And I am afraid.” She uttered. 

She pulled back, her face hard once again. Adjusting her cloak she pet her horse, Tidal’s mane. 

“I am afraid because I have enjoyed it far too much.”  She turned away from him, the horse slowly pulling away.

“You’ll be back? Sooner or later?”

“Later, I believe.” With that she was gone. Her horse sped off into the storm of snow. 

……………………………………

The ravkan camp she’d been placed in was less than ideal. Alina nor Mal was with her. She was late, too late to join in and become a mapmaker with Alina. 

So now she was a simple soldier, a gun for hire. Y/n walked down the path with a humming softly. Her mind wandering as she dropped down a piece of bread to Maja. 

The hungry wolf as she was ate every bite growling happily. Y/n smiled as she watched her beloved pet run forwards. 

“The Fjerdan bitch has graced us today.” She groaned softly as she turned around. The others in the battalion had always like to use that on her. 

“How can I help you boys?” She asked with a smile. The trio behind her smiled softly. 

“Guess what?” The taller one, Lief said with a smile. She cocked her head to the side.

“We’ve just been assigned to guard the cartographers, your sister is in the group we’re going to protect.” Her eyes widened at his words. 

“What?” Her voice was barely there.

“They’re due to go to the camp near the fold. Generals worried about all the grisha with fire around our maps.” The short red head answered slinging his arm around her shoulders.

Her head tuned to him, her eyes baring down at him. A low and hateful growl came from Maja and she moved near Y/n. Quickly Roam the red head moved away. 

“They are called Inferni, and they are a part of this army. They’re not gonna destroy our maps.” She uttered softly.

“Yeah well we’re going to guard them so pack up your bag please.” Driud’s told her with a smile. Y/n sighed softly as she picked up Maja, keeping her white paws out of the mud.

She held tightly into her wolf as she walked about the camp. Maja all but purred as her legs dangled in the air. Placing her down in her tent Y/n begins to pack up. Her mind drifts to her true north.

Alina and Mal.

Y/n stood, her breath quivering as she saw her. Her sister, her Alina. She stood with a smile on her face. She was laughing at whatever Mal had said.

Mal, he was safe. He was safe with her. Her eyes swelled with tears as she took a step forwards. They were both dressed in ravkan army uniforms. 

“You two look ridiculous.” The pair froze. Slowly turning to Y/n. Like a firework Alina shot off towards her sister. She tackled her to the ground, hugging her tightly. Y/n had become a mass of tears as she fell with them. 

Mal’s arms were more muscular than when they were children. Alina was just as slender as she left. She could hear the whispers from behind her family, along with Maia’s soft growling. 

Slowly Y/n sat up with them both in her arms. Hesitantly she raised her gloved finger to Alina’s cheek, brushing away her tears. Mal laughed softly as he helped the two girls up.

“You’re back!” He laughed as he crashed into her again, his arms tightly wrapped around her. She went stiff for a few moments then nuzzled her head in his neck.

She inhaled him deeply, he smelt of pine and dirt. Ever her tracker. She pulled away with unshed tears in her eyes.  

“You both look hideous.” She whispered quietly as she pulled away. Alina rolled her eyes softly as she took a step towards her sister. 

She was different now, taller and stronger. Her eyes harder, her smile halved. She sighed again as Maja came to her masters side. Maja sat patiently as her calf as she stared at the strangers in front of her.

“You have a dog now? You never mentioned that in your letters!” Mal asked as he bent down. He reached a hand out to pet Maja. Like a puppy the war dog hide behind Y/n. She growled softly from between Y/n’s legs. 

Maja cast her blood eyes up to Y/n with a quirked look. Y/n slowly pet the soft white fur with a gentle smile. Mal frown softly as Alina laughed. From behind there commanding officer called to them. 

Y/n watched their eyes fall and she took a step forward.

“What are we waiting for? We have a country to protect yea?” Alina and Mal shared a looked. Then Y/n ringed her thick cloak from her body. She too was dressed in a first army uniform.

The trio laughed softly as they began to walk towards the camp once more. Y/n lingered behind for a moment. The more she stared at Alina the more she looked like Isla. Wide eyed and soft.

Y/n would do anything to make sure it stayed that way. 

………………..

Y/n walked to her commanders tent with a groan. She knew what this was about. It was always the same thing. She hasn’t gotten into any fights the last month. 

Well she has but it was a betting ring so that didn’t count. Maybe it was because before the messaged came to her she was on her way to a fight. She didn’t care much as she entered the tent.

“Lieutenant Bohdan, you asked to see me.” She answered as she stood stiffed. The older man cast her a glare as he threw a letter on the table. Its wax seal of the Lantsov line, double eagles. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“They’ve sent another letter requesting your presence in court.” He answered to her as he held a look or annoyance on his face.

“Tell them like every other time that I am busy with the safety of this glorious nation.” She mocked softly as she sat down. Bohdan groaned softly.

“You cannot deny a summons from the king for much longer. He desperately wishes to meet you, the Blood Helios of the Ravkan army.” She rolled her neck and sighed.

“You are the first of your kind this word has truly seen, your cult doesn’t like outsiders. Yet you joined his army.” She scoffed again. Cult. What did they know of her way of life. Cult, the word was sickening.

So they devoted their lives to a saint. Others had done the same yet they were call cult. Even now, so far away from the Helios court she still prayed. How could she not, her…… her rose was now with her saint.

“He thinks he is blessed. Arrogant would be a better word for him.” She mumbled. Bohdan cleared his throat. The Lanstov was still king she suppose. 

“You are closest thing he has to a weapon on this side of the fold.”

“And yet I always cross the fold.”

“Every shipment you e even been on had made it both ways. It is no coincidence your name is always pulled.” He answered. She could feel the guilt in his words. 

“I will not go, burn the letter.” Her Lieutenant groaned softly taking the letter. He threw it over a candle and let it burn. 

“The next letter will not be denied, you will go.” She scoffed again and stood.

“I owe to no allegiance to your king, I do not serve him. I stay in her army because my sister is here. Nothing more or less.” Bohdan nods his head.

“The king will not be pleased.” He answered with a tight look. She shrugged softly as she stood up.

“Tell him that I had already crossed the fold too late for him.”

Bohdan sighed softly taking a deep breath. Y/n wasn’t a soldier to him. She served her own caused whatever that may be. 

“Honestly Bohdan do you really think the King is sending these letters? I bet it’s his little apparat who sent it, or maybe even his black general.” She amused. Bohdan raised a brown. 

“It matters not who sent it, the next one will not be brunt by me.” Y/n looked at the ashes and sighed.

“Very well, I will burn the next one then.”

Then she turned and left, Maja followed her. Summons from the king, please, she would ignore it. She didn’t need his approval to do anything. She was the Blood Helios of the first army, but she had not loyalty to Ravka’s king.

He was pig, greedy and glutinous. Some king he was, he wouldn’t even march into battle with his soldier. He didn’t plan any attacks or even show real support for his men and women.

No, he simply sat on his throne get fat next to his wife. A queen who spent the ravka’s money. As she pulled off her coat and entered the tent of sweaty men she grimaced. 

Her hands were bandaged as she found a challenger. Battles for coin were simple enough. Always helped get the blood pumping. As she finished her match quickly, earring some neredi. 

As she stared down at the currency of Novyi Zem she knew who she had to send the money to. As she turned to leave she caught Mal’s eyes. Her own glazed over him as he fought. 

She smiled and stepped towards him to watch. She could feel the disapproval of his eyes as she stood holding her small bag. 

As he own matched finished she handed him a clean rag. The brothers cheered at her side as she felt the vibrations of another move. 

“I’ll take a turn. How about it? Just you and me.” With the flick of the man’s wrist, the dust swirled at them. On instinct Y/n’s armor flashed in her body. Her arm pulled at Mall as she shield him from the dust. 

As her helmet fell she met the squaller’s eyes with her own. Mal rushed forwards to fight but was held back. 

“If you lose, you'll be in the medika. If you win, they'll throw you in the brig.” The older soldier announced holding Mal back. The arrogant squaller all but laughed as he swirled the winds again.

“Come on! Anyone!” Stepping forwards Y/n let her armor fall. Her wrist were bandaged yes but not fully covered. As if injured she wrapped them up completely, leaving no skin showing. 

“Anyone?” She asked with a blank look. The squaller turned to her with a wide smile.

“I’ve heard of you haven’t I? The cultist of the first army.” She smiled stepping towards him. Mal moved out of his friend’s grip and grabbed at her wrist. 

“Y/n,” He started but she wasn’t paying him any mind. She was almost glad her reputation proceeded her.

“You asked for anyone, don’t tell me you’re afraid now?” She mocked gently. The tent had gone all but silent. The older soldier in charge stared at Y/n. She never was one to turn down a fight. 

“Y/n we need to go find Alina.” Mal interjected attempting to pull her back. She sighed softly allowing him to lead her out. She pulled back her hand and let it fall.

“Fjerdan scum.” Before Mal could think she’d already whipped around. She move faster than the squaller could see. Her fist ached into his face as she collided with his body. 

Scum? She was not scum. She had not made a name for herself as the Blood Helios to be called scum. It took seven soldiers to pry her off the bleeding man. Mal has quickly grabbed onto her shoulder and leaned her away.

Her bandaged were coated in crimson as she left. Speckles of the red dripped down her face. She didn’t think much of it, wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. 

“You never can back down from a challenge can you.” She was silent as she walked next to him. Mal would never understand her. Alina could never understand her. But they saw a change within her.

They couldn’t hold her as easily, she pull her arms away. She wouldn’t sing to them anymore. She could hardly bring herself to draw when with them. 

“I’m sorry.” She answered. Mal chuckled softly as nudged her shoulder quickly. 

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing, you just need to learn to not be so angry all the time.”  She hummed softly. Her anger had protected her for the most part.

Maybe Mal was right, maybe she should control her anger. However what good was her anger if concealed. 

……………………………

Y/n smiled softly as she allowed Alina to pull her into a ground hug. She hadn’t wanted to but gave her sister this. Alina has been on the road for a few weeks now. 

Whether she likes to admit it or not she missed the smell of her sister. Charcoal, paper and sweat. She smelt of the drawing room Egon helped her craft in her palace.

Egon.

They hadn’t spoken much since she left. It had only been a few months but the distance was jarring. She missed her ꎇꍏꀸꀸꍟꋪ. He’d always been next to her.

When the hunger of fasting took all her strength, he helped her stand. The sword became to heavy in her arms, he trained her to lift it. When she wept over Ville, he had held her tightly. When she sat as her roses grave, he tied the blue ribbon for her.

From Niko’s letters Egon wasn’t much better. He was gloomy and rarely partook in the celebrations anymore. He would hardly smile when the young and older Helios would dance together.

Niko had been begging for the past week for her to go back. If only for the lighting of the barrier celebrations. Y/n knew she would be able to go. Bohdan would understand.

She just couldn’t go.

There was something deep, primal gnawing at her core. It had kept her rooted in place, in the first army. Something was about to happen. She could all but feel it in the vibrations of the world. 

The earth itself was trying to speak to her. Try as hard as she could, Y/n didn’t know what the words were. The song the earth played was off key for her.

“Come on Y/n, the bells just rung.” Alina smiled softly. Y/n blinked at her sister with a smile. Alina tugged gently as her hand. Her normal back gloved with roses on them protected her.

Y/n followed behind her sister, the innocent look on her face brought a smile to her own. It was times like this Y/n felt like the older sister. In reality the sisters didn’t know.

They had arrived at the orphanage the same night in two baskets. 

Each basket had a small note stating their names and nothing else. They chose to believe themselves twins by different fathers. 

By the time Bohdan has begun to speak Y/n was already done. She left Maja back at her tent, so the others crowded around her. She watched Alina’s gaze move to the poster. The propaganda that ravka has made against the Shu Han.

