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carolmunson · 11 months

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love language six

love language set list another sunday another sun-slay -- ft. dad!eddie and flashback child!eddie love language blurbies are back in action -- again, these are just vingettes into a relationship with eddie no chronological timeline, no story -- just mini moments. this is longer than my other love language blurbs. reader discretion is advised: eighteen plus content. this blurb explores the concept of eddie being a child of abuse that sides with the abuser for his own safety and struggles with that as an adult. some content in this work may be uncomfortable to read, and if dv or abuse is triggering for you, i would not recommend reading it -- this work features rough language, references to abuse, abusive language, descriptions of abuse, and attempted domestic violence. the ending is not sad, i promise.

1971, Forest Hills Trailer Park sherri munson squats down in a shift dress with flowers that match the ones growing in the patch outside of the kiddie park. her sandals crease. the skin by her eyes has too. up all the time, just waiting. waiting for her boy to cry. waiting for her husband to come home. waiting for the cops to show up. she was gonna be a dancer one day. now she stays up and waits. now she just fights with her son about when it’s time to leave the park.

'well i don't have to listen to you anyway!' he whines, ripping his hand away from her with all his five year old body could muster. 'yes you do, eddie honey, i'm your mom,' she tries to laugh it off, but it comes out half-hearted. the other mothers at the park look at her, their eyes burn as hard as her husband hits.

'no you're not!' he yells, stomping while she takes his hand again. 'eddie, yes i am, i'm your mother, let's go,' she urges. he rips his hand away again and raises it the way her husband does when he's warning her.

'you're -- you're what daddy says you are, mommy,' he yells, tearing up in anger, not sure where to put it. she tries to reach for him but he brings his hand down to strike, only cutting through the air.

'baby, we just have to go home from the park, we can come back tomorrow,' she pleads.

'daddy's right, what he said to you this mornin’ -- you’re – you're a fuckin' idiot.' he sounds like like him, just smaller. she knows he doesn't know what he's saying, what that means. but it hurts the same way it hurt at breakfast when she spilled some coffee on the counter. maybe worse. she can't find it in herself to yell at him.

'that was a very mean thing to say to mommy, ed,' she mutters, the balloon in her chest swelling and swelling, 'say you're sorry.'

'why should i? daddy never has to say sorry,' he shouts while she catches him by the hand again. the other mom's sizzling stares soften, perfectly plucked brows raising. she can almost hear their necks turn to give each other knowing glances.

'that's just how your daddy is, ed,' she sighs, watching him pout at her with big glassy brown eyes, 'let's go home, baby. i'll make you some chocolate milk with your lunch.'

that perks him up and he smiles, hand clasping in hers while the others watch them leave like a bad car wreck. she tries not to hear them whisper, she tries not to hear their words travel through the wind and blow through her hair, through her chest. it's not anything she hasn't heard before.

she’s doing dishes when ed's daddy and wayne come home from lake doing some fishing. wayne moved in next door after the first time alan put her in the hospital. eddie was too young to remember that part, old enough to remember that mrs. marsden let him have so many popsicles when he stayed with her that his tongue was blue for two days.

she focuses on the rush of the water and the ‘scratch, scratch, scratch’ of the sponge on a pan that never feels clean. she swallows while her husband's keys jingle in the door. her eyes watch the suds slide off the pan in a cloud, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing -- maybe if she just stares down at the sink she’ll go right down the drain. then she won’t have to –

"hi honey," she says down to the counter next to the sink. eddie sits at the kitchenette table, nursing his glass of chocolate milk.“hi daddy,” he says quietly, big brown eyes follow his father’s every move – half scared, half enamored. big man. big angry man. never hits him, just hits mommy. so he must be good if that’s what happens. he must be so good.

"hm," he grunts, door slamming behind him. it doesn’t take long when he’s in one of his moods. he stalks down past the living room and into the bedroom to change out of his sticky clothes – summer heat making him slide like a snake back out to the kitchen. “house is a fuckin’ mess sherri,” he says. big man. big angry man. boa constrictor tight on her throat while she swallows. why can’t the drain just swallow her the same way?

scratch, scratch, scratch. scrub, scrub, scrub.

