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yolkcheeks · 8 months

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Just chilling & watching silly little videos when Her Ladyship shows up, evicts her sister from the couch, lays down where she was and tap tap taps me with her paw. I try to pet her and she tries to bite me. I let her have her spot on the couch, she whines that I am even daring to touch her.

Ma’am /you/ put /yourself/ here.

#the gorls #life with cats #yolkcheeks talks #Her Ladyship #Otilia #a very indignant pile of noodles

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eurigmorgan · 5 months

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Look here hooman, I own this house and I own you.

#black cat #her ladyship

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goodgriefwhatanerd · 1 year

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The Young Lord's Dream

The R E: 8 DLC sure made me feel things, but the most coherent one was "wow that first section would be an incredibly thematic nightmare for my S/I" so I wrote a thing.

I wake up in the deep dungeons, the cold smells of mould and old blood filling the air. After spending so many months of so many years in the place, I thought I knew every inch of Castle Dimitrescu, but these mazes of cells are alien to me.

Pulsating viscous black fluid crawls across the walls and I have sense enough to keep my distance, but what scares me is what I see in in the next darkened corridor.

The lady of the house is well known to collect beautiful young women and keep them long after they have been drained of humanity and blood. The black clad women in the cells are not amongst those maidens.

I recognise every pale, frightened face. I see it every day in the mirror.

They aren’t me, but they’re what I could have been. If I’d had the good manners to starve myself. If I hadn’t cut off my lovely blonde hair. If I hadn’t been so rude as to call myself a man and had accepted life as a beloved doll.

My lovers say they don’t mind that I can’t take the role of a man even as I refuse to be a woman. But everyone knows men aren’t welcome in House Dimitrescu. Alcina calls our dear Duke and myself exceptions. Her daughters call us their fathers. The whispering worm of doubt calls them all polite lies.

And here is proof that it was right, staring right back at me...

Screams pull me back to the present.

I don’t know when the cell doors opened, but now the girls are all around me, running in a panicked herd. Following slowly yet inexorably are ghouls born from the black tar-like pools. They are white as death and drink the very life from those they catch.

It takes several seconds before I realise I should run. There is no direction, no reason, no thought. A screaming face, water running across grey stone, barrels, grasping hands, a rusted lock which shatters with a kick. Everything is fleeting glimpses of sense in chaos.

It’s only by luck that I find the stairs. I hare into the kitchen and a new fear settles like lead in my stomach.

It was only yesterday that the girls dragged me in here to help them bake. The memory is bright and fragile, lying over the dark, dust covered room that can’t have seen human footfall in years.

I start running through the castle, shouting for anyone I can think of, from my beloved Alcina to poor Sofia who had to tidy up our mess after the fire got put out.

No one, just more empty room of dust and rubble and the hideous black slime.

And then I hear it. That laugh. I know it as well as my own heartbeat.

Not wasting any more of my breath shouting, I run up the staircase as fast as my aching legs and lungs will take me.

There’s light coming from under one of the doors. I throw it open and run towards the Duke, arms already outstretched.

I’m halfway across the room before I realise something is wrong. Beneath the porcelain mask his mouth is cruel. I can’t see his eyes, but his gaze still pins me to the spot.

“What’s this? A little rabbit delivering herself to me? My, what a surprise this is.”

This man is not my husband. He may wear the Duke’s face and voice, but that is all there is of him.

Here, I am no one’s husband. I am loved by no one. I’m just another girl to be played with and tossed away.

When the ghouls reach for me, I don’t even bother to fight.

#but a humble merchant #her ladyship

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coloriza · 3 months

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Lunar Exchange gift for @komorebi-rabbit ❤️

#shisaku #shisui uchiha #sakura haruno #her ladyship has no soul and no regrets #shisaku rodeo #shisaku lunar new year #my art

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casuallivi · 1 year

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Yellow Carnations

I’ll admit elriel is more of a background here, since this is part of my Her Ladyship's Garden collection, where I tell little stories about Elain. Set post ACOSF. Word count: 2016

For Elriel Month 2023. Prompt 3: Happy Solstice @elriel-month

The High Lord confident steps halted as he passed by them, a frown marring his face.

“You are here.”

Elain lifted her eyes from the tome she was reading, dark circles in her pale face, her freckles less prominent now that she spent less time under the sun.

“Am I not aloud anymore?”

“Don’t be silly,” he recovered quickly, “I’m surprised to see you home, that’s all.” Too late. The oddness of his initial tone sent her alert.

