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peakyswritings · 11 months

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Gilded Prison

Summary: She wanted nothing but love, and yet she found herself locked into a gilded prison.

Warnings: angst, Tommy being a jerk.

A/N: I wrote this for @runnning-outof-time ’s 3K celebration. Congrats again, darling💕

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

The soft night breeze run through (Y/) hair as she stood in her garden, the smell of jessamine and roses filling her nostrils. With her eyes closed, she could pretend she was still in her childhood home, barefoot on the grass, surrounded by the flowers her mother used to grow with so much care. There was love, and joy, and laughter. And freedom.

What else could you possibly want?

She couldn’t deny how those words stung. How much it hurt when Tommy spat them out, venom dripping from his lips.

You have fancy dresses and furs, more jewels than you can count, time to spend and a big nice house full of maids. What else could you possibly want?

How could she explain to him that she didn’t care about any of those things? None of that mattered if he wasn’t there with her. If he didn’t love her. She didn’t need the dresses, the furs or the jewels. She didn’t even need that big nice house. She needed to be listened to, to be understood, to be loved.

How could she explain to him that Arrow House had become a gilded prison? That he felt more like a jailor, rather than a husband?

Things between them were fine only as long as she showed herself to be nice, pleased and compliant. Because she had no reason to be angry or sad. They were perfectly happy, until she dared to disagree with him. Because he was always right. God forbid she told him a truth he did not want to hear.

That was the problem with him. Sometimes, it felt like to him she was nothing but an extra in his life, or a doll with no feelings or desires. But she had feelings, and desires, and thoughts, and there was nothing ridiculous about that. She was a person, and she had the right to be angry or sad, she had a right to her emotions. She didn’t have to always be nice. She didn’t have to be compliant. She didn’t have to be docile.

And God knew how tired she was of his condescending tone. Of the way he explained things to her as if she was a child who didn’t know anything about the world. Of the way he felt the need to illustrate to her all the reasons why he was right and she was wrong without even truly considering what she had to say. Without even listening to her. Every time they argued, he was either talking or thinking about what he had to say next, with little to no regard towards her point of view. And when he was the one to reach out to her after a fight, it was never just “I’m sorry”, it was always “I’m sorry, but I was right”.

And she was tired of feeling crazy or hysterical every time she snapped and raised her voice at him, even though she had her reasons. Because apparently, those reasons were not enough.

And she was tired of feeling useless.

She had been trying her best to keep everything together, to make that house a home, to prevent its walls from crashing down on them, but the weight was starting to become too heavy for her shoulders alone. The worst thing was that Tommy didn’t even seem to notice. He probably thought that her only occupation was tending to her garden and choose what dress to wear for the umpteenth dinner or event, while he worked hard. Because he was the provider, the one who granted stability and wealth. What he didn’t consider was that although she didn’t have a job, she was working everyday, every hour, every minute.

She was the one who took care of him when he drank his sorrows away to the point where he could barely stand on his feet, who tended to his injuries when he got caught in fights, who washed the blood off of his clothes, both his own and other people’s. She was the one who had spent countless nights waiting up for him when he was late home because of “business”. She was the one who held him through the night when the nightmares seemed too real, and the one who whispered reassuring words in his ear when the devils got the better of him.

But that was nothing to him.

So ultimately, she found the courage to stand up for herself, and she told him that if things were to be like that between them, then they would stay husband and wife only in name, but not in fact. They would conduct separate lives in the same house, and they wouldn’t be each other’s problem anymore. Maybe it was the best thing for both of them.

She quickly wiped away her tears as she heard steps approaching. Tommy came close to her, and she felt the back of her arm slightly brushing against his. Despite her anger, she was unable to withdraw from the contact, relishing the closeness she had craved for so long. But that only lasted for a moment, because all of the feelings she had been suppressing for months came to the surface again, causing her to take a step aside.

Clearing his throat, Tommy took a look around, taking in every detail of his surroundings as if he was seeing that garden for the first time. “Your mother used to grow the same flowers, didn’t she?”

“She did.” She nodded. “And now I’m growing them. It makes me feel home.”

Tommy opened his mouth to say something, but words seemed to fail him. For once, he was speechless. (Y/n) glanced at him, and she could swear by the look on his face that he was hurt.

