#arabella writes

[tojjist]

𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 ↳ r. sukuna

in which: the king of curses left you the moment you announce your pregnancy to him. but after nearly losing you... he might be having a change of heart contains: very slight objectification of reader, reader is a half-curse, mentions of injury and near-death experience, reader is pregnant, slight mention of pregnancy sex, sukuna is really ooc tbh A/N: yall really wanted soft sukuna lmao. i js wanted to write something more in my own style instead of the tumblr style. It's all over the place really, also obv trueform! sukuna. w.c : 1.6k

“Sukuna-sama?” Your voice comes out a breathy whisper, barely audible.

“Do– ugh,” The pink-haired curse sighs. “Don’t call me that. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

You haven’t known Sukuna to be tender. Actually, scratch that. You used to genuinely believe he mistook the adjective for an affront. He probably still does, despite the sheer softness of his actions. His mind is a marvel far beyond your, or anyone else's, comprehension. And if Sukuna hasn’t always been complicated, his sudden switch of behavior recently has rendered  unriddling the complex being that he is even harder.

“What do I call you then?” There’s confusion in your tone; confusion fused with unadulterated innocence. His eyebrows crease further. He loved how naive and ingénue you are. Such a simple, sheepish thing. Easy to lead one, easy to use, easy to hurt. But as of late, he’d come to hate it.

He hates that he hates it. He shouldn’t care.

“I don’t fucking know,” he snaps back. It’s enough to bring you silence, the somber tone he uses coming with a sense of finality. 

Rough callouses are surprisingly gentle against your flesh—callouses that slap, bruise, grope, but never caress. Despite that, he pulls your underwear up your thighs with utter care. If you didn’t know any better, you might even dare call his actions delicate.

“Does it hurt?” He reminisces. Curious digits stroke your lower abdomen and across the swell of your belly, where an ugly scar sits. It decorates your skin with a long, uneven line of dried blood cells.

“It’s not too bad,” You assure, daring to test your luck by bringing your own hand to his hair. It causes the king of curses to pause. His ember eyes continue to stare at your scar, unable to swat your hand away for some reason. The wooden floor beneath him feels too cold. Or he feels too hot. He’s unsure.

In the dimness of the room, there is no light but the flickering glow emitted from the fire, ensconced within a cage of brick—a fireplace, by name. Yet, the warmth that enfolds you does not excrete solely from the flames. It originates from within, a pulsating heat that comes with the beat of your heart as a large palm finds your shoulder, urging you forward with an urgency that seems to echo through the very fibers of your being.

“What about this one?”His intense glare persists, averting your demure gaze. Never before have you witnessed him in such a state, making you wonder whether this demeanor is a consequence of recent events.

“It’s fine, I promise,” Your whispered words cause his gaze to harden even further, his thumb tracing over another, deeper cut nestled in the valley between your breasts. This one could have been fatal. The realization sends a shiver down his spine, unsettling him to his core. Sukuna, the ancient and ruthless curse, has borne witness to countless horrors in his long existence, inflicted unspeakable cruelty upon countless souls, but none have shaken him to his core quite like seeing you teetering on the brink of death. The memory stirs within him an unfamiliar sense of disquiet, a realization that his desires may have consequences far more profound than he ever anticipated.

The brawny curse grunts in response, opting to continue examining the scar. He’s careful to not stretch it as your human flesh would hurt. 

Sukuna’s agenda never included leaving a child within you. It never even crossed his mind. Such muses were not to be entertained, especially not with you.

You. Yeah, you who doesn't try to kill humans simply for the pleasure it brings. You who takes life so lightly, as if you have several souls to spare. You who accepts every word Sukuna says as an indisputable fact, every order executed before he has a chance to reconsider.

You, who has shared your bed with the strongest curse more times than he cares to count, always intrigued him—an enigmatic subject for his manipulations. You, who confided in him the startling revelation that your half-cursed body now nurtures a growing fetus.

At first, Sukuna swore he'd never visit you again, adamant in his belief that he wanted no involvement in your pregnancy, leaving you to navigate the situation alone. Despite his capability to end your life without hesitation, he chose to spare you. Sukuna granted you a reprieve under the condition that he never crosses paths with you or whatever child you carry. He told himself time and time again that you would be a rather boring kill, not worth the effort. But it wasn't about the difficulty of ending your life—it was an excuse. He'd never admit that he doesn't want your blood staining his hands

Sukuna swears he’s not soft, that he doesn’t care for you at all.But the notion of being the one who brings you to your end does not enthrall him in the least.

He doesn’t care for the inferior likes of you, he reminds himself. That’s absurd. It’s laughable. It’s offensive, even. He doesn’t ‘care’, It’s simply curiosity that keeps him around. Curious of what kind of child the one you carry would come out to be. To see if they’d be worthy of being called his kin or not.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is dulcet, a melody that cuts his train of thought smoothly. Unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s a pleading tone, a need so urgent it's almost painful. He finds pleasure in that. Your perpetual longing for him, your unwavering loyalty even after his defeat by sorcerers the first time around—you kept him close like a devoted guardian to a fallen hero, even when you knew is anything but a hero. It's a power unlike any other—staying but not out of fear, it's a choice. A strong belief.