Elain watched Rhysand like a hawk. She could now interpret all the subtle changes in his posture, the quirk in his lips when he came across information he found relevant, the twitch in his left ear when his attention was actually settle in a different conversation than the one he was having, the slight grind of his molars when the information was not to his liking, the unguarded rub off his chin when he found something amusing. Amren was right. Translation was a game of patient, its own brand of art. Observe a language for long enough, and you'll find the patterns. Observe a male for long enough, and you'll find his weaknesses.

“Early day?”

“Late night.” Amren corrected.

The night began in the opulent dinner table, where they had more space to work. As the hours went by and their eyes grow tired, they moved to the sofa, seeking a bit of comfort, later sitting on the rug, cushion spread all over the place. Now the sun was high in the sky.

Amren slouched back on her hand, sipping wine from her enchanted gold goblet that never emptied. Her latest gift from Varian. “Sunshine here, is surprisingly good with languages. I’m thinking of keeping her.”

Cunning violet eyes scanned the mess spread on the center table, crinkling the smallest bit at the corner while he exchanged a silent conversation with Amren. Elain pretend not go notice the use of his daemanti powers.

“Is that so. Had I known that earlier I’d not have let you move out. It's good to have reliable people close by." He grinned at her, joking. Elain had no doubt he was trying to mask the truth with pleasantry.

Rhysand was not happy with her decision to leave. Not when he and Feyre went above and beyond to build her a room that could rival a small house. It was certainly bigger than the cabin they lived in. A cage was still a cage, no matter how big the antechamber was. She smiled at him.

“A lady never tells.”

“Is that another of your human costumes?”

“No. A feminine one.” She could not help but notice how his smile did not reach his eyes.

“Well, best of luck, ladies. Don’t let Amren drink on an empty stomach. She gets cranky.” He waved them goodbye.

Amren squinted at Elain, as if daring her to take her goblet. Elain only rolled her eyes. The people in this household had a level of love and tolerance for alcohol that she could not understand. More than once she witnessed Cassian downing entire barrels, by himself, and still remember vivid details of the night. It was mesmerizing and worrisome.

Their books were staked in high piles in a vain attempt to gain space. It was no use. The surface was covered with a variety of tomes written in a dead tongue, accompanied by dictionaries and encyclopedias. Although her fingers were cramping from the long hours spend writing, Elain used the piles to her advantage, the books creating a makeshift hideout. With the help of her acute fae-sight, Elain caught a view to Rhysand's map room, Cassian and Azriel already inside, their back to her, waiting on their High Lord.

Azriel.

Her heart ache at the sight of him. Sleep hardly came by these days, her mind too busy in replaying the moment he rejected her. Elain did not even had the luxury of remaining his friend, for Azriel made his presence scarce, shutting her down completely. No more walks along the Sidra, no more sitting by the garden, no more exquisite seeds left in the shed, no more tiny trinkets from his trips, no more shopping at Rainbow, no more breakfasts at the breaking of the day, no more sage carefully applied to the cuts in her hands. Azriel was gone.

Yet, he had come to see her father.

Every month Elain visited her father’s grave. Taking her time to tend to his tombstone, pluck the weed that insisted in climbing the stone, replacing his flowers with fresh one, gently polishing the jaded letters forming his name while murmuring new memories made by her and her sisters. Sometimes they went with her – Feyre more than Nesta – whether they choose to go or not, there was someone who never failed to accompany her, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, wings tucked tight, keeping a respectful distance at the foot of the hill. The first time she voiced her wish to visit her father, back when her family was still careful of her mood swings, Feyre volunteered to take her. To their surprise, Azriel was waiting for them outside, implying his High Lady flying skills were not good enough to carry others. Feyre gasped at the audacity, threatening to punish him with frontier duty, and Elain thought it was endearing how he hide his smile behind her tresses.

When the following month came, Elain descended the stairs to find him waiting in the foyer, a placid smile in place. They exchanged no words as he took her basket, safekeeping it in a pocket of shadows, and off they went. Another ritual was born of silent agreement, as all the ones created before it, because that’s how they worked, inexplicably attuned to each other.

Or so she thought.