“you hear me sher? i said the house is a fuckin’ mess,” he bellows from the side of her. eddie covers his ears. big man, big angry man. big voice stained with fifteen years of cigarette smoke.

“yeah, i heard you al,” she says to the suds as they float down the drain. her heart aches. balloon in her chest pops.

“oh, you’re bein’ smart with me?” he asks, big angry hand reaching out to clutch her by the back of the neck. pulled out of the drain and into the wall, “you bein’ smart?”

she braces as her side hits the wall, she can smell the beer on him like white on rice. she wants to scream at wayne for letting him come into the trailer this drunk. “m’not being smart with you al,” she grits out. “yeah you ain’t smart, are you?” he taunts, hovering over her. big shoulders, big arms, big everything – big man. big strong man, “you know what you are?” she shakes her head no, eyes shutting tight – she can just float down the drain. “y’already forgot huh? damn sherri – you fuckin’ stupid? i told ya this morning,” he barks a laugh that sends heat down the back of her throat, her nose warms, the threat of tears warns her the way he does – always just on the line. “you’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he bites, “you lazy fuckin’ bitch.” “you gotta stop sayin’ that shit in front of ed, alan,” she says quietly, hair sticking to her face and neck. sweat and sticky. can’t keep fighting anymore kind of hot.

“oh how come?” he asks with fake concern, “he believin’ it? he cert’n’ly should.” he turns to eddie, with a flash in his eyes, “you think your mama’s a fuckin’ idiot, boy?” big strong man. big angry man. big boa constrictor with big snakey eyes. kaa’s hypnosis. “i asked you a question,” he seethes, his body close to turning completely. eddie sees the gold ring glint on his fist. “yessir,” he nods quickly, “y-yeah…that’s what mommy is.” “look how scared you got him, al!” she yells from the drain in her chest, “look how scared he is! look what you’re doin’ to him!” but he didn’t ask her to speak. eddie covers his ears again but it doesn’t block out the first three cracks of his daddy’s palm across her face. doesn’t block out the crunch of his knuckles on her cheek. he shuts his eyes like is mama always tells him, runs to the cupboard under the sink to hide. crack, crack, crunch. wail, crack, crunch, cry. cry, cry, yell, crack, yell, crack, crunch, cry, yell. eddie watches through the space in the doors like a movie he’s too young to watch. rated r. rated never. warm yellowed wallpaper and orangey wood staring back at him, his daddy’s fishing boots stomping into frame. a small smatter of blood on the scuffed linoleum tile. rated r, rated never. yell, yell, yell, choke, spit, cough, cough, yell. yell, yell, cry, yelp, cough, whimper, yell, cough. wayne’s voice cuts in the pattern. “i told ya alan, i’d shoot ya the next time i had to come in here.” whoop, whoop. the flashing lights eddie sees every few weeks glitter on the back wall of the kitchen where he can see through the space. glittering while the sun shines. he likes that. “nah, nah, you ain’t gonna run from ‘em this time al,” wayne says. eddie can’t see the scuffle. “she ain’t even fuckin’ concious.” she was gonna be a dancer one day. eddie stays in the cupboard. just for a little, even after his daddy takes a night in the clink. even after wayne says it’s okay to come out. even while his chocolate milk stands on the table untouched. he stays for a minute, while the world around him rumbles.