“You are home.” He eventually said, after a few moments of hesitation.

Silence fell between them, and it was much worse than any fight they’d ever had. This time, there was nothing left to say. She was done taking steps back. She was done trying to make him understand.

“You can be so inconsiderate sometimes.” She just said, her voice almost too low to be heard. But Tommy heard it.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry means nothing if you’re not willing to change.”

She sounded stern. Bitter, even. And she refused to give him another glance. Tommy moved closer to her, until he was able to tenderly take her face in his hands and force her to look at him.

“Please, forgive me.” He whispered. “I know that I’m a fucking bastard and that I don’t deserve it. That I don’t deserve you-” his voice broke, and he had to stop talking for a few seconds. “I’ll change. I’ll be better.”

There was desperation in his voice, and a fear in his eyes she had probably never seen. But they had been there too many times. She had forgiven him again and again, only for him to break her one more time. She shook her head, bringing her hands on his wrists. “I’m tired, Tommy.”

“I can’t lose you. I need you, (Y/n).” He slightly shook her, tightening his grip on her as if she’d disappear otherwise.

His vulnerability - his rare, unfamiliar vulnerability - made her heart clench. It didn’t matter how angry she was at him, she still cared about him. A thousand fights wouldn’t be enough to change that. But she couldn’t let him hurt her again.

“Give me another chance.” He pleaded. “Just one. The last one.”

She moved his hands away from her face, taking a few steps back. “You want another chance?” She asked, a serious expression on her face.

“Yes.” He nodded, and a glimpse of hope lightened his eyes.

“Earn it.”

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x reader

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jessamine-rose · 2 years

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ʚ✿ I Love You, Darling ✿ɞ

♡ Jessamine’s Yandere! Genshin masterlist

♡ All fics take place in the same universe <3

“You had long given up on wishes and happy endings. After what you believed to be the end of your tragic story, you resigned yourself to a shadow of a life with only your books and flowers to keep you company…until the vestiges of Windblume brought forth a mysterious stranger and a new ending for your dark fairytale.”

♡ Herbarium - Yandere! Il Capitano x f! Reader (10.1k words)

♡ Fairytale - side story + epilogue, Capitano’s POV (3.3k words)

♡ Forget-Me-Not - epilogue, Capitano’s POV (0.7k words)

♡ Astilbe - epilogue, Capitano comforts his darling (1.2k words)

♡ Author’s Note ๑ Artwork

✿ ⚘

♡ Perfect Couple - Capitano x Damsel fan club

♡ The Trials of a Snezhnayan Wife - Damsel learns to speak Snezhnayan

“Your entire life has been a gilded cage. The gods refuse to grant your greatest wish, and so you have resigned yourself to the will of destiny. But what happens when the red string of fate is severed and replaced with the silver chains of the Regrator?”

♡ Housecat - Yandere! Pantalone x f! Reader, part 1 (10.4k words)

♡ Alea Iacta Est - part 2, Pantalone’s POV (5.5k words)

♡ Author’s Note ๑ Artwork

⬩◈⬩

♡ Happy - alternate ending written by Anon

♡ Happy Cat Day - a tale of two cats

♡ The Devil Wears Jacquemus - Pantalone buys a special pair of shoes for his darling

“In the realm of science, love and insanity are closely intertwined mysteries. Disillusioned with the world, you had long forgotten its beauty until the wise doctor gives you a change of perspective.”

♡ Chemistry - Yandere! Il Dottore x f! Reader (13.5k words)

♡ Magnum Opus - side story, Dottore’s POV (4.7k words)

♡ Author’s Note ๑ Artwork

‎ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

♡ About Time - a very late marriage

“Cursed with your divine burden and lost hope for the future, you have accepted a melancholy life of solitude. By some stroke of fate, however, you encounter a kindred spirit who will save you from the depths of your sorrow.”

♡ Disjecta Membra - Yandere! Pierro x f! Reader (14.9k words)

♡ Chess Piece - side story, Pierro’s POV (5.4k words)

♡ Author’s Note ๑ Artwork

*✧･ﾟ

♡ Just Friends, Right? - the Jester’s jealousy

♡ An Old Acquaintance - an unlikely reunion

♡ Misery Loves Solitude - Darling’s tears

♡ Official nicknames for each darling

♡ Artifact Set: Beloved Darlings - lore + extras

♡ Crossovers - Part 1 ๑ Part 2 ๑ Part 3

♡ More than Strangers, Less than Friends

♡ Reactions to Savior's true identity

♡ Relationships with the other Harbingers

♡ A Forbidden Hug from the Jester’s Wife

♡ Which languages can the darlings speak?