Balancing on his knees between her parted legs, he reaches out, his fingers finding purchase on the edge of the bed. His grip tightens instinctively, fingers slipping beneath the hem of the sheet as he steadies himself. With a controlled effort, he pushes upward, leveraging the bed for support as he rises to his feet

“Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?” He muses, his towering frame looking down at you. The flickering flames of the fire, their orange hues swirling and weaving a macabre tapestry around his countenance, lend him an aura of terror that would instill fear in any who behold him. Yet, unlike others, you find his presence strangely comforting. Despite the aura of terror he exudes, you've grown accustomed to it, finding solace in his formidable presence now more than ever before.

Your only reaction is to chew on the inside of your cheek, careful to not bite the fiber too hard. There’s an ambivalent air to him, remaining motionless as he towers over you. It seems as if he’s looking for something. Anything. He wants a reason to stay, but he can’t seem to find one satisfying enough.

He owes you nothing. But when you look at him like that… He’s never been one to falter at your pleading face, but perhaps he’s changing little by little. He staunchly refuses to acknowledge this change still, for him to do so would be an admission of vulnerability, a humiliation he cannot bear, even to himself. How he yearns for the willpower to end you, to push you away so you never obstruct his way like this again.

The worst part of it all is his acute awareness of why he feels so strongly now. He knows that it’s all him, and not at all you. He can pinpoint the exact moment he regret leaving your side. The memory is seared into his very core. 

He wishes he could forget, to erase the haunting image of you, wounded and bleeding, from his mind. 

It was when he came back a few days after his departure, for reasons he can’t recall, only to be greeted by the sight of a malevolent curse looming over you, hungry and poised to make you its next meal. He shouldn’t have intervened. It's the natural order—a relentless cycle where only the strongest survive, preying upon the weaker. He knows he's no exception. Nor are you.

But seeing you sprawled out on the floor, barely intact, with his child inside of you. 

He gulps at the memory, feeling an overwhelming urge to touch you once more, to make sure you’re not some figment of his imagination. To keep you from harm. You’re so stupid, so goddamn naive. He doesn’t know what to make of you. Other than a fucking headache.

“What is it? What do you want, brat?” He hopes to catch some semblance of his normal attitude. “Get it over with.”

“Please stay,” You plead, fingers gently gripping the open kimono he had thrown on once finished with you. “Please, Sukuna-sama.”

He sighs. You’re so obstinate.

Perhaps it's his lack of understanding that breeds hesitation within him, or perhaps it's his inherently fierce nature. A thing like you deserves to be treated with the utmost delicacy, cherished and nurtured. Sukuna, with his staunch commitment solely to his ideals, can never be the one assuming such a role for you.

“You’re doing things to me, you know?” Sukuna gets down, kneeling between your parted legs again, placing a warm palm in either side of your hips and seizing you within.

Maybe… staying with you tonight wasn’t such a ludicrous notion. He’s the king of curses; he  has all the time in the world to fret the trivial details.

#arabella writes #jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukun x reader smut #ryomen sukuna smut #dividers by benkeibear

[wannabe-simblr]

I figured it was time for another sim introduction. Meet Arabella Bauman, a model turned actress ♡

#it's actually 2 pages long #i had to stop myself from writing too much #hope you enjoy #my sims #showusyoursims #sims 4 #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims4 #sims 4 edit #simblr #the sims community #sims 4 story #sim: Arabella

[artlyloser]

[ID: Illustration of Wyll from BG3 with the tiefling kids from the grove. Arabella is hanging off Wyll's shoulders and hes ruffling the hair of Mirkon and cheering Umi on. Umi has a play sword in his hand and looks nervous. A sketch of the grove is in the background. END ID]

Wyll Week Day 5: Heart of the Gate / Coming of Age

This maybe only vaguely fits the prompt but it's nice that he's so good with kids

#wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 arabella #bg3 mirkon #bg3 umi #fanart #my art #illustraton #Mirkon is my favorite because of that story he writes you its so cute #i will save him everytime i can

[bluedovee]

Been thinking about Idol Dust a lot and I had a lot of fun with this

Idol AU by @zucchiyeni

Idol Dust by @safwunsies

#IDOLAU✨ #Idol Dust #dust sans #murder sans #dusttale #idol au #sans au #undertale au #utau #utmv #fanart #arabella #I learned about shadows #digital #I should be writing my fic

[sevlawless]

writer in the dark

pairing: m!seven lawless x f!mc (arabella aveiro)

word count: 2.2k

warnings: swearing, two arguments, and arabella being a big fat meanie!

tags: @masonscig @farahhauville @agentdumortain @getyourselfaunicorn

notes: so i’ve had this idea of “rewriting” the late night bus scene with seven in @infamous-if for a while now and actually had most of it written down and just… stopped for whatever reason! but i dusted her off and she's here in all her glory <3 for a mc like arabella specifically, i just wanted her to be a tad bit meaner and madder than what was allowed and i love venting my frustrations with seven in fic form! this fic wasn't inspired by the lorde song i just thought the title was literally perfect for it <3 without further ado…