1997, Forest Hills Trailer Park

and the world sure does rumble sometimes. hazy afternoon had been smooth sailing for the most part -- pick bud up from summer rec camp, grocery run. chasing bud through the aisles while his laugh plays marco polo with yours. it's good to buy your five year old some chocolate when he behaves. it's good to watch him run around again when you get back home, hustling in the backyard in your new trailer with two bedrooms. letting him run through some sprinkler toy you saw at dollar tree a couple weeks ago before the weather got hot. covered in mud, soon enough, covered in clouds. you’re thankful he’s inside before the rain starts. down pour – the sky heavy with thick air and angry beatings to your tin roof. you slip off his shoes before he tracks mud in the house, you rinse off his hands before you get him changed into something more cozy that’ll make bedtime go a little easier. you start dinner after fixing him a snack and he muses about four square and kickball – you silently laugh when he tells you he got picked first for the teams. money’s tighter now. tighter than it was a couple years ago. a little too tight when you switched to part time to pick up bud from kindergarten and camp since wayne’s working day shifts now. wayne’s too old to be watching bud now anyway, bud’s all over the place. the tighter the money, the bigger the fights. but you both knew how to fight. masters of the ring, big booming cracks of lighting for tongues. always in bed dressed in pajamas and apologies. maybe less so now. maybe less apologies, less pajamas. speaking in bodies and sweat – soft rumbling i’m sorry, lemme show you. you don’t think either of you mean it like you used to. he can afford a nicer trailer for his son, but sometimes he doesn't know if he can afford to show him how to treat a woman. you swear it's progress, but he only hears the whir of the tape being rewound over and over again. every clipped word, every raise of his voice, every tense roll of his shoulders. boy turned big man. big big man.

you start the oven, slicing and dicing while he comes in the door – coveralls all covered in rain and motor oil. big boots on the linoleum, faint smell of beer on his breath. just one with the guys after the shop closed – that’s what he says anyway.

“hi honey,” you say, chop-chop-chopping at the green onion on the cutting board, “rain’s rough out there?”

“hm,” he replies, kicking his boots off next to bud’s sneakers. he sighs out of his nose, “s’mud all over the place here.”

“i know, i’m sorry, i forgot about it – i’ll get to it after dinner,” you say, hearing him make big steps over to his son, running a hand over his hair. just wanna avoid another back and forth – let him sleep off all that frustration – ease out the elastic in his shoulders that’s waiting to snap.

“you know,” he grumbles lowly, coming over to look at the mail on the counter next to you, “you’ve been gettin’ real forgetful lately.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask with a smile that can’t believe he’d say that. you put the knife down.

“why’d i get a call from the city today saying the water bill’s past due?” he asks, a darkness creeping into his voice that’s been turning his tongue to sludge, to whipping winds, cruel and unforgiving, “you tryna make me look bad? want people to think i can't pay the fuckin' bills?”

“i – shit i forgot to drop it off yesterday, i’m sorry hun,” you soothe, “i’ll bring it tomorrow, i wasn’t trying to make you look bad.”

“you can’t just forget this shit,” he says, voice rising, “we got –”

“mommy, can i have some more juice?” bud’s little voice leaks into the conversation like a dove floating by.

“yes, baby,” you say, getting the juice out of the fridge to refill his cup at the table.

“we got a kid at home,” ed repeats, "can't just have the water shuttin' off. what's wrong with you? take some responsibility."

“i understand that ed,” you reply, defensive edge sliding up in your voice like a razor, “i’m the one whose with him all day.”

he scoffs, grumbling, “yeah, you pick him up from camp – mother of the fuckin’ year. can’t even pay the bills on time with all my fuckin’ money.”

“watch your mouth,” your voice stern while you close up the juice. thunder rumbles overhead, the rain coming down in droves. two cracks of lightning who can’t let up.

“you don’t tell me what to do,” he glowers, “you don’t ever tell me what to do. i’m the man of this house, you hear me?”

“man of the house? you hear how you sound?” you ask, leaning forward on the table, “why don’t you go back to the garage and figure this attitude out, ed?”

“don’t run your mouth to me,” he growls, “don’t get fuckin’ smart with me.”

“watch. your. mouth.” you warn again. bud flinches when the thunder rumbles, he hates storms like this. drinks his juice anyway. “oh, so you are gettin’ smart with me?” eddie grimaces, bearing his teeth, nostrils flaring. he vibrates with the thunder outside. "well let me tell you something then, huh?!" he grits out, rounding the table with an outstretched hand to grab you, wrapping like a vine on your wrist. like a snake. you flinch when you see how fast he moves, when he reaches for you -- cracking like lightening, like a whip, cracking like your marriage this year. "wait, wait, i'm sorry!" your voice sounds breathy, worn down -- terrified. it doesn't sound like you at all. “god, you’re such a fuckin’ id–” your son drops his fork on the ground, clattering eddie back to clarity. your son's eyes match your husband's, they meet each other. your son just stares -- frozen on the spot. you stare too. you look at his hand around your wrist, the flex in his forearm, veins lifted and pulsing. big man. big strong man. big strong angry man. just like his daddy. the wind howls outside, huffs of breath out of your noses fill the room quietly.