The solstice mistake haunted her all day long, Elain returning to her sleepless nights, mind running a thousand miles, recreating every interaction she ever shared with Azriel, cataloging all the touches and glances and suggestions of something else. Something more. No matter how hard she thought, the conclusion was the same: Azriel felt for her as she did for him. Then why, why, reject her? Elain rubbed a hand under her breast, caressing her ribs, disappointment settling over her very bones. It saddened her that she was used to people validating her bond more than her, but to have Azriel doing the same was like having her heart ripped out of her chest. Again. She tossed and turned in her bed. Maybe it was for the best. If she was just another woman, they would have freedom to explore their relationship, but she wasn't, and things were complicated. Elain was tired of complications. Perhaps she could use this event to distance herself as well, easier to bury her feeling. As Nesta's romance books said; out of sight, out of mind.

The problem was Azriel didn't get the memo, reappearing when she finally settled her mind in forgetting him, therefore ruining her plan.

To see Azriel standing outside the River House, waiting for her, after the solstice fiasco, was a bucket of cold water putting out the fire of her resolution. Damn him. No, she would not go with him. He had been avoiding her like the plague, forgone their friendship as if she was nothing, disappeared from her life without giving her a proper reason, a goodbye. Elain had more self-respect than giving him a free pass after all he had done. She’d rather walk all the way to the mountain than submitting herself to be in the company of a man who called her a mistake.

That's what she told herself as she looped her arms around his neck, Azriel taking up to the sky seconds later. Elain was a fool for love. Elain was a fool for Azriel. She could barely focus on cleaning the grave, apologizing to her father and promising to come another day to talk properly. Contrary to her other visits, the was no placid smile waiting for her downhill. His silence was different now, tense, guarded, as if he was stopping himself from spilling words. It made her jittery. When he brought her home, Elain could swear he tightened his hold on her, burring his nose in her hair before settling her back on her feet. Her heart thundered the entire time.

Her stare meet the one of her brothers-in-law, Rhysand noticing her watching. He winked at her, the door closing with a hit of night-kissed power.

A powerful, heavy, slap hit the back of her head, jerking her body forward, her breast hitting the corner of the center table.

“Focus.” Elain straighten herself, rubbing her aching tits. Her eyes remained fixed at the door. The scent of jasmine thickened, burning the oxygen in the air.

“Amren.”

“No talking.”

"Listen,"

“Girl, I do not care for how cauldron-blessed you are, if you do not concentrate, I'll smack you with that book.”

The threat did not detained Elain. She had long learned to identify the humors of the small female sitting beside her. Despite her words, Amren was calm and relaxed, carefully translating the parchment in front of her with her dubious calligraphy. Elain’s expression was a block of stone, showing nothing of the havoc in her mind, a swirling of thoughts she had avoided for a long time taking a hold of her tongue, obliging her to ask a question she had never dared to voice out loud.

“What if his mate comes?” The scribbling stopped, the metal tip of Amren’s feather pen piercing the pager.

Goddamn tears rimmed her eyes again, and Elain couldn’t know if they were from anger or frustration. Or sadness. Elain was so tired of crying. She rubbed them off.

“What if she comes for him. For Varian.”

The pen broke under the strength of her hold, dark blue ink smearing the translation. The hairs in Elain's arm stood up, her senses getting alert to the scent of danger spreading in the air. Then it was gone, masked with perfection. Amren scrunched the paper carelessly, throwing it over her shoulder.

“It won’t happen.” she said with conviction.

“It can happen.”

“It won’t.”

Elain shook her head, placing her book down. She knew denial when she saw it; had learned to identify it in the mirror.

“You don’t know that. She can be out there, and at some point, they might meet,”

The slam of a fist cut her words, shaking the table, splintered wood forming veins in the dark wood. Grey eyes smoldered, a snarl escaping the ferocious female. Amren snapped her head towards Elain, her grin savage, her words hushed and deadly.

“Then be my guest and try me.” Another fae would have flinched, instinct urging then to cower in front of the great predator snarling at their face. Elain did not balk, did not blink, she faced the other female head on, cunning brown eyes tracking the passionate possessivity hiding behind the maddening outburst. “Do I look like I give a fuck about some fae-made mystical rope of destiny? I’m not from this world, girl. Where I come from, you want something, you take it. I wanted this world, I wanted this body, and I want that male. Varian is mine, and mine alone. Mine. If someone, anyone, thinks they can steal him from me, they are welcome to try.”

She slammed the book into Elain’s chest.

“Stop spouting nonsense and finish this shit.”

In her heart of heart, Elain had always thought that being made gave them a sort of comradery, but seeing the ferocity in Amren’s eyes today proved they shared more similarities than the middle Archeron imagined. She took a deep breath, purging all the other scents lingering in the house to focus in one and one alone, when she found it, Elain breathed it in, holding it down in her lungs the longest she could, exhaling it slowly.