She reached down and squeezed Alina’s hand. Alina’s chocolate eyes bore up at Y/n’s harden e/c eyes softly. Y/n looked down for a moment and gave her a slight smile. The cold leather was peaceful against Alina’s skin.

There was a Fjerdan poster too, it simply didn’t bother Y/n as much. She was Fjerdan, that would never change. She learnt the language, learnt her peoples customs. There was a beauty in the great ice land, not grisha but to her.

The snow was cold and fierce. The air thin and made you cough. The people unamused. They were everything she was in one way or another. Fjerdan has her heritage, nothing could ever change that. So why would she bother. 

“Gunman Y/n Starkov and Tracker Malyen Oretsev.” Y/n head perked up, her eyes on Mal. 

“Did he? But you’re in our unit.” Alina mumbled her eyes on Mal. Y/n scoffed softly, Bohdan had to be wrong. Mal was to stay with Alina since she would be crossing the fold.

“It has to be an error. It has to be.” Mal uttered.

Scoffing Y/n replied, “It better be.”

“Didn’t sound like an error, Mal.” Alina answered dropping Y/n’s hand. Her gloved hand returned to her side as she stared down at them both. As they were dismissed Y/n stepped forwards towards Bohdan. 

“Mal?”

Well, if it does work, I'll get to visit Ketterdam.” He amused as she walked away.

………………………………..

The skiff placement was in fact not a mistake. Bohdan’s hands were tied in the issue. The Darkling wanted a tracker in the other side of the fold to look for something. Rage boiled inside of Y/n.

They had stuck a deal months ago. She would go into the fold as many times as need to ensure her family stayed together. Twelve times has she journeyed through. Twelve times had Bohdan kept his promise.

She wanted to scream at the sky. Her family wasn’t safe ever. If she prayed more to her Sol saint then she already had, she would look mad. Extremist, cult girl, fjerdan bastard. She could the names ragging war in her head. 

She could keep Mal safe, no doubt in her mind. Something was just off now. The world was trying to warn her, but she could not hear. Hearing had never been her strong suit. Blood first questions later. 

Her rose was much better than hearing. She had to hear. With no voice or eyes, to hear was her only vice. When twig crunched, she would hear. Every secret and lie she heard. 

It was her roses gift from there saint. Y/n wondered what her saint would think of her now. Was she a disgrace? She’d left her saints temple. Her saints army to join one of a false king.

Her saints was a holy one, made of the sunlight that could burn and break as well as glow and shine. Did her saints admire her devotion. The blood she’d spilt in her name.

“I thought I’d find comfort here.” Y/n smiled faintly as she watched Alina sit next to her in the perch. The entire laid before them.

“Planning a coup?” Alina giggles. Y/n shook her head softly. 

“Hate to burst your bubble Lina, the only coup I would dream of planing is the ravkan kings. Not this base.” Y/n countered with her most gentle smile. Alina stare at her sister for a few moments.

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry, plus the cook doesn’t like me.”

“I know the feeling.” Y/n’s brows curled upwards at her words. It was no secret many didn’t like the two sisters. Y/n didn’t understand it.

“I could sacrifice the cook, like how everyone thinks I worship.” Alina laughed brightly. Her smile reached both side of her face, showing off her pearly white teeth. Even coated in sweat and dirt Alina was still beautiful.

There was an innocence to her face. Round like a child in a way. A small bit of baby fat, the smallest amount. Meals were an odd thing in this army. Y/n was trained for hunger, Alina less so.

“Do you even wonder how our life’s would be if…. If you never left.” Y/n hummed softly.

Such a word would never exist. It couldn’t. Y/n was hand picked by her saint to become a warrior.

“I am nothing without my saint.” She whispered so low Alina could not hear. It was a confession she only dare to utter with other Helios. It was a chant she would sing into battle in her saints name. 

“What was that?” Alina asked, her voice calm. 

“If I’d never been taken I would still be here. Not as just a gun for hire but more. I’d like to think I’d be a commander by now. With money so you and Mal would be with me. You could draw as much as you want and Mal… Mal could find and keep as many bunnies as he’d like.” 

Silence engulfed the pair. Alina’s eyes were 

strictly on Y/n. The soft shadow the lights brought to her face. The hallow bags under her eyes. The gentle shimmer to her skin under the moonlight. The single hair out of place. The way her e/c were muted so slightly.

“I think I would’ve liked that.” Y/n then looked back at her. Their eyes met, neither sister looking away.

“I doubt I ever would’ve gotten so far here, not with my fjerdan side so prominent. Maybe I could’ve been a pirate instead.” Alina laughed again as Y/n let out a small giggle. Alina smiled more so, the tiniest laugh has escaped Y/n.

“We’re both misfits, me half Shu, you Fjerdan Y/n.” Alina mumbled. 

“Finally found you both.” Mal’s distinct footsteps came up behind them. Y/n stood and grabbed her satchel.

“That is my queue to go.” Y/n said standing up. Mal furrowed his brown and went to grab her arm.

“Why?” She raised her shoulder. 

“Maja needs to be fed, before she eats Lief. She has been eyeing her muscles.” Her family laughed at her words once more. Laugher, the most addictive drug. 

As she left there laughed was gone. Like any drug she would protect and covenant it. 

[desifemininewoman]

College fits: the desi version

Kurtis

Starting of with the very basic indo-western outfit: Kurtis. Now, you can wear knee length or short-length kurtis, whatever your prefer.

First of all, please, for the love of god, don't go for those cheap chikankari kurtis or those 'kashmiri embroidered' kurtis. It's disrespecting to the real chikankari and kashmiri embroidered work and secondly, its tacky atp.

Go for normal, printed or plain kurtis. I would say thin straps, or cut-sleeves kurtis cause they feel more girlish and more appropriate for college. If you are insecure about your arms then you can go quarter length and full length too. You can buy good and cheap ones from zudio or myntra.

You can pair your kurtis with shorts, jeans or skirts. Your jeans could be linen, wide -legged, cargos, etc. Avoid skinny jeans or ripped jeans.

Personally, I love to wear short kurtis with baggy cargos. I wear boots cause I love that edgy aesthetic. It's OP for me. I live for that fit.

Skirts

Now, if you want to wear those long flowy skirts, you can just pair them with any normal top of your choice. Additonally, you can wear a duppatta as a scarf and go for the whole Ananya from 2 states look.

You can also wear those really big shararas that almost look like skirts. But daily wear dividers/ shararas are a bit hard to find. You would have to get them stitched only.

Nowadays, a lot of of other sort of traditional skirts are also coming. Wrap around skirts, pencil skirts, short skirts, etc. You can find them easily online. Again, pair them with your normal tops.

If you don't like those traditional skirts/ ghagras you can also opt for those trending maxi skirts. Pair them with jhumkas, duppatta and a boho tote bag and you are good to go!

Shirts

Okayyy so printed shirts are my favorite.

You can just wear the shirts with the bottom of your choice. Even with skirts. You saw Katrina Kaif in Fitoor. Take inspiration.

If skirts aren't your thing,I would personally suggest linen pants. Looks amazing.

The other option is ofcourse wearing your shirts as shrugs over your outfits. Avoid buying those full length shrugs and wearing them over jeans and top. It doesn't look elegant.

Random

Pathani kurtas on women>> Yes, I mean those short linen material kurtas that men wear. Feels androgynous and I love them alot.

If you have some pretty duppattas and scarfs, you can wear them as tops.

You can also wear those patiala pants like geet from jab we met. They are really comfortable and I feel not as normalized in your indo-western style too. So you can have your own unique style by experimenting with them. You can buy the plain color patiala pants and pair it with cute fitted strappy tops. Complete the look with punjabi jootis.

You can also just wear duppattas over your normal western outfits too. Maybe or maybe not add jhumkas according to the outfit. Add a totebag and voila! the simplest indo-western outfit out there.

Vests! I live for vests. Vests add color to my outfit in the simplest way possible. it's chic, it's elegant and ots perfect for when you have interviews or jury if you wear them the right way.

There are endless possibilites with the indo-western look. It's all upto you- how much you want to experiment. Some of my friends in Nift even wear sarees in indo-western look and go to college wearing that. So, ultimately it's all upto you.

Accessories

I feel like accessories totally determine your look. If you want it to be more party wear types or minimalist- it all depends on the accessories. They totally carry your look.

For the normal days, you can add on chudiyas. Can go for siilver ones, but if you want it to be a bit more dressy, you can buy matching chudiyas.

Accessories matching your outfit>>>> Even if you are wearing silver jwellery, try to match the rest of the things with your outfit. Rubberbands, hair clip, bangles, your shoes, your bag, etc.

Wear jootis when you go indo-western.

I feel like the key for accessories is to not overdo it. Keep it simple. The best part about our desi style is we have a lot of ways to dress up- bindis to payals. For your college fits, you can just go for bindis matching your outfit or the black one, jhumkas and bangles. finish it with a totebag.

When your shoes are visible with an outfit, you can do this. I like to wear boots alot. So, whenever I wear dresses and my boots are visible, I wear payals over them. It looks really cool. 10/10

if you are really into the aesthetic and want to play around, you can also try wearing scarfs as hairbands, silver necklaces as headbands, use earrings as hair ties.

To feel like a desi coquette, you can wear those bowtie hair clips matching the color of your kurta

pictures from pinterest

[be-my-ally]

Sobering Up

Honestly this has some p… uhhh wrong things in - like being told you’re being ‘softened up’ or ‘hysterical’ but it's all in somewhat good fun? Idk reader gets turned on by it, lets not look at the reasons why that is too hard yeah? 

This spiralled out of my control very quickly from a quick oh I’m gonna do a sweet little cuddly soft hungover fic to no. They are gonna argue. 

written for the prompt "Why are you doing this?"

warnings: 18+, arguing, kissing, discussions about alcohol, smut, reader refers to elvis as daddy twice but not actually while uhhh doing anything sexual.

in my head - 1972/3 elvis x fem!reader - I'm picturing blue suit msg elvis; not in the blue suit but that whole look :)

wc: 3.7k of silly little smut

hopefully, those on their deathbeds, cough @whositmcwhatsit cough survive to read this. for the girlies always @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love apologies it is, as always, late.

He’s in bed when you stumble in, giggling still about something the girls said in the car. You’d said you were just going out to dinner, meeting some of the friends you missed while you were in Vegas with him. Elvis had pouted, and sulked, but your agreement to move in with him permanently had been enough to make him reluctantly agree. Still, he’d rolled around on the bed, huffing and whining that he wanted to come too, and it wasn’t fair to be leaving him all on his lonesome, even as he’d watched you carefully apply your eyeliner, dark eye shadow weighing down your lids. He’d brushed a finger down your cheek when you’d leant over him to reach for something on the bedside table, and told you you looked beautiful before flopping back, lamenting the fact he was not coming with you. Muttering to himself that it wasn’t right for you to be going out looking like that without him. But you’d threatened him thoroughly enough that he’d sworn up down and sideways he would stay home with the boys, even if he made it clear he was regretting his agreement when the time came. 

It’s later than you’d expected now though. You’d all stayed late at the restaurant, putting your seemingly limitless wad of cash he’d handed to you on your way out to good use, before, drunk on the free-flowing cocktails and champagne it had been suggested you go out dancing. It had occurred to you to call, but honestly you figured there wasn’t much difference between one and three am if Elvis was, as you had expected him to be, knocked out asleep. You fall against his bedroom door as it swings open, throwing your bag and coat towards the chair in the corner. He flinches at the thump of them hitting the floor, feet away from where you were aiming. 

“You’re drunk.” He says flatly in greeting. You glance over at him, giggles catching in your throat at his tone. He’s sat up in the bed, book open on his lap, embroidered EP on the chest of his pyjamas just peeking out, he looks sleepy, and if you weren’t quite so tipsy you would have felt guilty about keeping him up waiting for you. As it was the image of him sat in bed waiting for you was enough to make you giggle even more, 

“No, El, no - I’ve only had,” You pause, getting the giggles all over again, “only had a couple.” He shakes his head, kicking the coverlet off of his knees and pulling back the sheets. You can’t catch your breath and you couldn’t tell anyone what it was you were finding so funny, just that you couldn’t stop laughing. 