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

arabella flips through the pages of her songwriting notebook, procrastinating on what she set out to do before bed. any other time lyrics would be pouring out of her but… well, she doesn’t exactly know where to start.

the past month has been overwhelming, to say the least. winning the last spot for battle of the bands, getting accused of cheating for said spot, finding a new drummer, practicing for hours on end everyday, figuring out what to pack, orion telling her she can’t bring her entire wardrobe on tour.

she finally has time to herself, which she’s begun to realize is going to be a luxury moving forward, but she can’t get her thoughts to come out onto the page.

she sighs, clicking her pen incessantly, as if doing that is going to give her the breakthrough she needs. maybe she just needs a change of scenery. who knew her incredibly small bed wouldn’t offer up any inspiration besides a joke song she wrote with devyn earlier about how badly the tour bus smells.

she sits up and pulls the curtain back before slipping out and trudging to the main area, notebook and pen in hand. she stifles a yawn before she opens the divider that separates the beds from the living room.

one look around and she instantly wishes she had stayed in her bunk.

she sees seven sitting at the table. because, of course, who else would be up at this time of night? his back is to her, but it looks like he’s… writing. or, writing something and then immediately crossing it out.

she almost laughs but stops herself.

he lets out a sigh before running his hands through his hair, and she’s hit with a wave of… deja vu? nostalgia? nausea?

her hands clench at her sides, fingers twitching as she resists the urge to walk over to him and push the strands of hair away from his face, something she used to do so often when they were together. she wonders if he ever thinks about it, when she would tease him for wearing a bandana but was seemingly never able to contain his hair within it.

the overwhelming feeling subsides and she has control over her body again. she walks over to the other end of the table, avoiding seven's intense gaze as she feels him staring at her, doing what feels like trying to burn a hole right through her.

she doesn't say anything as she sits on the couch, getting comfortable as she reopens her notebook. she still feels him staring at her.

she came here to write. seven being here shouldn't be a hindrance, but as she tries and fails for the millionth time to put words on the page, she wonders why it feels this way. she used to be so comfortable in his presence, almost always being joined at the hip. they would always be up at odd hours, trying to figure out lyrics to the new songs they were working on.

together. always together.

she can't succumb to that type of thinking right now. not when he's the closest he's been to her in nearly three years and yet so far away. he put that distance between them, and she understands why, but sometimes she wishes the never ending ocean of separation where he ends and she begins wasn't so wide. she just wishes this wasn't the way things were.

but they are. and for the past three years she's tried coming to terms with that, failing miserably at every turn because as much as she wants to hate him, and a part of her really, really, does, she can't bring herself to commit to it fully. how ironic, she realizes, when giving all of herself to him came as easy to her as breathing.

she shakes her head and puts her focus back to her notebook. she's barely written two lines when she hears his voice.

"aveiro."

she grimaces at the way he says her last name. is that really all she is to him now? he can't even call her arabella? there was once a point in time when all she loved hearing was the sound of her name coming from his lips because she knew it was safe there. safe from the people in her life and on the internet who told her she was too arrogant, too rude, too bitchy to survive in the industry they’re in. but she never cared about that, and neither did seven.

she knows, and she's known for a while now, that she won't ever have that sense of safety again. and maybe that’s why he won't call her that.

"what made you choose me?"

she wants to laugh. three years apart, a dozen songs between them clearly about one another, and that's the question that's eating away at him? she knows it's been bothering him because she can feel the uneasiness coming off him in waves. no matter how hard she tries, she'll never be able to just see him. she'll always see the emotions underneath everything he says and does.

"choose you?" she asks.

"when it came down to it, you chose my band. why?"

she decides it's best to be logical in this situation. he can't get mad about that, can he?

"i just thought it made the most sense. underground wastebasket are unpredictable and volatile, if you haven't noticed."

he makes a face and she realizes that was probably the wrong thing to say. but what does he want her to do? admit that she's still so pathetically in love with him? admit that given the choice, of fucking course she's picking him? she would pick seven over anything and anyone, and despite everything, that'll never change.

"what?" she asks, but it comes out as more of a demand. he’s the one asking stupid questions in the middle of the night. he should be grateful she was coherent enough to give him the response she did, the exhaustion and their close proximity taking a toll on her brain.

"nothing about you makes sense to me, but alright."

it used to, she wants to say. i used to make more sense to you than i did to myself.

she scoffs instead, which makes him grimace. good. "does it really matter who i chose?"

"yes."

he says it so quickly it makes her want to laugh, but the sound dies in her throat. she’d rather die than let him hear a genuine laugh from her.

"i'm just trying to figure out what you’re planning."

it takes her a second to realize he’s being dead serious. "what… i'm planning?"

"this is a competition and i'm not clueless, aveiro."

she’s changing her last name by the end of this tour. she rolls her eyes as far back into her head as they can go before laughing pitifully. "you caught me. i'm currently on a mission to ruin your life.” she reopens her notebook and clicks her pen. ”any big allergies since we last spoke? i have to make sure what to spike your food with."

he glares at her. "you're not funny."

which is seven speak for ‘that was funny, but i hate you so it's not.’ she's getting pretty good at this. at this rate, they'll be back together again in no time.

ha.