"daddy?"

eddie straightens, looking at his hand tight on your wrist before letting it drop to his side. he swallows. looking at the both of you like he was mid crime scene. eddie blinks. looks at his son at the kitchen chair and then the cupboard under the kitchen sink. "i..." he starts, choking on the words, "i'm gonna go for a drive."

he stands for a second while you nod at him, eyes brimming with tears you aren’t sure will fall. rooted to your spot, you hold your breath when he leans in, hands reaching out much more gentle than before. he fills the space between you, still smelling like motor oil, rain, and musk. both of his calloused hands on your cheeks now – he kisses you.

"m’sorry,” he says, loud enough for your son to hear. he lets go only to turn around and take his son’s face in his hands and give him a kiss too.

“sorry, buddy,” he says softly, “daddy’ll be back before bedtime, okay?”

in five years, eddie has never missed one night of reading him a bedtime story. “okay,” your son smiles, earning himself another kiss on the top of his head and a ruffle of his hair before eddie grab his keys. the jingle of them rings in your chest while you watch him leave. your eyes linger on the storm door even while you listen to the car start, even while you hear it drive away. the rain doesn’t let up. you put dinner in a tupperware for him later. — you’re in the bathroom after a shower when he comes home, the door partially open in case bud needs you – cozied up in bed playing with dinosaurs in his room. you listen while eddie makes his way in to see him, padding down the hall in wet feet to not get caught. “hi buddy,” he says with a voice that had done nothing but cry, “how was dinner?” “was yummy,” your son says. you know bud’s looking up at him with glowing admiration. his daddy. he was his daddy’s boy. the bed creaks when eddie sits down. “i’m glad, kiddo,” he says, “i wanted to say sorry for how mean i was earlier. i was being really mean and that wasn’t nice.” “you were really mean to mommy,” buddy mumbles, “you made her cry.” you hear ed’s voice crack, “i know bud, i know i made mommy cry, and that’s not okay.” “and i’m not gonna yell at mommy anymore, and i’m sorry.” “mommy’s the best,” bud says, “but it’s okay to be angry sometimes, that’s what they say at camp. just count to three!” “daddy’s angry is a little different, bud,” he tries to explain, a little laugh coming through, “but i’ll try it next time, i’ll count to three.” “and take deep breaths,” bud explains. “and i’ll take deep breaths,” eddie says through sniffles, you can hear the soft smile in his voice. “and bud, i think we should make a big promise to each other, would that be okay?” he asks your son. big shiny baby brown eyes. eyes that get kissed by the moon. “mhm.” “let’s promise that we won’t ever yell at mommy, or call her any names, because that’s not nice,” eddie says softly, “that was really mean of daddy and mommy doesn’t deserve that. and i don’t want you to think that’s okay.” “okay, i promise,” bud’s voice leaks like a dove through the door. you hear a kiss pressed to his forehead while eddie stands up to grab the beat up copy of the hobbit next to bud’s bed. you’re in your pajamas in the bedroom by the time ed’s done putting your son to bed. he somes in quietly, looking you over post shower – beautiful bride, beautiful wife, so pretty like this. so pretty for him – big man. big strong man. big sorry man. “i owe you an apology,” he says softly. “yeah,” you say, cold cream soothing your hot skin like ice while you slather it on. eyes avoid him.