“Not sure what’s so funny little girl.” His tone is enough to send you over the edge again, just as you were starting to calm down. You trip over your feet when you try to come closer to him and you’re annoyed enough at your ankle twisting in your shoes that it cuts through your laughter, 

“Fucking goddamn heels,”  You try to kick them off, suddenly furious when the strap catches on your ankle and you have to bend over on wobbly legs to fiddle with it enough to unclasp and come off. “Fuck - ow!” You don’t notice Elvis getting out of the bed until he’s grasping your arm, 

“ ‘Nough of that now - your momma would be washing your mouth out if she’d heard that.” You grimace a little - she would have, but still; it hurt! “C’mon now darlin’, let’s get you sobered up a little, get you to bed.” He’s got a firm grip on the top of your arm, and you can tell he’s not altogether pleased, but he’s got a hint of amusement in his tone still. He directs you into the adjoining bathroom, you try to pull back a little but all it results in is his fingers tightening their grip.

“No - wanna, daddy, wanna - thought we could….” Even drunk you’re shy, “…want you to touch me.” He looks at you coldly, and you flinch back, “We haven’t in, in ages.” If you’d been sober you never would have dared to bring it up. He huffs, puffing his chest up, as if about to argue you with you but then he seems to deflate, as if knowing he had no defence. 

“Well if you weren’t out all hours of the night we could have.” He leans forward to turn the taps in the circular shower, water immediately pulsing out; his water pressure was something you had only dreamed of. You pull away, already feeling that it’s nowhere near the temperature you would prefer but he just tuts at you, stripping you of the skimpy little dress you’d gone out in. You go dazedly where he tugs you, he rolls your eyes at your little lace underwear, 

“Who’d you put these on for?” He flicks the lace at your hip as he pulls them off of you, forcing you to lift your feet when he taps your leg. 

“Yo-ou! Who else?” He hums back at you, and you squirm, too drunk to really defend yourself and a little confused at what was going on. You’re normally still a little shy to be fully naked around him, but today you’re just trying to keep your eyes open, hands rubbing your eyes rather than wrapped around your middle. A moment later he’s practically shoving you under the shower head and he holds you there until your flush starts to come down a little and you’re blinking at him a little more together. The spray wasn’t cold, he wasn’t a monster, but it wasn’t hot either. 

“El, Elvis, ba-by, let me out- it’s cold, I’m fine now, I swear - I’m uh, uh, not even tipsy.” He frowns for a moment, as if considering, and you wrap an arm around yourself, he rolls his eyes. He hands you a washcloth, instructing you to wash your face, and you do as he says while doing the best you can to keep your hair from getting wet.

He pulls you out, pyjama arm rolled up to his elbow to stop it from getting damp and he grasps a monogrammed towel, roughly rubbing the soft cotton over your skin. He grasps each arm to dry it, manhandling you around as he brushes the towel over your body. You’ve sobered up enough not to say anything, catching on that his silence isn’t a good sign, although you’re definitely, despite your protestations, not of completely sound mind. He leaves you stood there, after draping a robe around you, to fetch your pyjamas, and in the time that he’s gone you’re rapidly sobering enough to be teary at the thought that he’s mad at you. 

He comes back, tutting at your tears, dressing you in a skimpy little babydoll set and pulling you over to the bed, pushing you under the covers. You can’t take the silence any longer, now that you’re aware of it. 

“Please - Elvis, daddy, I’m sorry,” He hushes you, louder than your words.

“I ain’t discussin’ it with you now darlin’,” He glances over at the clock on the nightstand, “It’s way past your bedtime.” You frown up at him, you might have been a little bit later than usual, but you weren’t a child; you weren’t out past your curfew or bedtime. Your eyebrows scrunch together and he tuts as he smooths out the crinkle in between with a finger, “Your face’ll stay that way.” You scowl for a brief second before smoothing out your expression. You change tacts - pleading at him with your eyes and pouting. He’s having none of it though, pulling the covers over you tight. You watch him pick up the robe and towel, throwing them into the bathroom and moving your shoes so they’re not a trip hazard in the night, before climbing into bed behind you. You hear him reach for his pill bottle, and you want to ask for one yourself but you can already feel your eyes closing, before he pulls you to him. You sniffle into the pillow as his arm tightens around your waist; 

“I don’t wanna hear you’ve got a headache in the morning.” He murmurs against your cheek as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple. He says it as a statement and you nod in reply even as your eyes start to tear at the tone. His hands belie such harsh words though, gently scooping you into him. Quickly you succumb to the darkness creeping around the edges of your vision and you’re fast asleep before you could even protest your innocence. 

———————

The world is spinning with each breath you take when you awaken in what you think is the morning, your heartbeat causing the edges of your vision to pulse. You feel dizzy enough that the idea of sitting up threatens vomit and you are, for once, more than a little glad that Elvis keeps his bedroom so dark and cold. You’re not alone in the bed, hangover waking you far earlier than you normally would be, Elvis still snuffling behind you. You’re in a bit of a daze as you try to wriggle out of his hold and swing your legs around, desperate for the bathroom. You go, blindly, with no concept of what time it might be not in your little oasis of dark. 

When you get back he’s half-awake, palm open and pill in his hand, sat propped up a little atop his mountain of pillows. You take a second to appreciate his open face and sleep-mussed hair, regretting that you feel too awful to even really initiate a kiss. He opens his eyes when he feels you climbing back into bed, smiling as they fall shut again; 

“Come on honey, here ya go, forgot to have it last night didn’t ya, wanna - need to go back to sleep for a few hours baby,” You shake your head, 

“El- I don’t think, I’m still pretty blitzed, I - I’m really not sure,” You push his hand away a little, “I don’t even know what’s in it,” He huffs, eyes closed but palm still outstretched, slurring his words slightly, 

“You don’t - you saying you don’t trust me hon-ey?” He frowns, “You should - should trust me, I - it’s all in, all in my PDR’s, in, in the supl’ment -I, baby, I wouldn’t risk ya.” His eyes blink blearily open before they slip closed again, shaking his hand out at you. 

“Of course I trust you but, I -“ He blinks his eyes open again, tone hardening even despite the way all of his words are running together, 

“Just take the damn pill. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” You look at him, before resigning yourself to it, taking and swallowing the pill, relieved that the quality of sleep might mean that when you wake up later you might be feeling better. You snuggle down into him and he wraps his arms back around you, a furnace amidst the cold bedding. 

———————

He’s grumpy in the afternoon when you finally wake up, your mini argument the night before not helping his mood from where he was already furious. He storms about the room and bathroom, flinging clothes and stomping around, but clearly having not been up for long - still in his pyjamas, hair fluffy and a mess. You come around to him talking to himself, 

“Fuckin’ woman, out all hours of the goddamn night with god-knows who, not listenin’ to me, not trustin’ me.” You’re immediately defensive, even as you try to deal with your dry mouth and throbbing headache. 

“I do, I do trust you.” You manage to croak out. He spins around to stare at you, 

“Oh, you trust me.” He laughs, and then pauses, “But you didn’t want me around last night!  You just too busy wanting to show off for everyone?” You choke back tears - your head is still pounding and you hate how unsympathetic he’s being, like he’s punishing you for a night out with your friends, how he’s making you feel like you’ve done something wrong. You push yourself to be sitting fully upright, still blinking away sleep. 

“Of course I’d want you there! I told you that! But, I just wanted one night, it’s tricky to go out - you know that.” You know he’ll need more reassurance later but for now you were hopeful that would be sufficient to quell his feelings for now - although as he scoffs in response you have to assume you were wrong. You quickly try to distract him again so you can concentrate on the part that was, no doubt, angering him the most. “But, I do trust you.” 

He stops in his tracks, stalking back over to perch on the bed, 

“You got-a funny way of showing it then little girl,”

“I just didn’t know if it was safe to mix!” He frowns, shaking his head, 

“Of course it was - I was givin' it to ya wasn’t I?” You nod, but still despite the warning bells in your ear, you can’t seem to let it go. 

“Well yeah - but I still didn’t know for sure it was safe.” 

“Well it is. Unless you’ve got…got… psychosis.” He laughs, a little meanly, shrugging, “Although maybe you do huh, it would ‘plain a lot.” You shove the covers off of yourself, furious, 

“You don’t hafta be so mean to me!” His eyes flash and the little thrill of fear it causes makes you stumble as you go to pull a dressing gown over your shoulders. He comes up behind you, his large hands resting on your shoulders, leaning over to brush his lips against your ear. 

“I ain’t bein’ mean to you honey. If anything it’s the opposite - I’m just tryna to tell you it’s not, not, becoming for a pretty little girl to be out behavin’ like this. Comin’ home in a state.”

“I wasn’t out behaving like, like, anything!” You’re indignant on this point, voice raising. 

“Shhh baby,” He strokes your hair, smoothing the back of it. “It’s ok now, c’mon calm down. There ain’t no need for the hysterics.” You cringe, as if that wasn’t your least favourite term to be called as a woman - you understood what it meant to call a woman hysterical, and the amount it annoys you is enough to make you see red, shrugging his hands off of you and spinning around to face him.

“Listen! If I wanna go out and have a few drinks I can, I’m a big girl and I don’t need you, or anyone else,” He frowns, “policing what I can or can’t do. I don’t know why you have such a problem with it!”

“I’ve just told ya why darlin’ - because it’s not right for a pretty little thing like yourself to be doing by yourself.” He smiles, like he’s finding your annoyance amusing now, making you screech back at him. 

“I wasn’t by myself! You just mean without you!” The rest of his sentence suddenly registers in your mind, and you step back in slight incredulity,  “So. If I wasn’t pretty I could get drunk whenever I wanted?” 

He shakes his head, “You’re twistin’ my words, that wasn’t what I was -“ A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you interrupt him to ask, 

“Anyway how’s it any different to your pills?” He splutters at you for a second, cheeks flushing red. 

“Goddamn it you silly - stupid girl.” He’s stepped even closer to you and you have to look up to maintain eye contact. “They’re prescribed.” He’s glaring at you, eyes ablaze, cheeks sucked in as he chews on the inside and gritting his teeth. It emphasises his cheekbones even more and you feel the anger in your stomach start to turn to fluttering butterflies of arousal. No. Oh god, his hair is so fluffy. Focus. You’re annoyed. You remind yourself. Tilting your chin up in an effort to not to get distracted by the peek of his chest heaving under the open collar of his pyjama shirt. 

“Why are you doing this E? Why are you being like this? You haven’t gotta treat me like this.” You go to push past him, he grunts as you shove his side. 

“Don’t.” His voice has gotten lower, in anger or annoyance or arousal you can’t tell, but it’s deliciously gravelly. “Just listen to me for chrissake.” He grabs your arm, turning you and pulling to practically fling you back on the bed.

You wriggle around, not able to stop yourself from wanting him to catch you. He does, crawling onto the bed, caging you within his arms. You roll over, little shorts and shirt riding up, and he catches you with his hand swinging down on your exposed ass. You flinch as he smacks it a second, and then a third time - you yelp and he laughs, as you feel a handprint raising on your skin. He rolls you back as you mewl at him, forgetting your earlier resolution to be as stand-offish as possible instead holding his arm as tightly as possible. Allowing yourself to be tugged into him and tucking yourself under. He noses at your cheek, whispering into your ear, 

“That’s it baby, just had to soften you up a little bit didn’t I,” You whine back at him, not wanting to agree but suddenly so turned on you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. “That’s my good baby back now,” Elvis leans down, petting you gently, little sweeping strokes down your arm and stomach. “My little baby, huh,” He mouths at your neck and cheek and you can’t help but lean into him. 