“you used to laugh at every fucking thing i said.” she blurts out, sudden anger surging through her.

“and look where that got us,” he replies, not even sparing her a glance as he doodles in his notebook. seriously?

“yeah, my humor definitely explains the stick up your ass and why you left-”

he looks up at her now, barking out a dark laugh, his face full of nothing but contempt for her. “we are not discussing that shit tonight.”

she shrugs. he wants to treat her like a villain, she’ll gladly accept the role. “seems as good a time as any. i can tell chuck to park and we can hash this shit out tonight. because i, for one, am tired-”

“oh, you’re tired? how do you-”

“think you feel?” she scoffs. even now, he's minimizing how she feels because how could she possibly understand. “you’re forgetting that i know you. and don’t fucking interrupt me.”

“i’m not doing this with you. you’re acting like a child-”

“oh, that’s fucking rich-”

they stop talking over each other once they hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. they both turn to look and see avina standing in the doorway looking extremely uncomfortable, rubbing the back of their neck.

arabella realizes that seven wasn’t writing alone after all. he was writing with avina. she doesn’t understand why it hurts the way it does, but it makes her stomach drop and makes her feel stupid all at once.

“um,” avina starts, attempting to break the tension still in the air, “maybe we should-”

“don’t worry, i was just leaving.” arabella interjects, quickly grabbing her things from the table. she wants to look at seven before she leaves, but decides better on it. she doesn’t think she could stomach seeing the all too familiar look of hurt on his face. the look he always wears in her dreams before she snaps awake, sweating and shaking.

she knows she shouldn’t, but her body moves against her wishes and her head swivels to look back at the table. seven’s back is to her and avina has their arm wrapped around his shoulders, comforting him in the aftermath. claiming a job that was once hers.

a rage bubbles up inside of her and before she can think better of it, her mouth starts moving, calling out, “have fun writing another song about me. good luck!”

she quickly climbs into bed so she doesn’t have to hear any kind of response, pulling the curtain closed with as much force as she can muster.

her head is throbbing now, and she groans softly as her face hits the pillow. she feels hollow. arguing with seven when they were friends always made her feel uneasy, and that feeling only amplified when they started dating.

three years later and that same anxiety creeps its way back into her heart and leaves her utterly exhausted, hands shaking, with tears pricking the corners of her eyes. god, she feels pathetic. they're not even through the first night on this bus and she's breaking down over an interaction that she escalated.

she wants to blame this all on seven, but she knows deep down she brought this on herself. when they were together, arabella thought that seven only brought out the best in her. three years later, and she knows he’s capable of bringing out the worst in her too.

her phone buzzes beside her in bed and she checks the notification. it's from rowan.

open up.

she rolls her eyes, wanting to text back that he could just open the curtain on her bunk if he really wanted to talk. but she knows he's doing it so she can hide the fact she's been crying before she faces him.

and she hates that. she fucking hates that he knows how she gets dealing with seven, and yet ignored her feelings so blatantly earlier.

she quickly wipes her eyes before sitting up and pulling back the thin curtain to reveal rowan standing there, if a little awkwardly. he's in his pajamas, hands in his pockets.

“hey,” he starts, not exactly sure what to say. “you... okay?”

he grimaces as soon as the words leave his mouth, and if looks could kill, arabella would have just struck him down.

“right,” he chuckles nervously. “stupid question.”

she feels that rage from before, quietly simmering and now back to boiling, face growing hot. “yeah, a stupid ass question, rowan.”

his eyes widen. “i’m sorry, i-”

“can you just leave me alone?” she interrupts, voice cracking at the end of her question. “i know you're trying to be helpful, but i really don't want to talk to you right now.”

“arabella-”

“no,” she says, tone sharp and laced with venom, “you got what you wanted earlier, and now i’m cashing in my favor. we’ll talk later.”

he looks like he wants to protest, but he sighs instead. “okay.” he gives her one last look before walking back to his own bunk.

she groans in frustration before pulling the curtain back closed again. she's going to have it ripped off and they haven't even been on this bus a full day.

tears prick her eyes again and it takes everything in her to not succumb to how awful she feels.

this is all she's ever wanted. she should be happy to be on tour with her best friends, competing in battle of the bands. making a name for herself. finally achieving her dreams.

so why does she feel so bad? why does the past, it seems like, always come back to haunt her?

she glances at her songwriting notebook again and picks it up, along with her pen. she opens it to the first blank page she can find and quickly starts writing down lyrics, her brain going a million miles a minute.

this tour better be fucking worth it, she thinks to herself as she keeps writing.

it has to be.

for everything she's been through, something has to finally work out in her favor. something to make up for everything she's lost and overcome.

and this tour is just the beginning.