You want something, you take it.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Elain returned to her book. Amren’s words ringing in her ears. Maybe the former angel of death was put in the seer’s way to teach her more than dead languages.

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normalbrothers · 2 months

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i hardly feel like this but whenever i see patricia clarkson i need her to do to me what elizabeth bathory did to those virgins

#it's a very specific urge #i'm not a virgin though but i can be if her ladyship demands it

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mathlann · 4 months

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Inasmuch as the "Werserians eventually rose to become just as rich and idle as any other noble house after Abelard passed" is kind of a good ending dynastic establishment-wise, I think Cas would be personally deeply distressed at that outcome for them. The "I'm a noble because my great-great-great-great-grandfather held Saint Drusus' third cousin's grox's toilet paper once"-style hereditary nobility isn't a thing on her homeworld (you actually have to be competent at something) so she genuinely liked that Abelard had like, actual job experience that he got ennobled for. I don't think she'd ever demote the family in her lifetime, out of affection for Abelard alone, but I do think she'd try her hardest to subtly-not-so-subtly bar any Werserian scions from any of the cushy jobs until they hit their 60s at least.

#Abelard Werserian VI being told that it would break his great(x3) grandfather's heart if Her Ladyship let his descendant #take a pithy officer desk job straight out of school so off to the toilet scrubbing division he goes until he works his way up #casimira von Valancius #rogue trader spoilers

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yolkcheeks · 3 months

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Oh what a wonder, that you understand me, even though I do not speak your language- certainly when I’ve tried I am worse than I have at understanding you, which itself isn’t

all it’s cracked up to be.

But now the twist, a squeak, the warmth warmth warmth and steady molten pressure of you on my thighs, a persistent quiet vibration on a loop.

Such gentleness, when you decide I need to be calmed down, whether I’m ready for the love or not.

I’m awed by your love, every day. I’m humbled by so many things in this world but you, so small, loom among the largest.

#nightposting #life with cats #Her Ladyship

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xkuja · 6 months

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What’s one random headcanon about your muse that people mightn’t know?

|| ♡ Munday Meme ♡ ||

Where does the tail go?

Usually he keeps it bound behind him in a tight, uncomfortable, coil (he's used to it)~. But on occasions, he keeps it hidden via magic while keeping it still so it doesn't move about and rustle things. That's why he favors clothing with long trains or skirts down the back

If he lets his tail free and visible around you, it is a sign of trust... Well, the very least, complacency.

#|| is this memes ||#|| Munday ||#the tail mystery is always an interesting one #her-enlightened-ladyship

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fabiosofabz · 4 days

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A collection of Cat, and their daily Shenanigans. Miss Luci Goose likes to roll around looking goofy, Old Man Reginald sleeps like a king in his bed, and Sir Nugget likes to cause chaos. (The other two are guilty of instigating this when it’s his turn to behave.)

#Her Ladyship Miss Luci Goose Spookington #aka Luci Goose or Goose Goose #Reginald Maxwell Aka Reggie Aka Old Man #sir banana nut muffin the third aka nugget #my sweetest babies who are also assholes #and spoilt as shit

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vilecovet · 1 year

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“ you look like trouble. what are you here for at this time of night? ” as per usual, he's stuck playing bouncer for his boss' club, and while most faces are familiar, he's required to pull any unknowns aside.

/ closed starter @vulpesse!

#vulpesse #{ mika ; ic } — focus on what is real. leave me.#{ v ; current } — stay one step ahead of death.#{ mika ; closed starter } — life is nothing.#/ hope this is okay!!#/ i proudly present mika as a sacrifice for her ladyship

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ackermental · 2 months

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Bridgerton Season 2 is shockingly so much better than Season 1. It's incredible how far getting rid off one horrible character (DAPHNE) can elevate your story.

Now, if only Eloise would just disappear off the face of the Earth, I wouldn't even call it a guilty pleasure show but simply a good one.

Honestly though, I don't care if she drowns in the river, just write her off, before I have to hear another monolouge on her self-importance and just how feminist and clever she is (not like the other girls 😘), because she reads (*gasps*).

#bridgerton #Any time this privileged as fuck bitch opens her mouth I wish someone would just slap her #honestly.#some poor guy working at the printing shop doesnt even have a time to say one word before she jumps at him for being stupid #and then she goes on spurting even more nonsense and just so we dont think that she's a complete idiot we have a shot of her servant #smirking because his brat ladyship is so smart uwu #give me a break she's a character that escaped from hbo velma nobody would take her seriously today #not to mention in the regency era

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