♡ Different Perspectives ft. Wanderer’s darling

#masterlist #yandere fatui #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers #yandere genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere fatui harbingers #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #spicy warning #mdni #fem reader #jessamine-writing #jessamine-art

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icedjuiceboxes · 6 months

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Emily's Debutante Portrait

bonus doodles and design notes below

Lineart, because my lineart slaps

and bonus doodles

My thoughts on Emily's Debutante:

Emily rewore Jessamine's debutante dress because Dunwall is still fucking recovering and she's not spending taxpayers money on a new dress. wtf. she got better shit to do than plan a ball!!

Emily mostly is doing this to make Corvo happy, and to keep appearances up with nobility because goddamn it. They're the ones in parliment

TEEN ANGST TEEN ANGST TEEN ANGST Emily is an Empress but also,,, just a teenage girl and kids are so mean and she misses her mum

Emily most definitely. felt uncomfortable the entire time and was stressed and anxious

She tried to hide a lot of knives on her but Callista forced her to take them out. She got away with a knife in her boots, though.

Of course Anton painted her portrait.

Design notes

Composition was ripped off of this painting of Queen Victorian (Thank you to ignorethispotatoplease for the correction. The mistake was an accident but next time I will piss off the historians nerds on purpose):

I tried to incorparate a bit of Emily's DH1 design. Mainly the choker and the cravat (?) frill thingy.

I added Flower embroidery to the dress and made it look like jessamine flowers, ofc a reference to her mother

#dishonored 2 #dishonored #emily kaldwin #my art #fanart #my doodles #Emily is just a teenage girl #and the world is so mean #my dh art

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ikeromantic · 6 months

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Read to Me

Chevalier asks MC to read some poetry to him, much to her surprise. She soon realizes a book of poems isn't as innocent as it sounds. Approx 1600 words.

Written for the Ikemen Prince Gift Exchange! This is for @aquagirl1978

Chevalier regarded the former Belle and future queen with a bland expression. She was still explaining her idea for a family picnic and how she might include everyone -

“I think it would be easy enough to convince Yves and Licht, of course, and Clavis would show up just to cause chaos but Nokto is so hard to pin down!” Her eyes were bright with determination, showing a glint of the steel in her soul. “I was thinking of putting some perfume on his invitation - not mine, of course! And lipstick?”

He didn’t care whether or not she held her picnic, though he had no doubt she would. And every one of his brothers would be there, because she knew how to ask them. She’d grown into her position in the palace. Emissary of the Brutal Beast. The King’s common lover. Keeper of his library, and his heart. Chevalier found his lips curling into a small smile.

“Did you think of something for Sariel? I can’t pull him away from his work for even an hour and -”

“Come.” Chev stood and held out his hand. When she took it, he still felt her warmth prickle along the nerves of his arm and speed his beating heart. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the love in her eyes nor the simple trust she placed in him. His calloused hand cupped her small, soft fingers gently as if she were blown glass.

She said nothing as he led her out of the library and into the garden. Late summer brought out the riotous colors, every plant weighted with heavy-headed blossoms. But it was only when they came within sight of the rose-entwined gazebo that she made a noise. Soft, breathy. A sigh just on the edge of hearing.

Roses in scarlet and crimson twined about the wood structure, curling up the columns and hanging in vermillion boughs at every opening. The air was scented with their perfume and even the light took on a pink tinge within the confines of that place.

Chevalier’s heartbeat faltered a moment as the sound she made brought back a tumble of memories. Her parted lips, heavy-lidded gaze, soft breasts in the glow of afternoon sun. The feel of her skin beneath him. Perfect recall was not always a strength, he thought, mildly chagrined.

He led her to the wood bench beneath the awning, a hidden spot, a favorite place to go and read without being disturbed. “Sit.”

She sat down beside him, her smile more beautiful to him than the curtain of roses around them. There was no blossom to compare. “Thank you for showing me this, Chevalier. I get so caught up in palace stuff that I forget to enjoy being here.”