“Uh-huh,” He huffs a laugh across your skin at your loss of words and attitude, 

“Gonna make it up to me? 'pologise for being so difficult earlier? For not trusting me.” It’s a question phrased like a statement and you frantically nod your agreement. He kisses down your throat and you struggle to put a hand out in an attempt to grasp at his chest, 

“Let me - I’ll - I’m sorry, sorry for earlier.” He bats your hand off of him though, tilting your head with a hand on your neck, the other coming to wrap around your torso, finally kissing you properly. He grips you just right, thumb moving in little firm circles right over your pressure point. 

You let yourself be devoured, hips pushed back down when they jump up in response to the actions of his tongue and lips. He pulls back, his pouty spit-slicked lips glowing in the lamplight of the bedroom. He moves his hand lower, brushing the little French knickers of your set up and to the side.

You feel your pulse jump as he barely rests his hand on your now exposed cunt, the anticipation almost too much to bear. “Let me show you all the tricks I’ve learnt as a gee-tar player honey.” You’re quick to agree, practically begging. His fingers slide over you and you can’t help but move your hips in time to his gentle roving circles. You continue to squirm when he leans back down to suck a bruise onto your collarbone, forcing a loud moan out of you. His fingers are long and slim and undoubtedly he knows exactly how to use them, teasing expertly over your clit to make your eyes fall closed. 

He has, for once, only got his little pinky ring on and in some ways it feels strange to be feeling his hands without the cold metal of his rings. But there’s no doubt of whose hands they are as he coos into your ear. He uses his fingers to spread you apart, pushing the little shorts even further to the side, fingers sliding in the slick in between. 

“Don’t - don’t tease me - s’not nice.” Your hips thrust closer to him as he laughs against the side of your face, breath huffing across your cheek. He lifts his hand away, hovering just over top of you. 

“Thought you were ‘pologisin’ to me - thought that meant you’d let me do what I like?” His voice is lyrical in your ears, sing-songing as he teases you. He’s circling almost painstakingly gently, moving closer and closer, dancing over your skin, 

“God - yes, you’re right - whatever you say - just god, Elvis. I need you.” 

Finally, he dips one of his nimble fingers down into you, a second rapidly joining when you moan in pure pleasure. He presses them into you, other hand still grasping your neck while he continues to circle your clit with his thumb. 

“Told you darling,” His fingers speed up, “see - now you’re seeing sense aren’t you.” Any argument has been truly fucked out of you. Your knees come up as he speeds up even more, your legs spreading further seemingly of their own accord. His hand comes down from your neck, trailing over your throat and you reach up to anchor yourself to it, clutching at his forearm - a lifeline amidst the sensations. 

He crooks his fingers just right and you feel yourself start to quiver as your potential orgasm builds. You have to close your eyes entirely, although the way his face looks - focussed with absurd concentration -  atop his flushed visible chest makes it harder to draw yourself away. 

His other hand trails down, stopping to affectionately squeeze a nipple on the way, the slight pinch sending more arousal flooding into your stomach. He finishes you off with seemingly minimal effort and you can tell he’s growing a little smug with it. You shudder around his hand, core muscles crunching as you try to blindly, desperately, tug him down for another kiss. He gently continues to pet you through your orgasm, only pulling out and away when you start to gasp at the sheer lack of breath. 

He lets you relax for a few moments, wiping his hand on your shorts and thigh. He draws you back in for another filthy kiss, open-mouthed and pressing his lips to any part of you they can reach. 

“Lord, gosh - El that was…” You don’t have the words to articulate what you mean so you settle with, “Sorry, again, - about last night.”  He sits up properly at those words and gestures down at himself, unbuttoning his shirt as he does. 

“Come on then, show me how sorry you are baby.” He waves a hand at the bulge clearly evident in his silk bottoms, “Give him a kiss, s’ok honey, want you to - to say sorry properly for leaving us at home.” 

[car1no-xx]

Pedri fluff where the reader is a player for Real Madrid womens team? 😈

Amor Fati (Pedri x RM fem!reader)

On a weekend trip to Madrid, Pedri runs into someone he rather wouldn't. Little did you two know fate had other plans.

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi beautiful anon, thank you for the request! I made this into a little enemies-to-lovers thing, hope you don't mind. Just a reminder my requests are open, and to submit any requests you'd like before I start studying for final exams for the next 3-ish weeks yuck

~~

The morning was gloomy and foggy, much to your dismay. You loathed training in this weather, preferring the sun to keep your energy up and keep you motivated during the long hours of practice. It was a Friday, and to lighten your mood given the abysmal weather, you decided to treat yourself to a cappuccino before practice, hoping it would get you through the next few hours before the weekend officially commenced. You didn't mind showing up to the coffee shop in your training uniform - the baristas knew who you were, and so did the regular customers. You were grateful to them for never asking for your signature or pictures, especially in the mornings when you were still groggy, the bags under your eyes much too dark for your liking.

You grabbed a seat by the window, looking outside at the lush trees that decorated the Madrid streets. You mindlessly touched the embroidered badge on your jacket; you couldn't believe this was your life. A fan of Los Blancos since you were ten, you jumped through hoops and hurdles to get to the women's team. Being a woman in football was already hard enough - to play for Madrid, even harder. Then, a rough voice interrupted your daydreaming. "Sí, con leche, porfa." Yes, with milk, please. What was that accent? Definitely not from Madrid, you thought to yourself.

"Didn't expect to find you here," the voice said to you. You turned your head, your eyes going dark with the realization of who was standing in front of you. La madre que me parió, you quietly cursed to yourself. The mother who bore me.

Pedri. Barca's gifted, almost coddled midfielder. If your eyes could roll any farther back in your head, they'd likely fall out. Couldn't you just drink your coffee in peace? The thought of speaking to anyone, not to mention Madrid's rival, soured your mood even more.

"I literally live here. The question is what you are doing here," you spat.

You couldn't deny he was objectively attractive - his neatly trimmed eyebrows complimenting his almost raven-colored dark hair. His dark brown eyes that had a little sparkle in them when he spoke. One problem: you knew he hated you. Found you arrogant, too smart-mouthed for your own good. The feeling was mutual.

"Oh, you live here, in the coffee shop?" He was mocking you. "I'm here for the weekend, for no reason in particular but wanted to see how this precious city of yours is faring after all those losses," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.

That cappuccino you held in your hand was about three seconds away from landing on the hair he probably spent hours carefully combing this morning. Incorrigible prick, you thought to yourself. "If you expect me to fall over my chair laughing, you're sorely mistaken," you said, waving a dismissive hand towards him, hoping he'd get the message. Instead, he pulled up a wooden chair and sat across from you.

Would it really be a waste of my four euros if this coffee ended up on his head right now?

"I don't expect anything from you. Well, actually, maybe just a bit more pep in your voice. Thought you'd be happy to see me, bonita," he smirked. "We had fun at that party, didn't we?" That party. The one where you drunkenly ended up making out with Pedri for a total of twenty seconds a year and a half ago, only to quickly leave without saying anything else to him. It meant nothing. Less than nothing.

"That was fun for you? That was just me drunkenly making stupid decisions."

"Nevertheless," he winked.

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't doubt you took another lady friend home that night."

"Jealous?" That smirk, you thought. Slapping him would definitely take that smirk off his face, but you weren't keen on being charged with battery today.

"Enjoy Madrid," you said, rolling your eyes. And with that, you got up and left the coffee shop.

~~

"What do you mean I'm still out for the next game?" You quietly raged at your coach the next day. Friday sucked, running into Pedri and all. Today was apparently even suckier.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but the physiotherapist still thinks you need time to recuperate."

One month you were out with a knee injury. One month too long. You understood it was normal for athletes to succumb to injuries now and then, especially with the demanding pressure put on your bodies, yet you couldn't help but feel terrible and utterly useless. More than anything, you wanted to play - even being benched was borderline an insult to you, your competitive nature always coming through and wanting to deliver your best with every match, every practice.

"I'm ready to play. I've been finishing the full practices, doing my exercises regularly. I'm ready," you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your tears from seeping out. Don't let them see you cry. Don't show them any signs of weakness. No one wants a weepy player on their team with no bite, you thought to yourself. Perhaps a not-too-healthy way of thinking, but you knew the cutthroat nature of this sport, the constant comparing of female football players to the male ones. Miraculously, you managed to keep your forming tears at bay.

"I'm almost certain you will be ready to play the next game," your coach explained. Slowly nodding, you walked off the training pitch. If you were a cartoon character, you were sure steam would be coming out of your ears.

That night, you wanted to let loose, to drink away your anger and sadness. You told yourself a trip to the local bar with your girlfriends wasn't a bad idea, and so off you went. Despite your foul mood, you put on a navy blue high neck silk dress and strappy heels. The cut-outs on the side of the dress made your toned abs peek through. You felt confident, felt unstoppable.

Strutting up to the bar, you ordered tequila for yourself and your friends, looking forward to letting the alcohol take your mind someplace else other than the fact that you still couldn't play. Then, a light tap on your shoulder.

"Didn't think someone so cold could look so...inviting," the voice said close to the shell of your ear. Pedri. It was almost alarming how you managed to recognize his voice so quickly. You tried to ignore the tiny little butterflies his voice so close to you made you feel, how your stomach felt the same a year and a half ago when he kissed you in a drunken state. Feeling butterflies towards a Barcelona player? And such a cocky, smug one at that? Blasphemy.

"Pedri, por favor. Are you resorting to stalking me now?" You snarled.

"Bold of you to think you'd even be worth my time," he retorted. "Just funny how we keep bumping into each other, no? Fate trying to tell us something? Although fate doesn't know I'd never be with someone with that much arrogance."

"I'm the arrogant one? Please - you make some goals here and there and suddenly you're Barcelona's shining star and now you think you're God's greatest gift to mankind. Do me a favor, Pedri, eh? Go hit on someone else," you said as you turned around, pushing him away from you and wandering off back to your friends.

A shot of tequila in one hand, your friend's hand in the other, you stormed to the dance floor to try and salvage the night and your mood. Yet, you couldn't help but feel that Pedri's eyes were glued on you as you started moving on the dance floor, the alcohol overtaking your body. Although instead of dulling your emotions, the alcohol and music only heightened them. You started thinking - no, overthinking - about your work, your health, everything, on the dance floor. "I need some air," you called out to your friend.

Sitting on the sidewalk outside of the bar, your emotions started to overtake you. You couldn't hold back your tears, and yet you didn't fully understand why.

"Pasa algo?" Did something happen?

You didn't need a second glance to know who was speaking. You only shook your head. Pedri sat down next to you on the sidewalk, silent, and handed you a napkin he had in his pocket. Then, "Ordinarily, I'd say something to rile you up. But I don't like seeing anyone like this."

You were a bit shocked at his cordiality. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

He paused, then slowly moved his right hand to lightly rest on yours. His touch was soft, gentle. You hardly expected it from him, given your constant bickering and slight animosity anytime you saw each other, save for the one takeout session. You turned your face to look at him, and instead of the usual mockery in his brown eyes, you saw...was it understanding? Yearning? Empathy? You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"It's obviously something if you're on the sidewalk crying. Dime." Tell me.

"I just...sometimes I don't know why I play. What I do this for. This goddamned injury, it just makes me feel so useless, so helpless," you sighed, your fingers running through your hair. He nodded.

He chose his words carefully before proceeding. "I know the feeling. The uselessness, the anger, the eagerness to get back on the pitch. But maybe these things happen for a reason. To make us...stronger? Although I know it doesn't feel like it now." He paused, then said, "If you need someone to talk to-"

"I'm surprised at your offer, given that you've made it clear that you hate me."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He gently rested his hand on your knee and looked into your eyes. It felt like a lifetime before he said, "Maybe I don't hate you, after all. Maybe I've enjoyed our banter, but really all I've wanted to do was kiss you again. And I haven't admitted it to myself until now." His hand carefully moved from your knee, gently cupping your face, seeking your approval. For the first time, you didn't want to swat his hand away. Carefully, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips softly meeting each other before deepening the kiss just a bit.

