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reachfolk · 2 years

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I'm goin thru ur blog and found these compliment prompts and UH.

96. "Your makeup looks so good on you." for Lex and Filly and U Know Why 😎

💛 @vilkas

❥ prompt: “your makeup looks so good” (modified to fit the characters a little better but the gist is there!)

✿ tags: pre-relationship, lexlia, light angst at the end, excessive use of italics lol

❥ word count: 1.5k

✿ summary: ophelia shows alexandria a glimpse of the world she was meant for.

❥ author’s note: we all know the image this was inspired by. have some lesbeans <3

✿ taglist: @lookathooves

“You look different today.”

Ophelia’s observation came as she watched Alexandria attempt to carve out a pattern in the hipbone of a deer. It was harder than she’d expected it to be, and had she not wanted to learn the art so desperately, she’d have stopped long ago.

She didn’t look up from her work as she explained, “I’m wearing makeup. Came straight here from lunch with my family and some guests of theirs.”

“Makeup?”

That caught Alexandria’s attention, and she paused her ministrations on the bone. “Yes. You don’t know what it is?”

Ophelia shook her head.

“It’s, uh... a bit like warpaint, I suppose,” Alexandria said. “Paints and powders you use to cover blemishes or add a pop of color to your face. Though, I suppose it’s not the same purpose. Makeup is simply for beautifying.”

Ophelia made a face at the last part. “You’re not the sort to care about that.”

“No, but that’s how it’s all done in high society. It’s only proper for a woman to look her best.”

She got a gagging noise in response and laughed.

“I like warpaint better,” Ophelia said. “More bold, and much more meaningful.”

“Yours suits you quite well.”

Her warpaint differed slightly day-to-day, but it was always a deep purple and always in a swirling pattern of some sort. Today, it reminded Alexandria of a gas floating upwards into the air, dissipating as it moved higher up her neck and face, ending in a circular pattern that surrounded her eyes.

“I’ve never seen you in proper paint,” Ophelia observed, confused. “I know Nords use it. I’ve seen my fair share of adventurers come this way, and they often have some marks on their face.”

Alexandria shrugged as she admitted, “I’ve never worn warpaint.”

Her friend must have easily picked up on the disappointment in her tone, as she gave a moment of thought before standing up and walking towards her dresser. “Let’s change that, then. I know just the design for you.”

“I don’t know.” Alexandria hesitated, a frown on her lips despite her intrigue in the prospect. “I’ll have to go home soon.”

“Then we’ll wash it off before you leave,” Ophelia said with a shrug, unconcerned. “You don’t need to sound so scared about it. It’s only paint.”

“You know how my mother is,” Alexandria gave an awkward laugh. “She’ll make a fuss over just about anything that could be improper for a woman of high status.”

When Ophelia turned to face her, she held in her hands a metal canister of paint, a brush, and a wet cloth. She held them up tantalizingly. “Is that a no?”

Alexandria pursed her lips and thought hard, but she found herself shaking her head on instinct. “It’s a yes,” she gave in.

“Lovely!” Ophelia took a seat on the bed, patting the spot beside her.

Alexandria’s uncertainty lingered, but with the gentle smile Ophelia gave her, it was all but quenched as she took a seat beside her.

She began by wiping off the makeup Alexandria wore with the wet cloth. The red tint to her lips and cheeks stained the white fabric, and her face felt lighter without the layers of powder dusting it.

“You said you had a design in mind,” Alexandria said. “What was it?”

“It’s a traditional pattern used by the Boldclaw clan. One of their key deities is the Lady Namira, so it only felt fitting for you. And the yellow is simply because it’s your favorite color.”

Alexandria couldn’t fight back the urge to smile as Ophelia brought her cloth over the apples of her cheeks. Her connection with Namira brought a kind of comfort to her that not a lifetime spent in the Temple of Dibella could ever give her. It was Ophelia that made her realize that, and she encouraged it at every turn. Alexandria loved her for that.

Once the makeup was off her face, Ophelia dipped her brush into the canister of yellow paint. She brought the brush up to Alexandria’s face, drawing a long stripe from between her brows down to her chin. She went over the line a couple of times, then frowned.