His snort of laughter was soft and not unkind.

She nestled into his side with a happy sigh.

“Here.” He fished his newest acquisition from an inner pocket. The slim volume had no title painted on the leather cover, nor an author’s name. “Read to me.” Chevalier kissed her temple, inhaling the scent of her.

“Mmm. Alright. What page are you on?” She raised an eyebrow, expectantly.

“I have not begun it yet.” Her little gasp of surprise pushed his smile wider. “I thought to save it for you. Something to share.” He could feel the way her pulse sped at his words. The effect of such a small gesture of affection. Chevalier loved her reactions.

She opened the book, flipping past the title page and the list of contributing authors. Eager to get to the meat of it, so to speak. “Ok. Umm, this one is . . . Come Slowly, Eden? It looks like - poetry?” Her head tilted to better regard him.

“I like poetry. Sometimes.” He couldn’t help the slight, teasing tone to his voice. “Go on.”

“Right. So -

Come slowly – Eden! Lips unused to Thee – Bashful – sip thy Jessamines – As the fainting Bee – Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums – Counts his nectars – Enters – and is lost in Balms.”

She paused, read back through it again, her eyes tracing the lines, fingertips light on the edges of the pages. “Chevalier . . . is this love poetry?”

“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Continue. Your question is better answered by the text.” Chev pulled her tight against his hip, settling his arm around her shoulders.

“I had no idea.” She laughed. “Love poems. And you’ll remember every single line?”

“Of course, simpleton. Stop delaying.”

“Mhmmm.” She was flushed slightly now, her cheeks warm. “Next then.” She flipped the page, scanning the text with her eyes.

“Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon, dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light, what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars? -” She paused, scanning all the way down the page now, gaze flitting from line to line, lips parted in mute surprise before she mumbled - “Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity, your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages, and a-”

Her breath trembled as she read and re-read the text. “Ah, let’s - let’s pick a different one, hm?”

“You don’t like that one?” His fingertip traced the edge of her ear.

“Chevalier!” She threw him a glare, though she knew he could see right past her faux-outrage.

“Pick another, then.” He watched as she thumbed through the pages, her eyes going wider with each printed line of dark ink. She didn’t seem likely to stop on one. Her shyness, even after all this time, amused him. As if there were any poems in this book more erotic than the love they made. “That one,” he chose for her.

She squirmed a moment and then surrendered. “You don’t even know if you like this one.”

“I will know after you read it.” He rested his chin atop her head.

“Whatever happens with us, your body will haunt mine—tender, delicate your lovemaking . . .”

Her breath was shallower than usual, and he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest. How silly and precious she was, this lover of his. Chevalier eased her onto his lap, enjoying the solid warmth of her pressing against him.

“Mmm . . .” She gave him a look that said she knew all too well he was teasing, but that she planned to go along with it.

“like the half-curled frond of the fiddlehead fern in forests just washed by sun.”

Chevalier let his lips find the edge of her ear. Brushing her skin lightly there, his breath ghosting across her cheek.

“I - I can’t concentrate when you do that. I thought you wanted me to read?” She wriggled defiantly, knowing exactly the effect such a motion would have on him.

He bit back the breathy groan and gave her the iciest look he could muster. “Read.”

The slight curl of her lips told him she was well aware of her effect, noise or no.

“Your traveled, generous thighs between which my whole face has come and come— the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found th- there—”

Her stuttering was more the effect of his teeth grazing her neck, than the text, he thought. Her skin was salty-sweet, a slight bitter tang from her perfume, sweat, and the deliciousness of her.

She tried to ignore his touch, but focusing on the sensual language was no help. Her voice quavered as she read on.

“the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth— your touch on me, firm, protective, searching me out . . .”

Her entire face was hot now, and she licked the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue.

The gesture made Chevalier want to kiss her. “Is that the last line?” He knew it was not. He could see the page easily enough and had already learned the words by heart.

“No but . . . Chevalier . . . it’s -” She gestured to the book helplessly.

“Read it to me.” He spoke the words against her skin. His rasping voice sent a trembling pleasure through her and she bit her lip in rebellion to it.