As you slowly pulled away, you said, "You know, instead of sassy remarks, you could just ask me out."

"You've got yourself a deal," he smiled as he put his arm around you and pulled you in, your head resting on his shoulder.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that. You thought to yourself that maybe coincidentally running into each other wasn't too bad. And that maybe, just maybe, fate wasn't such a bad thing, either, after all.

[lordwoolselytaxservices]

2, 12 and 22 from fifty more rook qs?

Thank you so much for sending me an ask! 💖 As of right now, Fivren is my canon Rook so I’ll answer for her.

2. A scene from Rook’s year with Varric and Lace

“Pay up old man” Fivren demanded jokingly, a large grin on her face and her hand outstretched, beckoning the coin from the table.

“All right, all right,” Varric replied, counting out the gold before handing it to her. “You win this round. How did you get so good at Wicked Grace anyway? I thought the Lords of Fortune were more prone to taking rather than gambling.”

“The Lords are prone to any means necessary to get their treasures.” Fivren responded, dropping the coin into the embroidered pouch that hung from her belt. She ran over the threads that covered the leather of the small bag. Brilliant blues and greens made the leaves and petals of a crystal grace flower, her finger stopping on the bright magenta that created its filament. It had been him who had taught her the game. Her eyes lost focus, the blue thread reminder her of the color of his eyes before…

“Good news, we got word from Inquisitor Trevelyan.” Harding stated as she took a seat. “She says there’s reports of suspicious activity happening near Raven’s Brook. It’s not far from here. We should see if it’s connected to Solas.”

“Rabbit would be rolling her eyes at you for calling her Inquisitor Trevelyan like that,” Varric chuckled. “But you’re right. It’s worth checking out.”

“What about Neve?” Harding asked.

“I’ll go with you,” Fivren offered, slamming down what was left in her mug. “You might need backup. And Varric can…”

“I’ll head to Minrathous. Just don’t get yourselves killed all right?” He said with a smirk, his eyes giving away the concern he felt. He held up the deck of cards, “One more round before we call it night?”

12. An argument between Rook and the LI(s)

Fivren pinched the bridge of her nose as she sighed in frustration. Taash could be so indifferent about things sometimes, even things that felt important to her. “You can’t just say that!”

“Why not?” They countered, arms crossing their chest as they shifted on their feet. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that it isn’t a big deal but you’re making it into a big deal!”

“How exactly?” The qunari replied as their brows furrowed further.

“Because!” Fivren shouted, her arms throwing up in the arm in frustration. “All I said was that I like to sneak truffles to Assan and instead of seeing that I enjoy doing it and that Assan enjoys it and it helps us bond you have to give me a lecture about how feeding him too many truffles is a bad idea.”

“Well… it is,” Taash shrugged, their indifference seeming to grow.

“It’s not like I’m giving him a ridiculous amount of them. I’m talking like one, maybe two mushrooms every once in awhile.”

“I mean, I guess that’s not so bad. Just don’t spoil him because then he’ll expect it and if he doesn’t get enough he could act out and misbehave.”

Fivren sighed again, dropping into the sofa and allowing her head to fall into her hands as her elbows rested on her knees. She took a few deep breaths before Taash sat next to her, placing their hand on her back.

“Hey I’m sorry all right? I didn’t mean to make it like… a thing.”

“I was just telling you about my day and trying to be playful with you,” the dwarf replied in a soft yet stern voice.

“Oh, right,” they said letting their hand drop back to their lap. “Sorry.”

“It’s a good thing you’re adorable,” Fivren smirked, pushing into them with her shoulder.

Taash rolled her eyes, “Don’t get all mushy on me now.”

Fivren smiled, “I won’t.”

22. In Rook’s opinion, what’s the best meal Bellara prepared? And Lucanis?

Fivren really enjoys Lucanis’ seafood paella, especially if he uses shrimp but won’t hesitate to eat more than her fair share no matter how he prepares it. For Bellara, Fivren really enjoys her forest fruit cobbler. It often changes depending on the fruits that Bellara manages to find during her travels but she always grabs seconds.

[kewpikayo]

Lucifer Angst Week 2025

January 1st-7th Day one: Loss/Alone

find on A03

Chapter: 1 (you are here)

chapter 2 can be found here

Here is my contribution to Lucifer Angst week! I'm going to attempt to do all the prompts, but some may be a little late. Life has been busy at the moment, but I do hope you enjoy what I come up with!

This is supposed to be a character study and I plan to do this in a small mini series where each chapter builds on the other. The first chapter is below.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Lucifer is very depressed in this one. Nothing too bad, but he is deep in his sadness. I will post trigger warnings with each chapter as it will get dark. Stay tuned~

Melancholia: Day 1: Monday:

What was he doing?

Why couldn’t he pull himself together?

Lucifer was confined to his bed, cocooned tightly into the grand expense of his king sized mattress. He was supplied with too much room.

The sheets on his queen’s side were cold. They had been for a long time now. Each night without her carried her scent farther and farther away from him. He clung to her pillow, deeply inhaling the remnants of her faded, absent scent.

All he could smell was himself. He clung tighter to the pillow with duck down inside, holding it plush against his cheek for comfort. 

It only hurt his heart more.

Lucifer sighed. He had lost count of how many days, months, years, she had been gone. It was hard to keep track of anything as of late. Anything that wasn’t him focusing on taking shaky, shallow inhales and exhales at a time. That simple fact took the majority of his strength most days.

His breath warmed the covers obscuring his nose, embracing the bags under his eyes in heat. His eyes watered, blinking back tears that had long since gone dry.

Lucifer was tired. It was the type of fatigue that weighed heavy on the soul. No relief was in sight, not even when paired with the comfort of his favorite blanket. 

That blanket, with the sweet pattern of a family of ducks embroidered into the plush throw, belonged to his daughter. Much like her mother, she was also missing from his home and the majority of the past several years of his eternity. Only seldom calls with vague, forced conversation were had between them now. 

He didn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him. He didn’t even want to talk to himself. But most days that was the only company he would receive. 

His servants knew to leave him to his “work” most days, giving any special business to the sins on his behalf so he could focus on creation. It was the one thing he enjoyed, and now he couldn’t even make himself get out of bed to do so. 

He was pathetic. 

He didn’t deserve to take up space…

‘Just move. Just get up….please…please just get up…! You know you’ll feel better once you do….”

That was a lie. It was a lie he often believed, but everyday he still did so. sadly, that was the case for today. No relief was to be had for him.

 Besides, today did not feel like a “force yourself to be a normal person and hate it the whole time” type day. 

No, today seemed like a “slowly drown in your sorrow and despair until you die” type day.

Either option was exhausting to think about. Simply just trying to exist was exhausting…

No. Today was the day to rot in his too big bed, to be smothered by his too big blanket and continue to be accosted by his very sad brain.

So that’s what he did. 

Lucifer sunk further into his bedsheets, his bed holding his shape in the middle from the countless nights he would lay in the fetal position and wait for the hours to waste away. He was often consumed by numbness, and found himself in a state of not quite asleep but not quite awake. Just existing.

Like he was now.

Lucifer had not slept in five days. His eyes were screaming, blinking every few minutes with fatigue, desperate for an antidote or sweet balm for the agony his mind put him through.  Still, his body would not allow precious sleep. Sleep was too good for him, much like everything and everyone else in his existence.

Bags piled themselves under his eyes, preparing for the long graveyard shift this next night would bring. A deep, heavy sigh broke through his mouth, dreary and pitiful in its sound. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, feeling akin to a desert with rich cracks in its soil. He breathed again, his brows furrowing. The smell was foul.

When had he brushed his teeth? When had he showered? When was the last time he even had a glass of water? He couldn’t recall. All he could remember was rotting in bed for days on end.

Alone. 

Completely alone.

He was always alone. 

Another terribly sad sigh left him, brief in its escape from his lips only to be choked down once more by whatever remained of his pride. He didn’t even deserve to be sad. He did this to himself. He didn’t deserve anything.

He was a failure.

A failure who didn’t deserve to exist…

There was nothing he could do about that except pitifully hide under his blanket and duvet.   That was all he was good at. Hiding. He was a coward. He hated it, but he didn’t have the strength to disagree with himself. Not today.

Claws gripped tighter on the throw wrapped around his weak frame, resembling a hug he didn’t deserve from one he loved. From one who didn’t love him anymore. 

He lost his chance to love her.  She left him alone…

And though she was absent from his side for what felt like centuries, even longer, still she lingered. Her songs wove themselves in his head, his queen’s compelling spirit, her independent will…

If he closed his eyes he could swear he felt her embrace once more, wrapping around him tightly. Warmly. With intention, as she once did.

Once again that feeling was a lie. She was lost to him, but still she lingered…

He wished her memory would leave him alone. It was better that way. The pain her loss created ate away at him like mold clinging to decomposed fruit, encompassing what once was sweet and favored into something undesirable. 

His heart was not fit to carry her affections any longer. He knew this. He had known this for years; and still her loss was felt with even greater dismay as the hours rolled by. 

His hope for her return dwindled with each day that passed. His brain knew what his heart could not; Still, his heart sang her name ceaselessly. He desperately sought after her love, her embrace, her warmth just one more time…

She was lost to him. He knew this, but his brain would not forget her. He couldn’t. With her, they created the one thing he cherished above all else. How could he forget his first love? The one who brought him such a wonderful gift, a miracle, to begin with?

He didn’t deserve even the memory of her love. He didn’t deserve her…

Fingertips embraced wood lazily, but with compulsion. A sense of urgency melted into his numb hands as the drawer to his nightstand feebly slid open. Searching, desperately searching, his languid palms danced into the contents of the drawer. 

A yawn worthy of a thousand years of rest carried its tune in silence as Lucifer’s fingers graced against something of all too familiar design. Delicately, his claws wove themselves around their prize, cushioning the comforting weight of the glass bottle into the depths of his palm. A sigh of relief escaped him. It was briefly lived.

Drawing his hand close, the object that held the culmination, the essence, of his wife’s memory felt safe in his hands. He laid the miniature bottle of perfume under his cheek, the crystalline surface cool and soothing to his face.

His heart ached. He dreaded the thought of using even a drop. It would be wasted on him, the scent lingering on his sheets for longer than he could bare. 

He didn’t deserve comfort. Oh but he wanted it. Tremendously.

Wordlessly, absentmindedly, the fallen angel snapped open the cap of his queen’s perfume. His hands fumbled with the cap until it, too, escaped him; falling onto the floor beside his bed. It didn’t matter. As long as he had the glass bottle he would be fine. He would hold on.

Delicate touches from his fingertips smoothed over the faded tag attached to the perfume,  ghosting over the bottle that was embossed permanently with her unforgettable name. His claws traced over every letter, his lips parting with their sacred spelling.

“...Lilith…”

Oh, how he clung to the sound of her title, even on its treacherous voyage out of him. He sighed and closed his burning eyes.

 He didn’t deserve to even remember her, to remember her name, to even utter its splendor. His lips had defiled her name, the last piece of her he even had. 

Tentatively, he brought the bottle closer with shaking hands. He just needed her scent. Just one puff would take care of him, to carry him through this terribly dark day. It was all he needed.

Just. One. Sniff. 

Still, he hesitated, wasting the seconds away. With each sample he took she left him. She would leave him permanently if he wasn’t careful…

Just one, tiny spray would be enough.

Taking in as deep a breath as he could, the pads of his fingertips plunged down on the atomizer. He awaited the sweet relief he was promised.

Yet again, he was denied.

His eyes shot open, feeling only the pitiful puff of air greet him. No fragrance was to be had. He was denied the one thing that was promised to him.

“....No….”

Pulling the bottle away from his face to examine, he reached deep into the resuvours of his strength to push himself off of his mattress to cradle the last hope of comfort he had in his claws.