“m’so sorry, baby,” his face cracks like all the plates his daddy shattered, that you’ve shattered too, “that’s…that’s not me – i’d never – i never thought i’d–” "i know you wouldn't," you say quietly, knowingly. your eyes travel – how many slats are in the wood paneling of this room? "cause if you did --" you finally find it in you to look at him. "if you did, if you ever raised a hand to me or bud –” “i would never,” he urges, “i’d never–” “if you did,” you repeat, eye piercing him, “i would get in that car with your son and you would never see us again, do you understand me?” he nods, face blanching, tinged green at the thought. he could’ve lost you both. he could still lose you both. “bless her soul ed, but i’m not your momma,” you remind him, “m’not gonna stick around for a man who thinks i’m a punching bag.” he nods again, quiet, tongue thick when he talks. “i’m so sorry, baby i’ll – i’m gonna do better,” he sounds like he means it, “i’ve just..things are so hard right now. i’m trying.” “try a little harder,” you say softly. “i will,” he says, wiping his eyes while they brim with tears as wet at outside. “i love you,” you start, “but i think you should go stay at wayne’s tonight.” his lower lip quivers, “o-okay. i – um – i love you, t-too.” he packs some clothes for the night and tomorrow even though wayne’s just three trailers down. his heart sinks when he realizes he’ll have to explain. just like his daddy. big strong man. snake eyes. snake eyes gone soft. big sorry man. big sorry eyes. kissed by the moon. kissed by you. “i’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, okay?” you say gently after his full warm lips break from yours, “just think you need some time alone tonight.” he nods against you, eyes closed. lips brush again. he leaves and you listen to the storm door close with a rattle. the world rumbles. so does he. but he’s gonna be better.

#love language em #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie #dad!eddie munson #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader

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neechees · 6 months

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At the protest with the Native dancers, there was a grass dancer leading the front of multiple jingle dress dancers. Now it could be a coincidence, or maybe he's just leading because they're following typical pow wow order by categories, but on a deeper level:

Grass dancers represent what scouting men used to do for some plains tribes were they would go ahead of the tribe, and when they'd found a good place to make camp, they would dance and stomp on the grass to make it flat for everyone to set up their homes. Them going ahead of the jingle dress dancers can maybe mean the dancers meant this in a "landback" way for Palestine & Gaza, that they will make & rebuild their homes again and heal (because jingle dress is a healing dance). But maybe I'm reading too much into it

#ive been to protests with pow wow dancers before while dancing myself & like this isnt something thats standard practice #like dancers (in my experience) can go anywhere they want within the march & don't have to follow pow wow protocol/standards #so thats why i think this

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johnnymostly · 4 months

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Mesmerized Centerfold: Evelyn

I could hear the metallic jingling approaching from the moment she stepped out of the elevator. I was in my office above the Mesmer Club; contemplating the ice in my otherwise empty glass and debating the merits of pouring myself more bourbon against going down to the club and asking Lydia to mix me something a little flashier. The approach of a guest tipped the scales in favor of simplicity and I was in the process of freshening up the ice by the time Evelyn appeared in the doorway.

EVELYN I wanted to thank you for your help photographing all of the girls wearing next season's lingerie line.

She was dressed in a purple and silver belly dancer outfit. That explained the jingling. She looked fantastic and I could tell she was aware of it.

THE MESMER You're very welcome, Evelyn.

EVELYN To express my gratitude, I thought I'd dress up like a harem slave for you and let you do whatever you wanted with me...

THE MESMER That's very kind of you. Maybe we could start by shooting one more set of photos with you in your harem outfit?

It had seen enough use recently that I had my camera sitting next to my desk ready to go.

THE MESMER This lighting should work, if it's okay with you. Go ahead and strike some poses for me whenever you're ready.

EVELYN Awww... That's a little bit disappointing...

THE MESMER What's that?

EVELYN I'm happy to follow orders like a good slave, Master, but didn't you hypnotize all the other girls into being your obedient sluts first? I'd hate to think that I'm being punished for submitting so... enthusiastically...

THE MESMER They weren't all hypnotized first. Some of them found themselves gradually seduced by the camera's pretty flashing lights. You've found yourself fascinated by the pretty flashing lights plenty of times, haven't you?

EVELYN Mmmm. Mhmm...

She seemed involuntarily relaxed by the memory of past brainwashed photo shoots. Her arms dropped to her side and her lips curled into a soft smile. It seemed like she had come to my office to try out "bratty harem slave". I wasn't entirely sure what to do with it, but I could certainly work with the "harem slave" part.