Her expression was one of internal conflict. The desire to give in to his demands and her natural defiance. “Alright. Here,

your strong tongue and slender fingers reaching where I - I -”

Chevalier smiled as she stumbled over the final lines. Her breath was thready with excitement, and her heart sped faster still. He loved seeing her like this, nearly undone by a few words and light touches. Her reaction had nearly undone him as well. Though he hid it well - no blushing or gasping breath for him - his pulse was racing too, and a certain tension coiled in him. “Go on.”

She cleared her throat,

“I had been waiting years for you in my rose-wet cave—whatever happens, this is.”

Her eyes read over the words again, tracing the ink with her fingertip.

He lifted her hand from the page and kissed the tip of her finger, his lips and tongue and teeth tasting her. From one finger to another, her palm, her wrist. Chevalier wanted to devour her whole. To strip her here, in this blossom bower and love her with every part of him until every part of her was claimed. He nearly shook with restraint as he let go of her hand.

“Chevalier.” His name said with equal parts love and desire. She turned to face him, her fingers traced the line of his jaw. Brushed his lower lip, satin on velvet. Then she kissed him, soft and hungry.

His arms went around her, pulling her closer. Heat like an August sun beneath the ice of his exterior burst through him. The moment stretched, shared breath and the possessive tangle of limbs and lips, tongues and teeth. Sighs stained the close-held air, petal-soft caresses kept secret by the gallery of roses.

Come Slowly, Eden by Emily Dickinson

Carnal Apple, Woman Filled, Burning Moon by Pablo Neruda

The Floating Poem, Unnumbered by Adrienne Rich

#ikemen prince gift exchange #ikemen prince #ikepri chevalier #chevalier michel #spicy #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys

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bloomingdarkgarden · 10 months

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People are like Elain doesn't belong in the night court when she literally smells like the night court i mean.

In review, girl's scent is not named: rose, lilac, daylilly, lavender, peony, gardenia, honeysuckle, etc.

It is night blooming jasmine.

To be clear there are 212 species of jasmine and 400,000 flowering plant species in the world, and this bitch smells like night blooming jasmine.

Cestrum nocturnum.

Also referred to as lady of the night, night-scented jessamine, night-scented cestrum or poisonberry.

Like ... y'all.

#elain archeron #acotar #pro elain #the night court #sjm #in other news water is wet

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starlessea2 · 2 months

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Wild-flower [Astarion]

Chapter 1 - Little Flower

Summary: “Once upon a time, you would have led me to that crypt—and not some pretty clearing in the forest.” His brows knitted with guilt. The laugh lines she's grown to love fall into a frown. “For what it’s worth. I thank the gods every night that they didn’t let me have you.” - Jessamine’s too trusting. If wild, blind naivety was a race, she would win it. Astarion’s a close second, only because he can’t help but follow her.

A/N This is going to be a long ride so strap in. Masterlist

Despite the wine haze she’d found herself in, Jessamine’s certain of one thing. He’s watching her.

She glances back at the door where he’s lingering, propped with his arms crossed at his chest. He doesn’t belong here; he's far too clean. Far too handsome. But he’d caught her eye when she came down from the upper dorms, and she likewise hadn’t left his sight since.

So instead of heading out like she ought to, Jessamine instead settled in at the Flophouse bar, glass of wine in hand—which had been mead before she discovered how utterly foul it tasted.

Jessamine’s on her third glass by the time the silver-haired man makes his move. “Very rare one stumbles upon a wood elf in the heart of Baldur’s Gate,” he announces. “You’re a long way from home, little flower.”

His words barely register. Through Jessamine’s bleary eyes, she finds the man. An elf, like herself, though more moon-like than forest-coated. His skin is paler than hers, and his eyes, a deep, dark crimson. Her breath catches; she really ought to reply.

“How could you tell?” she asks.

The man grins. He takes to the barstool beside her, as though her question had been an invitation. “I can smell it on you. The earth, that honeyed sweetness…” His hand raises and strokes the air between them. “You wear it well, my dear.”

Jessamine’s lips part; she was being hit on.

It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, really. At her age, she was far from a child. Yet, she wasn’t quite used to such direct attentions, either. Not without her sisters as buffers, or her father’s influence in the back of everyone’s minds. Something stirs inside of her.

“I— umm. I’m flattered,” she manages.

There’s a chuckle, and her gaze finds the bar.