“.....No…No no no….Please don’t be gone….P-Please don’t  tell me that there’s….Th-there’s none left?!”

His voice was foreign in pitch, gravelly from lack of use. Fatigued curses croaked out of him as he gripped tighter on the nozzle, begging for more fragrance to escape into the air for him. None was to be had. The scent had long since gone dry, ever since his last use some odd weeks ago. He had forgotten to replace it.

Ah, but it was something he could never replace. This was once hers, precious in fragrance as much as her presence was.

“Ha….haha….O-of course there’s nothing left… Why…Why would there be….she’s gone…Sh-she’s gone….”

With one spray, he lost what remained of his wife.. Just as with one bite, humanity lost its innocence long ago…

Once again, it was all his fault.

“She’s gone…..And she…She isn’t coming back…Never…Not for me…”

His energy spent in his panic, his body collapsed back onto the mattress. The perfume was still delicately cradled in his arms.

A final attempt was made, desperation deeply rooted in his actions, as he opened the lid and plunged his nose inside.

She was there…She was still there…She was safe in his arms for a final time. A laugh on the border of elated and mournful broke from its confines deep in his chest. He had found her…

He had her for one more moment….She wasn’t lost…not yet…Not yet…

Tears poured down his face, his mind still deluded with falsehoods. His heart knew she wasn’t back. The bottle in his hands was nothing but pretense, the culmination of  his sanity traded for comfort. 

Still, his heart ached. He was beyond troubled, the stimuli from the perfume and the melancholy supplied from his serotonin deficient brain only assisting in his torture. 

His eyes burned, fat tears digging ditches, trenches, into the apples on his once pristine cheeks. Silently they continued their work, explaining his agony, desolation, when all of his words would fall short.

All he could do was be resigned to the depths of his duvet, hiding his shame as he continuously breathed in his sorrow with every devastated sob…

[sunny-lounge]

We got matching Christmas sweaters. (Ch. 2/2)

Relationship: Sami/Jey (SamiJey)

Rating: Teen — feelings and emotions, fluff, Christmas, a kiss, fun and silly, ugly Christmas sweaters, slight possessive feelings, established relationship, secret relationship, relationship reveal, family

Summary: Jey and Sami have matching ugly Christmas sweaters, it's a secret. Until it's not. Ch. 1 - how Jey and Sami got their matching sweaters Ch. 2 - how the others found out.

Word count: 2,667

Ch. 1 here.Ao3 link - Ch. 2 / *Other Fics*

A/N: I said I'd write something lighter this time so here it is, and I wanted to try something different. I didn't have a lot of time to write this because I wanted to get it out before Christmas. But hey, even if one person out there enjoys it!! 🥰 HERE’S PART 2!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!✨❄️🎄🎁🎅🏻🎉☃️✨ I hope you enjoy this! 🌸🌺

[— I'm not a "writer" —SO...Comments/Feedback would genuinely be appreciated. Obviously I'd really like to know if you enjoyed it - and comments are so wonderful and so motivating as well! 🩷 hit the like if you genuinely like it 😊 I'd love to know if it was any good. Thank you again for reading! 🩷]

Tagging: @afterdarkprincess @fantasyismyonlyrealescape @imabillyami - (if at all anyone wants to be tagged in my silly little fics let me know!)

——

He knows he's being ridiculous. The others won't care right? Maybe they won't even notice that it's part of a set, after all, Sami isn't scheduled to come in today. So Jey's confident he can get away with this.

And, really where would Sami even wear his 'Christmas' sweater, he doesn't actually celebrate the occasion...Jey thinks they're safe.

Walking into the locker room dropping his bag down Jey spots Jimmy immediately, grinning at his older twin. It's hard not to, Jimmy's always had that ability to make him smile, big smile, always been able to no matter what else is going on around them, no matter how bad or how chaotic, Jimmy always puts a smile on his face without even trying, seeing his face is enough to.

Jimmy's wearing a holly-green sweater that's looking extra soft and fluffy. At the top, "BITE ME!"— shiny silver sequins bordering it's glittering red letters, a large gingerbread man cookie dancing at the midsection one leg up in the air twirling, complete with a glitter candy cane in its hand being swung around, icing embroidery outlining its features, and the most gaudy obnoxious looking pompom buttons known to man going down its front. It looked like someone had thrown up a mix of different colored glitter in random patches all over the remaining parts of his sweater.

All in all it is hideous. His brother Jimmy has hit the brief of "ugly" Christmas sweater to perfection, he's understood the assignment and executed it to the highest standard. Jey is not one bit surprised...that Jimmy excelled at this.

“Ain't you all 'sweeet'  lookin' today, Uce,” croons Jey, leaning in with a smirk. Jimmy just grins at him like he's pleased with himself, throwing a candy cane at his head, which he manages to duck last minute.

“You so lame, Uce. 'Sweeeeet'!?  Really? This early with them lame ass puns?" huffs out Jimmy, laughing. "But, I am lookin' damn 'sweeeeet' aren't I?" he smirks, wriggling his eyebrows.

"I'm jus' learnin' from the best, Uce," quips Jey, shooting him a toothy smile. "Yea, you just soo...sweeeeet lookin', Uce, my teeth all gon' fall out."

He can see Jimmy gearing up to reply, but before he can, Solo's walking around the corner and giving Jey a stoic once-over. “Nice,” he nods, and continues on his way. 'Well, if that isn't the highest compliment coming from Solo..,'  thinks Jey. He's glad once again that he changed his mind and chose to wear this sweater.

The Wiseman already seated to his right is dressed in a purple sweater with a spectacular looking golden menorah on its front, orange flamed white candles resting in it, and immaculately detailed tiny multi-colored dreidels delicately embroidered all around the hem and ends off his sleeve. Classy.

“Wiseman! Lookin' good!” says Jey, a little too loudly, sue him, he's a little surprised with the holiday spirit and enthusiasm being shown, as he himself is feeling it. Seems like everyone's getting into it, he'd forgotten the Wiseman was Jewish.

Looks like Jimmy was right after all, he really is starting to feel an extra sense of camaraderie and togetherness already.

“Figured I'd join you rather than fight it," says the Wiseman, with a shrug, "I knew I was out numbered...,” trailing off, sighing. Looking and sounding down and defeated, if not for the slight smirk gracing his lips.

Always a sly low-key shit-stirrer...but that's what made him so unique, that's what makes him the 'Wiseman'— One minute he's showing off his brilliant and intellectual mind, the next he's strategically taking down their opponents with his hidden expertise. But, on the other hand, he's also cleverly busting your balls, and half the time you don't realize it till it's too late. They appreciate this side of him too, it's one of the reasons they all got on so well.

Solo's sweater is more subdued, a dark deep red with little white snowflakes embroidered around the collar, the midsection, hem and his cuffs, little shiny threaded brightly colored hollies in-between them. So Jey makes it a point to tell Solo, "You look nice too, Uce."

Solo's made the effort and that matters, and Jey wants to let him know it, it shows that Solo still underneath it all wants to be a part of the "family", to somehow even fit-in, in his own way, even if he sometimes acts otherwise.

"He does, don' he, Uce," adds Jimmy, cheesing at them from the other side. "You look nice, dawg!"

And of course, Solo responds with his single stoic nod, because that's what Solo does. And, it's the best they'll get from him, but they're used to it. And, it's okay, because that's their baby brother.

Just then the door opens and in walks Roman, announcing Sami will be dropping by soon to go over their tag team match together; it's unexpected, but he's excited to see Sami, just like he always is and he silently wonders if this feeling will ever fade. It's like he's perpetually living in the 'honeymoon' phase of theirs, just over and over, on and on, never completely escaping. Ever since, well, ever since the beginning, really. So, he's looking forward to seeing his boyfriend especially when they'd thought they would be spending today apart.

They've been in plenty of work situations since they've become boyfriends, and nothing's changed. Jey isn't worried about that.

'Boyfriends' it still feels weird saying it because it's such a foreign concept to Jey. And he's not sure, if he'll ever get used to the swarm of butterflies he feels that comes along with it. His stomach in chaos every single time, another occurrence that's completely foreign to him, every single time making it fluttering like crazy when he realizes that Sami is now—his boyfriend.

It hasn't caused any trouble yet, both of them being able to remain professional. Even though he's finding it harder and harder to stop himself from jumping Sami, and trapping those sweet pink soft delicious kissable...damn..he could go on...lips between his whenever he sees them, like they were always demanding to be taken—and really, he'd just be taking what's now his. The possessive bastard that he is, constantly wanting to come out and play whenever Sami is around. Something else he's never experienced, this constant need and want for someone, for them to be his and only his in every way, never until Sami.

“Told Sami we're wearin' Christmas sweaters, so he don't feel like a damn fool when he shows up,” shares Roman, walking past. And amused murmurs of agreement rise, from Jimmy and the Wiseman, waiting to see what the 'honorary Uce' will turn up in.

Roman himself is wearing a sweater that's a rich royal deep red, almost bordering on maroon, tight and fitting, an intricate extremely detailed golden snowflake carefully woven with fancy shimmery gold thread featuring right in the center, tiny white and silver snowflakes scattered around, the illusion of snow falling from the sky. Completing out the look of a magical, royal and regal Christmas—just like Roman.

So far, it looks like it's three for three. Three very decent, nice, and put together Christmas sweaters worn by Solo, the Wiseman and Roman. And, three 'ugly' Christmas sweaters worn by, Jimmy, himself and...

And, then it hits Jey. Now he's a little worried, because he knows Sami only owns one Christmas sweater—the one that matches Jey. The one he's currently wearing.

Jey is quickly running through his options, his escape plan, his excuse...

He's hoping maybe he'll get called out, by management or the crew for something that needs to be taken care of. Or, he can pretend he is sick. Maybe, pretend this is all just a big coincidence, and they just happened to have matching sweaters, he's fairly sure no one's going to buy that though. Or, he could just take his sweater off.

And, none of which would solve anything because everyone's already seen the sweater. At the very best he'll be able to avoid their reactions for a while, but what's the point, he's going to have to face them eventually and avoiding it will only make them rib him even harder. And, he can't find it in himself to leave Sami all on his own to face these bunch of brutes he calls family.

As though fate has been listening in on his lamenting, his inner dread, it is at that precise moment that Sami casually strides into the locker room.

Jimmy notices first, guffawing out a high bubble of laugher. “Jey, you and Sami matchin'! Man, I thought you 'n me was twins, dayoneish!”

Jey can't really focus on Jimmy, shifting his gaze a little, away from his twin now training it on Sami, wearing the matching set of their pair of sweaters. Sami just gives him a sheepish rueful smile in return, messily running his fingers through his hair, a nervous gesture of his. Shrugging, with a 'it is what it is and I'm going to run with it' motion.

Jey is stuck for a second, not knowing what to say or how to react, but he doesn't need to.

“I’m surprised by your taste, Jey. Nice ugly sweater you're wearing by the way,” grins Sami, with a wink, smirking like nothing's wrong at all.

'That smug cocky red-headed menace,'' thinks Jey, adoringly, still unable to say anything helpful as he hears Jimmy let out another bout of laughter, watching Sami heading towards Roman waiting on the other side.

Jey stealthy grabs his phone typing out a quick message to his boyfriend.

- - 'Shit. I don' know if I wanna punch you right now or kiss that damn smirk off your face. You enjoyin' this too much Sami...'

He watches as Sami, still listening to Roman going through all the possible scenarios of their match and how to strategically counter them, read the message. Sami's eyes widen just the slightest, you can barely notice it, almost like Jey is seeing things, eyebrows rising just a touch, again not noticeable unless you're really looking. He sees Sami's tapping out a reply, face blank again still appearing unbothered and nonchalant as ever to everyone around.

But, Jey knows him better than that, he can see Sami's body barely keeping from reacting, coiling tense in anticipation, something simmering at the surface.

- - 'Then do it, Jey. I’m game if you are.'