THE MESMER If you're in a rush to be a mindless slave for the rest of the night, I want you to feel your thoughts slip through your mind like grains of sand through a sieve. The only thoughts that remain are of being a completely submissive slave for your Master. You're too empty-headed to think. You're too empty-headed to speak. If you try, you find that all you accomplish is to stir up your thoughts of obedience. Your mind is otherwise completely vacant. Your body craves a chance to please your Master. Your body exists to serve your Master's whims. Your body feels electrified with an endless desire to please. Do you understand?

EVELYNN ...

THE MESMER Good girl. Dance for me.

She started to dance as if obeying the order was orgasmic. Although, she had spent enough nights as a brainwashed slave that I knew she'd never cum without first being commanded to by her Master. Her body moved rhythmically but her expression was as blank as her mind. Only her eyes and her quiet gasping breath betrayed that the privilege to dance for her Master was satisfying some urgent and indescribable need. In a single movement, her skirt dropped to the floor as she stepped out of it and wrapped her body around mine.

THE MESMER On your knees.

She dropped to the floor instantly. Her empty stare persisted; equal parts blissful obedience and silent pleading for more opportunities to be used.

THE MESMER I would have loved to get some photos of you in that outfit, but first you insist on being put into a trance and then you start undressing without permission? Punish yourself by smacking your ass for me.

She propped herself up on her hands and knees and spanked herself with an intensity that, if I'm being honest, was way more aggressive than I had in mind.

THE MESMER Back on your knees. I think I'll just photograph you exactly like this. In next month's issue of "Mesmer", we're going to print these photos of you feeling mindless and obedient. Every time you see them, you're going to remember how important patience is to empty-headed and obedient slaves. For now, every time you see the flash of the camera, your head is going to be flooded with thoughts of all the things an obedient slave can do to please her Master. They're going to tease you with all the pleasure that a good slave would feel if she were allowed to indulge in such things, but you're not allowed to indulge. They're going to pass through you and leave you still on your knees. Too aroused to move, too aroused to think, too aroused to speak. Do you understand?

EVELYN ...

THE MESMER When we're finished, I'll leave you half-dressed like this and bring you downstairs with me to the Mesmer Club. I'd like Lydia to mix me a more resplendent cocktail and then I'll let her decide how you're going to spend the rest of your night as my slave.

#hypnosis #mesmerized #mind control #brainwashing #female sub #hypnotized #hypnotized girl #hypnotism #pin ups #hypnok1nk

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iloveslllycatss · 1 year

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BLLK BOYS X ARABIC DANCER S/O

(Plz write this my requests never get picked :()

𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 𝙭 𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙘 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 : 𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘪, 𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘪

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘯: 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰 𝘪 𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘌𝘋 𝘛𝘖 𝘋𝘖 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚 𝘉𝘌𝘚𝘛 𝘐 𝘊𝘖𝘜𝘓𝘋…, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘣 𝘣𝘤 𝘺𝘬, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 😢 , 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, kinda ooc 😢 (fem reader btw)

y. isagi ↴

✮ okay so I feel like he wouldn’t expect u to be a dancer ngl

✮ the way I see it, you got invited to a arab wedding and u couldn’t not join the dance circle 🙄

✮ shik shak shook is playing. (classic arabic dancing song ykyk)

✮ he was watching u the WHOLE TIME

✮ like he would b sitting down kinda awkwardly bc like it’s a arab wedding…. he’s not arab?? but the second u get up and dance. STARING ISTG

✮ blushing the whole time.

✮ when u guys leave he’s like “why didn’t u tell me that u danced???”

you and your boyfriend had been invited to your sisters wedding, hold on let me rephrase.. your sisters ARAB wedding.

you two were sitting down, watching the people dance in the middle of the room, until that song started playing. that song being you and your sisters FAVORITE song to dance to. shik shak shook. you quickly shoot a look to the bride, grinning as she holds her hand out to you with a knowing smile.