#seven lawless x mc #seven lawless #infamous if #infamous #inf: seven x arabella #my writing #to start i had wanted the rowanbella moment at the end to be all cute and yay besties but quickly realized that shit was NAWT #gonna happen LMFAO #so sorry rowan 💔 #also can i get a big ole fuck seven in the chat ! #god. these characters that only live in my head and in infamous make me insane #as u can see !

[windflowerofskellige]

Adda is an older sister, and older sisters are supposed to take care of their younger sisters. Adda doesn't understand this concept but she does remember when Arabella was born and she looked over the crib to the very small tiny human sleeping there.

It took Foltest months to get Adda to stop leaving scraps of meat on the baby. But when she held the impossibly small child she screamed and cried when her father took her away. Adda did not understand how something was so small, but those big eyes looked up at her and she babbled and clung and she knew she'd do anything for her.

No one really understood Adda, but the toddler wobbled as she walked and babbled on and on. No one really seemed to understand the toddler either.

Adda remembered the first time though, that she realised her sister might be like her. Those big eyes were usually starry and bright but, in an impossibly itchy dress, during the middle of a loud ball, her sister started screaming. She rushed over instinctively grabbing her sister away from the noble boy she was playing with. Her sister screamed and kicked and bit and the realisation hit her.

It's loud. Adda thought. And despite the protests and screams she brought the girl out to the garden, not even noticing she was bleeding. She wanted to scream too. But instead she sat her by the lake, with nothing but the crickets and the frogs. The screaming died down and the thrashing stopped and she was left with a hiccuping crying little sister who started bawling more when she realised she was hurt.

She didn't know what to say, so she grabbed a frog and held it up to her. The child, between hiccuping sobs, looked at the frog and quietly reached out and held it. And there they stayed that night. It was better than the loud ball anyways.

Adda is not a typical older sister, meek and demure, she does not tend to her sister's wounds with grace and elegance. That has never been Adda, that will never be Adda. But older sisters are supposed to take care of their younger sisters and what Adda knows how to do is protect, fight.

When their father got home he found his daughter, so small and little, in a bed being tended to by people much more skilled than Adda at caring for those wounds. His other daughter lay there at her bedside, refusing to move. But the dead bodies in her bed chamber of the would-be assassins were not there because of guards or Vernon. No, because Adda had never been disturbed by the sight of blood before, and had taken on men greater than they. But there was one exception to the rule. It should never, ever, be her little sister's blood.

Because Adda is an older sister, and an older sister protects her little sister.

#meda writes #adda the white #arabella of temeria #drabble #fic #siblings #sisters #the witcher books #the witcher #the witcher oc #adda character study #foltest of temeria #oc: arabella of temeria

[ehlnofay]

49 - Arabella :')

49: nightfall

This had better work – Arabella is using up good vellums for this, and they’re not cheap.

She’s crouched on the hall’s smooth stone floor, half-listening to the soft crackling of the hearth and the rattling of pots and pans, all her papers spread out in unruly glory before her, half-covered with scribbled ink. The concept, she’s quite sure, is sound; it’s figuring out how to properly execute it that gives her trouble. She’s no scholar. She’d probably qualify more as a hobbyist. The things she has in mind would doubtless be a bit beyond her on a good day – trying to craft them herself is likely, logically, an exercise in futility. Arabella does not do things that are futile.

She traces her finger down the side of a page – a scribbled transcription of a description of an illusion spell that’s well beyond her grasp, broken down as best she can make it into its bare components. She doesn’t need all of it; almost the whole first half can be thrown away, and she can adapt the second half to her foundation. If she can figure out how, of course – what she can do is not a spell, so grafting one onto it is a complicated process. It’s all very finicky.

It's a problem to circumvent. Arabella loves those.

It takes her a moment to realise the sound of the fire has died down. It’s her only warning before  Karliah’s voice, carried on footsteps that cannot make noise unless she tries, comes down like a thunderclap. “Arabella.”

“Karliah,” she replies brightly, twisting her head up to meet her eye. It’s a strange angle; she can see up her nose, this way. Karliah raises a brow. She only carries one bowl. Arabella asks, “You didn’t make me anything?”

“You can cook for yourself,” Karliah says. Arabella pouts. “Arabella, really? A gift from a Daedric Prince isn’t enough for you?”

(Arabella stepped onto that half moon and gained the ability to make herself unrecognisable – to wipe herself clean from the slate of others’ minds, just for a little bit. There have been times in her life when she would have killed for that ability. There are times in her life now when she’s sure it will come in handy. But why stop there? Total erasure doesn’t have to be an end in itself. It’s fresh ground for building.)

Arabella shrugs, turns back to the mess of her papers. “It’s not a gift if I paid for it,” she replies, “which I did, and will continue to do. This is my end of the bargain. I’ll use it as I see fit.”

She can positively hear Karliah’s raised eyebrow as she says, “How irreverent of you.”

She’s never really been one for reverence. Pledging herself to a deity that bestows her bounties as business transactions is not likely to change that. 

Arabella shrugs again. “Besides,” she says, flippant, “It’s a fun challenge.”

“Is it.” Karliah’s trousers rustle as she shifts her weight. “You came here to test it on me, didn’t you?”

“Only partly,” Arabella admits, smiling, and waves her down.