Jey's staring at the message, he stares and stares, dumbfounded mildly disbelieving what he's reading. Is Sami joking? So he looks up again and almost flinches, Sami is looking right at him, dead in the eyes with a seriousness so intense that it sends a shiver straight down his spine.

He didn't think Sami would ever go in for such a bold move, he'd have thought if it had been one of them suggesting it, it'd have been him—suggesting this, to kiss in front of everyone, in the middle of the locker room...but Jey can't deny that he really wants to. He wants his family to know how happy he is, he wants everyone to know just how lucky and complete he is, and he wants to share this. He wants to show Sami off. And, it looks like Sami wants to do the same.

Roman and Sami seem to have finished discussing their move for their upcoming match, vaguely hearing Sami agreeing with the plan they've come up with. And, they say their goodbyes. Sami says his goodbyes to the rest of them as well, each in their own unique way, a handshake, a hug, a nod, or a combination.

And as Sami turns to leave, Jey calls out for him. “Hey, Sami?”

Sami turns around with a questioning look on his face.

Jey ignores it stepping forward, wrapping his large hand around Sami's shoulder holding him in place, softly sliding it up the back of his warm slender neck, and slowly pulling him in and kissing him—open-mouthed, long and hard, possessive and hungry, licking right into his mouth chasing the taste of him. He's putting on a show, claiming Sami in front of them, marking him as his.

Jey can feel Sami's sweet grin of acceptance and complete surrender under his lips, mapping it out with his own, and he's sure Sami can feel him smirking right back, he hears his twin whooping and wolf-whistling in the background, and he's pulling away with a laugh, huffing out a little breath.

Resting his forehead against Sami's, they're breathing a little hard, Sami with his eyes closed and Jey with his open. Sami savoring the moment the still phantom feel and taste of Jey on his lips, while Jey is savoring Sami taking in the beautiful blissed out man before him.

They probably didn't need to kiss for that long or with so much intensity. But, now there isn't a single doubt in anyone's mind as to who Sami really belongs to. He might be part of the Bloodline, but he's Jey's.

And, there's a pleasant prickling, a tingling against his skin at the thought of it. He knows he's become a possessive bastard, and now his family knows it too. He's just made it very clear, there's no doubt in anyone's mind. Sami belongs to him. He belongs to Sami.

He keeps looking at Sami and he wants to taste those reddened plumped up swollen lips in front of him once again, in front of everyone once again, the ones that he caused to look that way.

"We still on for tonight?” asks Jey, going for casual, acting like the last few minutes didn't just happen.

Sami just grins at him all teeth, dopey looking fully gone on Jey, with that twinkle in his hazel eyes that's so distinctly Sami, the one that Jey can't ever look away from. “Of course, Jey.”

Sami ducks his head a shy smile now gracing his kissed-out lips, face still flushed still looking slightly dazed as he leaves, making an obviously quick escape while he can, in these precious last few moments of silence when he has the chance to.

Jey slowly turns back to his family and catches Solo passing Jimmy a $50 note. Roman and the Wiseman solemnly doing the same. He hears Roman distinctly mumble something like 'He couldn't have waited another week?'

“You knew?” Jey asks Jimmy, as casually as he can.

He's surprised, but he's also really not to be honest, more like a little affronted if anything, he could never really hide anything from Jimmy—his twin, the one person who sometimes knows him better than he knows himself, knows his own thoughts even before he does, his own feelings even before he can comprehend them, his dayoneish.

“Course, Uce! You know you ain't hiddin' nothin' from me. Don' know why you even think to try. 'Sides we be blind not seein' it,” says Jimmy, rolling his eyes grinning, and Solo is doing his stoic nod in agreement next to him.

He looks to the others, at Roman and the Wiseman and they too are giving Jey the 'you really think we didn't know? Do we look blind and stupid to you?—that's sad...' look.

Jey just shakes his head not knowing whether to feel a little put out by the whole thing or rightfully elated by their reactions, and sits back flopping down. All the tension and anticipation leaving him, his body loosening up and relaxing. They finally did it. He and Sami had done it, and the world hadn't ended, Sami had been right all along, Jey had just been over thinking it all.

Jimmy is still giving him that stupidly large and wide grin of his, and for all it's worth Jey can't help but return it in equal measure.

His attention turns to the pinging of his phone and he scoops it out of his pocket opening it.

- - 'I love you.'

Another ping rings.

- - 'I've got dessert waiting for you 😏'

——

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it! 🩷

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter four: what the trees see

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4037

Raising out of bed that next day had been a difficult feat. Perhaps the hardest feat she had faced in over half a decade. Tiredness weighed down her eyelids as a dull headache formed in the back of her head. The muscles around her neck felt tight, clenched, and stiff. The only thing that motivated the princess had been the thought of hunting down her cousin Helaena. So much had happened since the last time they had seen each other, she simply could not wait. While they had sent ravens, gifts, and more, nothing had compared to the sound of Princess Helaena’s words leaving her mouth. The princess-by-title finally rose well after the sun had started its travels across the sky. She stretched her limbs to no avail before requesting her elderly knight, Ser Wyllam, send for her handmaids. He had nodded with a friendly smile and the two girls came soon after, clad in their usual uniform. However as soon as they spotted the princess, both of their faces fell. Frowns painted across their faces as they looked at her with surprise and pity. Self consciously, one of the princess’ hands came up to lightly touch her face and hair, fearing something had made a mess of her. At first, she thought she must have had candle wax in her hair.

“Did you sleep at all princess?” Adelyn inquired. A question the princess had not at all expected.

“Hard to say.”

“Last I heard, your family was waiting for you to break their fast. Shall I tell them to eat without you so that you may rest?” Noarysa suggested.

“No… no, it is fine. I shall get dressed.”

With an unsure bow of their heads, the princess’s handmaids immediately sat her in the vanity chair to ready her for the day. The Keep was awaiting the arrival of Princess Rhaenys and her twin sisters before the hearing was to be held, which could be that day or the next. This meant that there was no need for Prince Daemon’s eldest daughter to look extravagant. Upon her instruction, the handmaids braided the Princess’s hair back into a similar style they had done the day before, except for less braids so that her scalp would not itch. Adelyn gave her best efforts to perfume the princess’s pulse points and powder the bags under her eyes away as Noarysa assumed her post at the wardrobe. Soon, delicious notes of amber, magnolia, honeysuckle, jasmine, and aged bourbon liquor wafted throughout the chambers. The older maid selected a slate blue gown with embroidered cream yellow dragons for the day. It had a boat neck that exposed her collarbones and wide trumpet sleeves that cascaded past her fingertips with a slit down the front of each that exposed her arms for movement. To match, she wore bronze encased sapphires and citrines on her ears, fingers, and neck. Once dressed and shoed, the princess bid her maids a good day and made her way to breakfast in her parents’ chambers. Just as the younger knight had the evening prior, Ser Wyllam Coldwater followed 10 paces back.

The decadent meal had already been served by the time that she had arrived, but they clearly had not been eating for long. Their appetites must have gotten the better of them. It was a wide, mouthwatering assortment of fruits, potatoes, eggs, porridges, and bread. The princess grabbed a mango as she lowered into her chair in between Joffrey and her father. The little prince had already made a mess of his porridge, but he gave his sister an innocent, toothy grin as she sat. The food on his fingers looked slimy and mushed. It was hard to tell if the remnants left had actually made it into his mouth yet. She tried to focus her eyes elsewhere so as not to make herself sick. Just as they had the evening before, the future Queen and King Consort held each other’s stares intensely. They must have argued into the night after the rest of them had been ordered to return to their chambers. Because of this, breakfast was quiet. The six around the table ate with speed and purpose. Crumbs spilled down their chins and the fronts of their attire. The princess kept her eyes on the table. Her mind still raced with questions about the stack of books in the library the night before.

The future Queen cleared her throat before she spoke, pulling all attention to her, “Your sisters and their grandmother should be arriving sometime this afternoon, Maetilda. Are you excited?”

“I haven’t seen them since their last nameday.” The princess nodded eagerly, “I hope they arrive in time for us to dine with them this evening.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, sweet girl! I shall suggest it to Princess Rhaenys.”

“Leave it to that wench, and dinner certainly is not happening,” Daemon dryly chuckled.

“Gaomagon daor rhaenagon bisa arlī, Daemon.” Rhaenyra snapped. (Don’t start this again)

The Rogue Prince sat back in his chair and pouted like an ego-bruised child. It was almost as if it brought him physical pain to keep his thoughts to himself. The headache in the back of the princess’s head beat at the inside of her skull with the new wave of tension radiating off of her father. It felt much different than the tension that would hang around them back at Dragonstone. This did not feel like it would cease anytime soon, only build with the days they stayed at the Keep. Would the state of the castle’s decor and the absence of his dragon truly affect him so greatly? She was beginning to think not. She had seen him angry on a multitude of occasions. Whenever Otto Hightower’s name was brought up in conversation, after Lucerys had taken Aemond’s eye and the Queen tried to take his, the many occasions Sheepstealer ate different peasant farmer’s livestock, even one time when the princess had gotten a little too close to a Manderly lordling. All those times she had watched in horror as his features knit together in unbridled rage, and his entire body went into overdrive, buzzing to inflict damage on the offending party. She had never witnessed him in such a mood. His features were still pulled together, his body still shook, but he made no movements to strike. For a man that never took the time to sit with how he felt, he was simply stewing. She watched curiously as her father eventually gave a sigh and unclenched his jaw. He leaned forward again and took a bite of his porridge.

“My apologies,” He muttered, “Princess Rhaenys has done an excellent job diligently raising your sisters. ‘Unbecoming of me to suggest otherwise.”

“Do you think Baela and Rhaena’s dragons are faster than Meleys yet? Do you think they race at Driftmark?” Lucerys wondered aloud.

“Only Ceraxes is faster than Meleys, Luke.” Daemon smirked proudly.

“Except me! I’m the fastest!” Joffrey insisted.

“Yes you are, my son!” Rhaenyra acknowledged with a smile.

“Speed means nothing if you cannot aim. Remember the hog that got away last week?” Jacaerys taunted.

“You are just upset because Vermax lost all three of our last races.” Lucerys smirked.

“Only because Shrykos cheats!”

“Does not! Don’t you dare slander her!”

“What about my dragon?” Joff inquired.

“Your dragon is back home,” Rhaenyra quietly answered him.

“And what would you do about it, Til? Take one of my eyes?” Jace joked, badly imitating his drunk uncle.

Luke and Jace fell into laughter while Maetilda froze at her stepmother’s new tension. “Jacaerys, that evening is not one to joke about. You should know better.” She scolded firmly.

“Sorry, mother. I was not thinking.” He hung his head in shame.

“We saw a very drunk Aegon in the corridor last night. Jace was only quoting him.” Maetilda spoke up in defense of her brother.

“How drunk was he?” Her father snickered.

“I would wager half my jewelry he pissed himself,” She smirked.

The family couldn’t help the fit of laughter that followed. Their faces grew red and they clutched their sides. It felt nice to laugh with them all amongst the tension. Daemon had even patted his daughter lightly on the shoulder in what felt like praise. Maetilda felt her heart soar out of her chest. Her face felt hot as she smiled widely at him. Rhaenyra fought back the smile on her face as she tried her best to remain neutral, “Alright, that’s enough. You lot are speaking about the King’s son.”

The children were soon dismissed after that. As they stood to leave, their mother warned them to be ready for the arrival of their kin. Seeing as there would be no ships on the horizon to spot the oncoming party, they would be forced to watch the sky and listen for flapping wings in the distance. The three oldest all bowed in obedience before exiting the future queen’s chambers. With Ser Wyllam in tow, the princess left her parents’ chambers briskly. Rocketing down the corridor in the first direction the wind took her. Her veins pumped in overdrive as she excitedly scurried down the hallway. Helaena could be anywhere, her cousin had lived a whole life at the Red Keep that she did not know. Had her favorite places changed? Would she still climb the steps to the top of Maegor’s Holdfast to get the best view of the city [off dragonback.] Would she still hide in the not-so-secret passage under the Grand Staircase? Did she still like to climb the trees in the Godswood? Perhaps her cousin turned to more mature settings as they aged — like the Sept, the gardens, or a personal solar where she could keep her collection of insects. The princess’s step faltered as the realization hit her bluntly over the head. She did not know where she was going. In desperation, Maetilda doubled back toward her parents’ chambers. Her brothers were idly making their way in the opposite direction when she had flagged them down. Giving him her most helpless frown, she turned to Jacaerys for directions to Helaena’s chambers.