Neither one of them speak for some time. Jessamine’s mind struggles to make sense of the nightly buzz: the bard tunes, the chatter, the clamour on the streets outside. It’s all a world away from the quiet birdsong she’d grown up with.

She feels the man’s breath on her neck. “So enlighten me…” he eventually says, “how did a creature as radiant as yourself end up in Fraygo’s Flophouse? Doesn’t your kind prefer frolicking about in a forest somewhere?”

The compliments seep right into Jessamine’s skin. She lets out a timid laugh.

He has her cornered. She’s acutely aware of their knees, ever-so-slightly touching, and his fingers, deftly circling his glass. In the span of a few minutes, he’d made her feel so nervous, so—inexperienced?

The wine goes down thick. Feeling his eyes on her, Jessamine musters every ounce of liquid courage to beckon him closer. And as he leans forward, she whispers through his hair, “It’s a secret.”

The man’s brow quirks. “Oh?” When she doesn’t elaborate, his eyes run over her, searching for any hint of a clue. By the time they return to her face, it’s burning. “I’m good with secrets,” he whispers back.

Jessamine’s heart pounds. This is dangerous, she thinks. All alone, away from home—and she’s never had this much wine in one sitting.

“Won’t you indulge me?” the man presses, poutingly. “Let me guess… Seeking adventure? Scandalous affair, perhaps,” he pauses to gauge her reaction, “family disagreement?”

Jessamine falters; he catches it immediately.

“Hmm, yes. I can relate to that… They made you feel stifled—trapped.” He takes a moment, fingertips ghosting over Jessamine’s flushed skin. “And what better place to seek freedom than the city proper. The one and only, Baldur’s Gate.”

Jessamine shudders.

“My, my, what a sweet thing you are.”

He edges closer. Jessamine loses herself in the contours of his face: his sharp jaw, sly smile, and the faint laugh lines bookending it. She barely notices when his thumb brushes against her ear, tucking fine wisps of hair behind it.

The smallest of sighs escapes her. He nurtures it. Without a single thought between her eyes, Jessamine leans into his touch. “Fresh as a daisy,” he mouths, “just waiting to be picked—”

A damp rag slaps the bar between them.

Jessamine jumps a mile.

“That’s enough of that, boy,” spits a voice. “I know your kind and the young miss ‘ere don’t deserve to be used by the likes of you.”

Jessamine straightens in her seat. “Dashkent—” she sputters at the innkeep.

His expression is hard.

Despite his stature, Jessamine thinks the halfling is more intimidating than most men twice his size. And at this moment, there’s something fierce radiating from him.

She tries to discern where it’s coming from. She didn't know him all that well—only helped put out a fire in his storeroom a few days back. But since then, her lodgings had been free of charge, and she was no longer bothered in the dorms.

As the innkeep looks down his nose at her companion, Jessamine's reminded of an overprotective uncle.

“Jessa,” he says to her, wringing the dish rag, “keep yer wits about you with this one, a’right?” He shoots a look at the pale elf. “You’re too kind ‘a girl for someone like him.”

Rather harsh, Jessamine thinks. Though as she glances at the man by her side, she can’t help but notice his face is rather murder-stricken.

Then she blinks, and it’s gone.

“Now off with ya,” Dashkent says. “Go swig some water an’ get some rest. Your show’s tomorrow.”

Jessamine cringes at the reminder. Caught red-handed, all she can do is nod.

As Dashkent disappears off into the back, Jessamine is hurtled into a wave of sobriety. She throws a sideways glance at her companion. Whatever had been building between had been struck dead. She’s once again aware of her surroundings: the Flophouse and its drunkards (of which she was included).

Somehow, she almost feels as though she’s been trancing.

A cough prompts Jessamine’s flight response. She turns to the man. “Sorry about him!” she says; I should go, she thinks. But as she wobbles out of her stool, there’s a hand to steady her.

“No need to run off, my sweet. I’m not scared away so easily.”

Something about the nickname stops Jessamine in her tracks. It disarms her enough that she doesn’t notice that she's being guided from the bar. Her escort leads her to the Flophouse staircase, where she somehow finds courage to ask him, “Won’t you come to the Blushing Mermaid? I'll be performing there tomorrow night.”