Karliah sits. She’s wearing her lazy tunic, the one with the stitches drooping at the hem and flowers embroidered about the cuffs. Soup dribbles down the edge of the bowl as she adjusts her position. It’s green. She bends to lick it off her knuckles, which kind of spoils her stern demeanour.

“Not really, actually,” Arabella amends. “It’s not nearly ready for testing. I might need to go up north to get a refresher on some of these ideas, because spellcraft is, surprisingly, quite hard.”

Karliah sets the bowl with a clink on the stone floor. “You know, I never pegged you for an academic.”

“Oh, I’m not.’ Arabella pinches a page between finger and thumb. “I don’t have the temperament for it.” Study requires patience; patience makes Arabella feel like crawling out of her own skin. If she stays still for too long she starts spitting sparks. “That’s rather the problem, isn’t it? This would be a lot easier if I knew what I was doing.”

“Which is altering Nocturnal’s gift,” Karliah says, patient, “so that you can make people think that they know you. Even though the point of yours is to make sure they don’t.”

She sips a spoonful of her bright green soup.

Arabella tips her head back and says, “The thing about illusion magic –”

“You’re workshopping on me during dinner?”

“Well, it’s not my dinner – abominable treatment of your guests, by the way, I can’t believe you didn’t give me anything – the thing is that it can’t take. Illusions can’t enforce an absence, they can only impose a presence. You can’t take away someone’s hearing, you can only impose a space of silence. You can’t make someone forget, you can only replace a memory. The mind doesn’t respond well to a vacuum. The rules of magic don’t allow for it. All spells can do is cover up the truth.” Karliah isn’t wearing her hood; her hair is down. It’s always startling to see, somehow; makes her whole face look different. She keeps placidly sitting her soup. Arabella taps at one of her vellums. “What I can do – it takes. Which is, I understand, magically unprecedented, but also very jarring for anyone who witnesses – like how you tried to kill me earlier, when I –”

“I thought you were a stranger in Nightingale Hall,” Karliah says, “and I wasn’t going to kill you.”

“You found it off-putting,” Arabella insists, “on some level, because the mind doesn’t like a vacuum. But when I figure this out – I could layer spells on top. Oh, yes, I’m supposed to be here – oh, yes, we’re dear friends – all that sort of thing. And it would be almost impossible to see through if I linked them right because there would be no truth to cover up! Just a vacuum! And the mind would take almost anything over a vacuum.”

Karliah looks at her, unblinking. “You’d be a menace,” she says.

Arabella smiles. “Am I not already?”

There is a space of silence, for a moment. Karliah’s spoon clanks against her bowl. Arabella can hear the water gently running in the other room, the soft creaking of the stone, the airy breath of the low-burning hearth. Nightingale Hall is very quiet, and very full of ghosts.

“So,” Karliah says, “are you just here to tell me your magic ideas and criticise my hosting, or was there something else?”

Arabella tips her head to look her in the murex-purple eye. Lightly, she says, “You never come into town.”

Karliah holds her gaze. “I’m fine here,” she says.

Arabella shrugs. “I know.”

There is a pause.

Karliah sighs. “I think we’ve got some smoked fish strung up somewhere,” she says. “I’ll get it for you.”

Arabella presses tongue to unsmiling teeth. “Thank you,” she says primly, and jabs a finger at her higgledy-piggledy stack of vellums. “This is hard work.”

Outside, beyond the rock walls of the hall, night falls. The moons rise, a dim red half-moon and a narrow crescent, to their place in the star-spattered sky.

#I had a different idea for this one first... but it was a bit too plot-relevant and I felt like doing something I didn't need to think about #so here's a quick ramble about how I imagine nocturnal's subterfuge to work (similar to the grey cowl basically) #and arabella's weird schemes to make it scarier #oc tag #arabella #the elder scrolls #tesblr #skyrim #fay writes #my writing #tes

[holycatsandrabbits]

Chapter 2: The second lie

Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, lying, But not malicious lying, snowballing lies, Humor, Banter, Light-Hearted, fluff & smut, Sexual Tension, Pining, Romance, Happily Ever After, Fandom Trumps Hate, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley's Love Language is Acts of Service (Good Omens), Midwesterner moves to the West Coast, Clever Aziraphale, Fandom Trumps Hate 2023 Series: Part 16 of Dannye's Good Omens Human AUs Summary:

Aziraphale Fell did not mean for any of it to happen. Not that it wasn’t his fault— it was, completely. His one tiny lie, offered in the heat of the moment, seemed like swimming out just a few feet too far in the ocean and suddenly getting caught in the rip tide, with no way to control where you were going and when (if) you’d ever get back to solid ground. He never expected that one minor falsehood could change his life completely.

But this is a love story, after all.

It began with a house, a car, a flat tire, and the most beautiful man Aziraphale had ever seen.