“This is a bit complex, alright?” He readied with baited breath.

“That’s rude of you to suggest I cannot handle directions. That would just be sad! Ser Wyllam, are you listening?” She retorted.

The knight’s armor clanked as he drew closer. Jace cleared his throat, “You’re going to follow this corridor out to the Grand Staircase. Take the first left and go up one floor. Take another left. Follow that corridor and take the second right. Take those stairs up two floors. Take the right wing, follow the corridor on the left. The princess’ room will be down the right corridor.”

Just as everyone had suspected, Ser Wyllam led the princess the entire way. She was awful with directions when told them aloud, but excellent with them when physically navigating. If she had seen a path once, she would almost always be able to repeat it. Her brain naturally logged the landmarks. Yet the princess had not been paying attention to her surroundings on this walk; she was too busy wondering why her cousin hadn’t sought her out herself yet. Part of her wondered if the King’s second daughter would want to see her at all. The tiresome walk did not help the anxieties that rose. Her chest began to grow tight. She found herself breathing hard after the first set of stairs, and it only got worse from there. Different lords and ladies they passed had stopped to greet her — Lady Caswell, Lord Beesbury, Lord & Lady Lannister, Lady Fell, and Lord Stokeworth. Maetilda fought back harsh insults as she wondered where their greetings had been upon her arrival. Nonetheless, she smiled and curtsied before continuing on her way. They continued up another set of stairs and down countless more corridors. Her chest felt like it was absolutely on fire. She was gasping for breath by the time they reached Helaena’s door. Two white-cloaked knights stood guard at the door. They blocked her entry. The princess stared up at them with an exasperated glare.

“As Princess Maetilda, daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, I demand you let me through. I wish to speak with my cousin.” She stuck her chin up in the air.

“The Princess Helaena is not here, Princess Maetilda, daughter of the Rogue Prince.” One of them poked back.

“Where is she?”

“The Godswood, princess. That or her solar.” Answered the other.

Their answers sounded too easy. Like she had dreamed them up. As her gut cramped with caution, the princess gave her sworn knight an uneasy look as she turned to him, “‘Godswood it is. Do you know the way back down?”

Her oldest knight smiled at her warmly before nodding his head and turning to lead the way. The walk down was not nearly as bad as the walk up. She wondered how her elderly knight seemed to be handling it all better than her. Although stairs were not always that hard. Only when her heart raced the way it continued to. The princess silently prayed that Helaena had gone down instead of up. Dread filled her veins at the thought of having to scour the keep all day long for her cousin. What if Helaena was avoiding her as Daemon had instructed reversely? What if she was truly in her chambers, but had ordered the guards to lie? The princess-by-title no longer knew what to think. What all had the Hightowers poisoned? Surely her father hadn’t been correct last night at dinner. Gods be good, Maetilda silently prayed to those of Old Valyria as well as the Seven that she would find her cousin soon. The princess’s knight led them down a different path than they had come up. Down the first set of stairs, they could see the castle grounds from the windows that lined the walls. She had immediately spotted the gardens below. While the stems were nowhere near as green, the flowers had begun to bloom in the daylight. Spots of their colors blended together into an abstract painting down below. A smile crept onto her face at the sight. For a moment, she thought that perhaps she had simply been cranky. Perhaps she had overexaggerated her gloom and paranoia. Yes, the stems were brown, but the flowers still blossomed nonetheless. Yes, she had not seen Helaena yet, but it had only been a day. Yes, her family was sleeping with the wasp’s nest, but her stepmother was still heir.

As they continued down the stairs, the princess briefly stopped to peek through each window. She spotted more of the gardens, the courtyard she had arrived in, she had even spotted a bit of Blackwater Bay. The princess grinned at the sight of boats and seagulls. Although, not nearly as many seagulls than there were at Dragonstone. Feeling the pull of time, the princess yanked her eyes away from the window and continued forward. Not wanting to dilly-dally any longer, she desperately fought the urge to look out the windows she continued to pass. It was a doomed mission from the start. Maetilda resumed walking until a smallish yet bright patch of red caught her eye. Like a child unable to resist the cookie jar, her face was pressed against the glass in an instant. Outside the window, in the Godswood below, stood the Weirwood tree wide, proud, and tall. A silent gasp escaped her mouth at its sheer size. Much bigger than she had remembered. As she stared down at the tree in awe, specs of wisteria peaked back at her through the leaves that shook in the breeze. She stared harder, willing the leaves to reveal more. Internally praying the blotch of purple was more than just more flowers. The branches waved in a larger gush of wind, and there it was. A dot of silver blonde hair.

Nearly pushing her elderly knight the rest of the way, keeping him at a hasty and consistent speed, the princess could not reach the Godswood fast enough. Ser Wyllam bellowed at her antics, but did his best to match his pace to her excitement. He led her down the stairs and through an open courtyard, cutting through the Great Hall. Once they had made it outdoors, the princess no longer needed her knight’s direction. Her feet carried her at a sprint, not caring about abandoning her manners or muddying her skirts. To her sheer delight, the princess found her cousin Helaena standing and fidgeting at the base of the Weirwood tree in a wisteria colored brocade satin dress. It matched her eyes perfectly. Her silver blond hair was pulled back in a modest style, with a single braid pushing the hair at the front of her head out of her face. The rest of her light waves cascaded loosely behind her, billowing in the breeze with the leaves. Just as Maetilda had seen her from the staircase window. She was there. She had not run away. She did not move to avoid her. The princess-by-title was overcome with relief, unable to help herself from letting out a shocked laugh, “Princess Helaena, you are more beautiful than I could have ever dreamed. Gods, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve been waiting for you here,” The King’s second daughter replied.

The princess-by-title fought to keep her face even, not wanting to be the cause of any of her cousin’s distress, “Thank you very much for waiting! My apologies, I was not sure where to find you. I had tried going to your chambers first.”

“I was not there. I was here.”

“Yes, well I have found you!” A soft sigh left the Rogue Prince’s daughter. She grasped her cousin’s hands in her own and ran her thumbs over the top of Helaena’s knuckles. A sense of uneasiness settled in her gut. Something was off, like her cousin knew something she could not say. The princess-by-title painted a smile on her face, attempting to hide all signs of worry, “I could not be more happy. The journey was more than worth it.”

“I have missed you too, princess.” Helaena smiled genuinely, without making eye contact.

“Tell me how you have been! I want every detail.” Maetilda begged, gently squeezing the hands in her hold.

The other princess squeezed back, briefly looking Maetilda directly in the eye, “Did you get my last stitching?”

“Yes, I did! Your needlework is so intricate. Thank you. A silverfish and an earwig.”

“A silverfish and an earwig!” Helaena sighed in pleased relief, “Yes.”

“Yes,” Maetilda nodded, “The maester had to tell me what they were called. You know how I am with books.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Do you understand?”

“Uhh, well, the two species can be found in similar places, I suppose, but earwigs eat silverfish.”

Helaena let out an excited breath before she enunciated her next words in sharp staccatos, “You are the silverfish.”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“Does that make you the earwig? Were we holding hands? Please do not tell me you plan on eating me.”

“No, I am not the earwig.”

“You are not? Oh, umm, is it Shrykos then?”

“No, no, no, that isn’t it!”

“Is the earwig my friend or my foe?”

“You do not get it! Oh Gods, you do not understand.” Helaena fretted.

The princess-by-birth ripped her hands free in order to soothe herself. She started with sharp pacing as she muttered quickly under her breath. Her arms and shoulders rattled about like she was trying to shake a bug out of her bodice. Her face stretched with helpless distress. A whimper escaped her chest before her dominant hand smacked her own forehead hard. Within moments, the princess-by-birth was hitting herself and pulling her hair with both hands as hard as she possibly could. She cried out again, panicked and powerless. The princess-by-title launched forwards to grab her cousin’s hands. Like a tug of war, the girls gently fought over the upper hand. The King’s daughter hit and kicked exasperatedly while the Prince’s daughter struggled to prevent her from hurting either of them. Each just as stubborn and determined as the other. It had not been the first time the princess-by-birth had been distressed in such a manner. It happened whenever she felt her emotions to a depth too deep for her to tread water. Or she simply could not find the words to explain them. Just as the princess-by-title had felt the night before. She held her cousin’s hands in her own again as the storm slowly began to lull. The two breathed together for a moment. Matching the pace of their inhales. The sounds of the Godswood returned to them again. Maetilda felt as if its occupants had been watching them, judging them for the outburst that just occurred. She felt the full weight of the fault. She was not listening to her sweet cousin, not hearing her.

“I am sorry, Helaena. I am listening. Please, help me understand.” Maetilda squeezed at her cousin’s hands again.

“I already told you.” She whined.

“I know you did, you have! I’ve kept them all in a chest back on Dragonstone. I should have brought them—“

“The rest of them are no longer important. The last one is.”

“Right! It was a silverfish and an earwig. They were touching a few of their legs together. There was a red sun at the top — perhaps a moon, it was not finished — and a white sunbeam, with a bunch of brown and green leaves, set in some trees.” Maetilda thought aloud, “On a blood moon, I shall be caught unattended in the Godswood with someone?”

“No, no, no! Not a moon! A tree! The trees! Maetilda, the earwig!” Her words moved so fast, the princess-by-title could scarcely understand them.

Before another storm could brew, Maetilda reached out to brush some loose pieces of Helaena’s hair out of her face. With her other hand, she continued to lightly squeeze her cousin’s hand, running her thumb across the top soothingly. As Maetilda’s hand had made it halfway down the strand of hair, her cousin caught it in a bone crushing grip. Doing the same with her other hand. The princess-by-title gasped in shock, daring to meet her cousin’s gaze. The King’s daughter looked past her with glossed over eyes. Her mouth was slightly parted, left ajar in her thousand yard stare. The hairs on the back of Maetilda’s neck and arms stood on edge. That was not normal.

“A spool of black, a spool of green, moves and countermoves, seen and unseen,

That of old enemies, newly enraged, little bird in a cage, dragons cannot be caged.

Promises, lies, and poisoned beehives, children grown play with more than knives

One eye closed, two fires sparked, the heads of three have long been marked.

The gods of the air do declare, only one they shall spare

For it is written tried and true, dragons must pay dues to the sea gods too.

Blood, fire, flesh, and water, the stench of a wound that will not cauter,

Though the ink of history has not yet dried, the fate of two has since been tied,

Life is paid by that of death, for only great loss can bring new breath,

His is the song of princes promised, hers is that of a heart most honest.

Sweet little bird in a cage, dragons cannot be caged.”

Maetilda’s breath hitched at her cousin’s words. They had left Helaena’s mouth like a song strained in her throat. Slow, raspy, haunting. She was not even sure when the worried girl had taken a breath. Unsure what to do or say, not entirely certain of what she had just heard, Maetilda cupped her cousin’s cheek in her hand. Ghosting her thumb over the girl’s cheekbone and brushing the breeze-blown strands of hair out of her face. Together, they breathed, gathering as much peace between the two of them as they could. They closed their eyes and matched the pace of each other’s breaths. Her cousin looked pained when she opened her eyes. Her heart broke at the sight of the sweet, tortured girl.

“Helaena.”

A/N: i love helaena, but also imagine knowing the future and not being able to do anything about it. that has to be absolute mental torture. i want to do her justice so bad.

xoxo messy