But when he doesn’t reply, she worries her lip. “Only if you like—” she pauses.

She doesn’t even know his name.

“Astarion,” the elf says, with a flash of teeth.

“Astarion…” she repeats. There’s a grin on her face but she’s much too wine-stricken to care. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” he confirms.

And Jessamine’s elated.

They exchange goodnights, and promises to meet again. But as Jessamine returns to her lodgings with a new name on her tongue, it doesn’t register that she'd never given hers.

A/N This man is going to fall so hard that his knees break, don't you worry x

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #astarion fanfic #astarion x y/n #astarion fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #fanfic #dnd #dungeons and dragons

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dulcetthorns · 2 years

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My Little Dove

Introducing my pink-haired Little Dove character inspired by @bye-bye-sunbird ‘s Capitano scenarios and @jessamine-rose ‘s AMAZING fic “Herbarium”.

Meet Illya Volkov, Capitano’s “sad little wife.”

Illya was originally born in the frozen Schneznayan tundra, but after the deaths of both her parents as a baby, was handed over to a monastery orphanage. Due to her incredibly weak countenance and frail body, she was sent to live in the warmer climate of the Monstadt monastery orphanage in hopes that the weather would improve her health, but to no avail. Illya grew up very isolated from others due to her health, and consequently became very introverted and unwilling to connect with her peers, choosing instead to spend her time among the plants of the orphanage garden.

Following the backstory of “Herbarium,” she was adopted only to suffer within her family until coming of age and supporting herself as an assistant librarian of Lisa’s library.

Cue events of “Herbarium” (Seriously, GO READ IT), and now she’s the lady of the Capitano estate.

Tons of extra info about her:

Illya is incredibly possessive, of both her things and what she perceives as “hers.” Because of her isolated upbringing, she found her friends among material items such as antiques and plants, rather than people. Due to this, she is incredibly sentimental of items and her plants, treating them almost as sentient beings. In contrast, she sees most people as irrelevant objects to her, simply existing outside her sphere of influence, and therefore pointless to consider.

Her possessiveness extends to her husband, Capitano. As resentful as she is of him for forcibly marrying her, she does see him as “her” property, and therefore worthy of her attention and time. This only extends to as far as he is useful to her; if he had nothing to offer and wasn’t immensely stronger than her, she wouldn’t have entertained his confinement for even a moment. Illya can be very affectionate to Capitano to get what she wants and, in a way, does love him. She personally believes that you can still love someone even if you want to kill them.

Illya is very frail, but does possess a dendro vision, and is not afraid to use it. Many a disrespectful fatui has been strangled to death by a variety of pretty, flowering plants as a result of her ire. Her appearance makes her seem harmless and bereft, but this hides a cruel streak that has only gotten worse since her kidnapping and matrimony to the militant harbinger. She often uses the bodies as fertilizer for her garden given to her by Capitano, where she grows a variety of plants from the seeds he brings her from his missions. She often presses the flowers and plants in books as presents to her husband as thanks.

Every single on of the harbingers, as infrequent as it is for her to see them, terrifies her. Even Childe, who is seemingly the nicest to her, triggers instinctual fear within her, so she’s incredibly wary of all of them. The fact that her vision provides no protection from them leaves her deeply unnerved. She’s as polite as possible when around them, but if you look closely, her ever present frown gets a little more severe whenever one of them are around.

One of her favorite activities is to take a book from her personal library (gifted to her by Capitano, of course) and go to her husband’s office to sit on his lap to read while he works. He is surprisingly warm and a good seat while she reads, and he is often in a better mood afterwards, so she takes full advantage. (Size kink go brrrrrrrrr)

Illya can embroider and sew, so Capitano has received a number of embroidered handkerchiefs as gifts from his wife. None of his soldiers dare to comment on the floral fabric when he’s around.

On occasion, usually when Capitano is away on a mission and she has naught but a maid or two who aren’t allowed to talk to her to keep her company, Illya will crack for a while. Giggling and soft singing will fill the halls during the day as she talks to her plants like children, while in the night, wails and screams will rattle the windows, chilling the maids down to their bones, unable to do anything. She always regains her composure when Capitano returns, and the maids keep their mouths shut.

#capitano #dulceybespoke #fatui harbingers #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: yandere #genshin impact oc #genshin oc #dulcetart

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