Ao3 ~ DannyeChase.com ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Ko-fi ~ Newsletter

#Dannye writes #Good Omens #Good Omens human AU #Ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #writing #writers on tumblr #fanfic #good omens fanfic #georgette heyer #arabella

[thebisexualteen]

Atp Charmer can have Aimée(As long as he and the others won't collect her😊)

Hehehehe(Had some thoughts about The Archivists and Aimée)

I have other ideas but I'm doing them later cause it has some new TOH OCs

Also here's some Arabella facts hehe

Also we don't talk about what happened to the twins in the 2nd pic

Anyways Penumbra, Crescent, Satellite and Solari belongs to @insanelyadd and Aimée and Arabella belongs to me

#the archivists #toh the archivists #collector oc #toh oc #Btw in the 2nd pic Charmer and Aimée were at the store and while Aimée was stealing some things to take & she got picked up by Cartographer #Cartographer ran with Aimée without Charmer knowing #Charmer got so angry and scared people if they had Aimée #He got so angry his hair got messy💀 #Dw the twins are ok #I promise they're ok #Arabella knows how to write despite being a baby real #Aimée in a baby sling real #Charmer got so attached to Aimée he let her steal an baby sling #Yes Aimée's a thief

[darkacademiablues]

“Suck it and See, you never know”

- Arctic Monkeys

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner imagine #alex turner imagines #suck it and see #sias era #am #arabella #do i wanna know #humbug #jamie cook #matt helders #nick omalley #arcticmonkeyslyrics #song lyrics #lyrics #songwriter #poetry #literature #writing #love quotes #quotes #dark academia #indie rock #rock music #britpop

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Astarion actively dislikes (most) kids, but can you imagine him having to interact with a thirteen year old on any kind of a regular basis. The bitch off they would have. Every day would be so dramatic. Like Tav just has a popcorn maker bc every damn day they wake up like "OK what's gonna happen on 'Days of our Lives' today?" Sits down. Enjoys the show. Sometimes writes down a REALLY good zinger for later. It would be performance art, actually.

#bg3 #arabella comes back to visit and Astarion is like #o: #bc she keeps up w him tit for tat #like her charisma blossomed since sorting her powers out and Astarion has met his fucking match #she's confident maybe a little cocky even and is starting to really speak her mind #mol too i think she could give him a run for his money #mol and arabella visit together and he is just sobbing in the corner after #tav pats his back like i know...teenagers #but secretly tav is filing away what they just witnessed to write in their diary later

[enha-stars]

omg you and ara (wondipity) are friends!?!?!?! AHHH MY TWO FAV WRITERS <333

omg yes me and @wondipity are friends!!! we’re lovers actually. girlfriends, if you will (JSNSJSS TWO FAV WRITERS?? SHH BEFORE I SMOOCH YOU)

#ANON U R TOOOO CUTE #YES ARA AND I R FRIENDS #i love being moots w her #she’s the cutest #i’m so glad you like my writing ☹️☹️☹️ #thank you so much? #i always wonder what piece of writing people like from me #anon ask #arabella! #enha!asks

[karokawwo]

the only m/f pairs i can write r bi4bi and/or t4t people who deeply regret something that happened in the past

#aroph and arabella #sash and kai although they're not really a pair anymore #and i intend to keep it that way #see i only have two m/f pairs bc that's the only genre i can write

[cherry-pop-soda]

MISS SCARLET AND THE DUKE 3.04 - Bloodline

#miss scarlet and the duke #msatd #UNHINGED COMMENTARY BELOW -> #okay so first of all i just had to gif this scene because i really almost cried watching it the first time #i feel like the collective Fandom Hivemind was so busy being annoyed that william was gone for two eps and annoyed at william for the #arabella debacle (which is understandable) that a lot of the really amazing details from this episode especially #this scene got overlooked a little #this whole show just makes really good commentary on feminism #it repeatedly makes and demonstrates the point that true feminism is supposed to uplift *everyone* #this scene being one of many cases in point #i could ramble on about that concept forever but i should make another post for that #also this is my first time trying my hand at making gifs with words involved so i hope they turned out alright !!! #i had to brighten and recolor this SO MUCH dude i love this show but it is. a bit shadowy sometimes #but anyways !!! here’s my little contribution to the fandom and i hope to make more in the future :D #i’m planning a fanfic as well but well. who knows how long that will take me to write lol #don’t look at me i always write SO MANY TAGS on my posts lmfao

[mirai-desu]

Eliza and William Moments » Series 3, Episode 2

“Oh no. It is her.” “Who? “Arabella Herbert. We were at school together. She was most dreadful bully. Don't look! She had a way of saying the cruelest of things whilst keeping the sweetest of smiles. And she stole my shell necklace.” “Your shell necklace?” “We made it in class and somehow it disappeared from my bedroom when she deigned to come round for tea.” “Shall I have her arrested?” “If we stay at the table and keep a low profile we can hopefully get through tonight without--” [...] “This is my husband, William Evans.” [...] “I wouldn't trust a word that comes out of her mouth.” “You were the one that told her we were married.” “And just so you know we shall not be ordering the Rouennais duck!”