“This angle is uncomfortable,” she said. “Sit back a bit.”

Alexandria did as she was asked, shifting back in her seat. She’d expected Ophelia to grab a chair to sit facing her properly, but it seems she found Alexandria’s lap a better seat.

Shifting to straddle her legs around Alexandria, Ophelia gave a smile, fully aware of just the impact it had on the woman beneath her. “Much better, don’t you think?”

Perfect, Alexandria wanted to say, but the lump in her throat blocked the words and she could only give a slight nod.

Ophelia brought the brush back up, gently stroking it over Alexandria’s lips in a downward motion. Alexandria wondered if the way her lips quivered was noticeable, and from the smirk Ophelia bore, the answer was a resounding yes.

She brought the brush higher, drawing a branch moving outwards from the central line. The brush tickled Alexandria’s face as it passed over her skin. But she could hardly pay attention to it.

She was far too distracted by Ophelia’s focused expression. There was something in the way she looked at her that bore into Alexandria’s chest. She felt bare and exposed under the woman’s watchful gaze.

She often hated it—being stared at so intensely left an unease in her stomach as though her every move was somehow wrong. But Ophelia looked at her differently than anyone she’s ever known. As though there were something within Alexandria worth seeing—worth admiring.

Ophelia brought a hand up to Alexandria’s chin, tilting it upwards, ever so slightly closer to her lips.

Alexandria was thoroughly disappointed when she realized Ophelia only intended to get a better angle as she painted one last set of lines at her chin.

With that, she leaned back, examining her handiwork. “It looks nice,” she assessed. Reaching over to her dresser, she grabbed a hand mirror, showing Alexandria the result.

As she’d felt, the paint ran down her face in one large stroke with rigid branches breaking off in other directions. Two were at her forehead, starting between her eyebrows and drawing upwards over her eyes then down toward her temples. Another two branches broke off in the same manner—two at her cheeks just below her eyes and two at her chin drawing over her dimples.

“A spider?” Alexandria asked.

Ophelia nodded. “It suits you quite well, don’t you think?”

It did. It really, really did. Ophelia always did this when they met—showed her little glimpses of a life she could have led, had her parents made different choices. Is this what she would have looked like if she grew up in the Reach as Ophelia did? If she’d been allowed to follow the old gods as she wished?

But that wasn’t the life she led. It wasn’t right for a proper Nord girl to wear the warpaint of a Daedric prince. It wasn’t right for her to be here at all.

“It doesn’t,” she said and got an eye roll in response.

“Alex, I don’t need the vision to see that you’re lying,” she laughed, a gentle airy sound. Alexandria wished she could listen to it forever.

But she couldn’t. Shouldn’t. She pressed her hands against Ophelia’s shoulder and pushed, making her stand and move back. Alexandria stood herself, forcing her legs to carry her to the tent’s exit. On her way out, she grabbed the wet cloth, wiping away at the paint on her face.

“Alex,” Ophelia called. “You can’t keep doing this every time, you know. Your mother’s getting in your head.”

“It’s not just about her,” Alexandria argued, stopping in her tracks and turning to face the other woman. “My sister, my brother, my father—I can’t leave them. Filly, we both know nothing can come of this.”

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough,” Ophelia chuckled. “You won’t keep doing this.”

“What, is that a threat?”

“It’s a vision.” Ophelia took both of Alexandria’s hands in her own, pulling her closer. Despite all her efforts, Alexandria gave in. “I’ve seen us. Together. The old gods themselves see a future for us. Why can’t you?”

“How could I?” Alexandria gave a squeeze to Ophelia’s hands before pulling back, bringing them around herself to resist the urge to reach out again. “The old gods don’t know me, and I don’t know them. I am not of your world, don’t you see that?”

“But you were meant to be.”

Ophelia took a step closer, and Alexandria stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I have to go home. I know my way out.”

Ophelia sighed, but a smile found its way to her lips, a kind of certainty about her.

“And you know your way back.”