#I'm including this one because there's a lot of little nuanced bits in it #yeah yeah Arabella's there but I mean Eliza choosing to keep the married cover with William AHEM #and his little reaction to that #(similar to 3x06 he reacts whenever Eliza digs deeper into the cover story) #also them being like we need this wine as Arabella yammers lol #(sidebar: I feel like RN et al. didn't have Eliza actually tell him what we know Arabella said via the 1x01 flashback #because I just I couldn't see him even entertaining the idea of dating Arabella if knew the details... #which is why they didn't write it that way) #miss scarlet and the duke #my edit: miss scarlet and the duke #my edit #msatd spoilers

[sevlawless]

nothing without you

pairing: m!seven lawless x f!mc (arabella aveiro)

word count: 962

warnings: none just arabella going THROUGH IT

tags: @blainehayes @agentdumortain @valcubust-main

notes: so the @infamous-if brain rot is here and it's very fucking real lmfao- ever since i played i have not been able to stop thinking about it and more specifically, how my mc would cope post break up with seven. something something i still love you i still have to live that but how does ANYONE live with that .. anyway here it is! the song arabella sings is honeysuckle by pom pom squad

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

if i'm nothing without you, am i anything at all?

the chorus rattles around in her head long after she stops singing it. she seems to be frozen in place, her thoughts drowning out the ability to do anything else, although she does notice the faint sound of silence. the rest of dead apple have long stopped playing, but no one says anything. they seem to be doing that a lot lately when it comes to her.

she wasn't even supposed to be at this rehearsal, and she even agreed with her bandmates when they suggested she take some time away to process everything. the music can wait while she figures out how to move forward.

but all she can think about is music, all she could think about while she spent the last two weeks trying to pull herself back together is to write songs.

how do you go through something so traumatic and not write about it?

losing sev- just his name passing through her brain is enough to make her eyes clench shut, gripping the microphone stand in front for her tighter.

losing him is the worst pain she's ever felt in her life. how do you go from talking to someone every single day for the past eleven years to suddenly no contact? how does anyone cope with that? she'd really like to know.

it doesn't help that she was so unbelievably in love with him. she never was one to believe in soulmates but no matter how dumb she thought it was, she considered seven to be her's.

a soulmate who now wants nothing to do with you.

she lets out a ragged breath, which prompts someone reaching out to touch her shoulder.

"arabella-" it's rowan, his voice uncharacteristically timid, and it makes her stomach churn. she shrugs his hand off and turns to face him.

"i'm fine," she snaps, wincing at the tone in her voice. he's staring at her pitifully. if she dared to glance at the others they would share the same look.

they were just as much friends with seven as she was. why are they all so fucking concerned for her in particular? a part of her wants to say that if they were so upset about her, they never would have taken that stupid vote in the first place. the vote that ruined everything.

seeing the look on seven's face, the hurt in his eyes, the betrayal-

she can't think about this right now. she's spent the last two weeks trying to move on and fuck if she's about to cry in front of the band over this.

she turns back around, storming toward the exit. as she yanks the door open and slams it behind her, she wonders if anyone will come after her.

they don't.

she can't even get into the car before she's a sobbing mess, hands shaking as she clambers into her vehicle, resting her head against the steering wheel. her hands are balled into tight fists as she considers if punching something would help the pain subside. it didn't help last time.

last time. that night casts an unbearable weight down on her and makes her shoulders shake as she recalls her and seven screaming at each other in drunken rage, both saying things they can never take back. going to a place they could never come back from. when he left she punched a hole in the wall and her hand flares up as a reminder. her bruised knuckles are starting to heal now, and some part of her wishes they weren't. maybe so she could have one last piece of seven to remember him by. just one last trace of the effect he had on her so it didn't feel like the eleven years she spent with him were for nothing.

they can't just be nothing.

right?

that seems to be what they are now- he hasn't talked to her since that night and every day, every hour it feels like she pulls up his contact info out of reflex to tell him something. a joke, a lyric for a song, a text just to tell him she's thinking of him. she always manages to realize what she's doing before she hits send and she doesn't think that will get any easier.

if i'm nothing without you, am i anything at all?

the lyrics she wrote down one night after getting drunk in an attempt to get him out of her brain dance around in her mind again.

she can't remember the person she was before seven. it's not the one who stares back at her now as she wipes her eyes and looks into the rearview mirror.

would she like that person? would they be friends? she never thought about it until now. she never thought she would have to.

how do you move on from someone that was so inexplicably tethered to you? where there was arabella, seven was right there next to her.

she looks across to the passenger seat that seven used to occupy every day and is met with no one there. she sees the grey headrest where a black mop of hair used to lie. she sees the middle console where his fingers used to drum to the beat of whatever was playing through the speakers. she sees the dash where he used to lay his worn out combat boots on.

emptiness eats away at her until all she can do is let out another sob.

some part of her wonders if he even feels a fraction of what she does. he has to. for her own peace of mind, she hopes this has been as hard on him as it has on her.

but she wouldn't know.

#seven lawless #seven lawless x mc #infamous #infamous if #my writing #inf: seven x arabella #is it a fic of mine if i dont force yall to learn how my oc's brain works LMFAO #anyway thank u for reading if u did <3 #i need chapter 2 desperately maybe this will hold me over KSJSNDBDJDKD