“listen baby I’ll be right back okay I just NEED to dance to this.” you tell isagi, he sends u a nod knowing he can’t say no to you and you get up, pulling ur dress down bc it had come up a little, and making ur way over to your sister. the music playing as u start to move your hips to the beat. your boyfriend watches, his ears turning red when you send him a wink, still dancing to the song. your hips roll and your shoulders switch for every beat, your hands twisting, somehow matching your movements. it’s all somewhat the same till the song starts letting out an ominous, mysterious tune. and as if your body is being controlled by the sound, you slowly start to get low, your hips moving in a circle, kinda representing a snake. the beat starts back up and so do your hips. not a beat is missed while you dance.

isagi cant help but stare

after the song finishes, you and the bride let out a giggle and give each other a hug. you then make your way back to isagi, seeing as how his face is red you smirk a little. “u didn’t tell me you could dance like that” he looks away from you, a little flustered and you smile. “well you never asked”

s. nagi ↴

✮ okok so for nagi I think he would b playing games w reo in one room and your just dancing in the other bc u literally have nothing else to do and u don’t wanna bother him

✮ after a while he tells reo that he’s gonna go to the bathroom bc “needing to pee is such a hassle” 😭

✮ so after he uses the bathroom he walks by the room ur in and hears music… and not just any music, arabic music.

✮ hes kinda confused like “why is there music playing in there??” and he slightly opens the door and sees u

✮ ur DEF wearing one of those belt things w the coins on it (it’s traditional ig and I think its made to jingle every time ur hips move??)

✮ FLUSTERED ASL but stays quiet ab it (fucking tsundere 😐)

✮ records u 100% (DOESNT show nb tho, that sight is only 4 him to see)

✮ watches u till the song finishes and kinda lowkey forgets ab reo 😭

you had been waiting to hang out with you boyfriend for the last hour. he was playing games w reo on vc, occasionally saying “reo your actually so shit at this” or “saving u is such a hassle”. you were TIRED of waiting so u decided to get up and go to another room. your scrolling on tiktok until u stop on a video of your cousins overseas at a party, dancing.

idea = created

you get off of tiktok and play a song u think is fit to dance to. you put it on a speaker, not too loud but loud enough to fill the room. and u start to dance. about a minute into the song the door creeks open, your dumbass doesn’t notice and keeps on dancing. you smoothly roll your hips to the music and you boyfriend watches you, his eyes widened, his face flushed. your shoulders, hands and hips moving simultaneously and the coins on your belt jingle and jingle. you have this smile on your face that indicated to nagi that your enjoying yourself and his first thought is to pull out his phone and start recording you. as the song speeds up, so do your movements and the jingling of your belt getting more rapid. nagi doesn’t know how you do it so flawlessly, every movement corresponding to the beat and rhythm. you just look so…

perfect

the song ends after about 3 minutes bc arabic songs r lowkey long (😞). after u finish you go to grab ur phone till u notice your tall ass boyfriend looking at u, cheeks burning. you look at him eyes with horror, “……. sei how much of that did u see.” …… “hmm idk how about me and you check it out?” he smirks lightly and turns the phone, screen facing u. only for u to notice he’s been recording. your face suddenly becomes flushed and you don’t know what to say. “sei u should 100% delete that” his eyebrows furrow “that would be such a hassle, plus that was too attractive for me to delete” if there was a way to make u even MORE flustered than before, he just did it .“damn sei sounds like ur real into me huh” you teased. “hmm i don’t know” you were about to say something back until you both heard a

“nagi are u coming back?? ur kinda dying rn”

this actually was so hard to write bc why are dancing scenes so hard 😐

@/ilovesillycats

please don’t copy my work 😞

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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Prythian's Fantasia 🎪 (Ch. 3)

Summary: It’s 1889. Desperate to save her ailing mother’s life, Feyre strikes a bargain with ringmaster-witch doctor Amarantha. As the Archeron sisters join Prythian’s Fantasia and head for the World’s Fair in Paris, they begin to realize the circus’s magic runs far deeper than its enchanting nightly performances.

Previously: The Archeron sisters had a magical experience at Prythian's Fantasia. Will Feyre be able to bargain with Amarantha to save her mother's life? WARNINGS: References to past SA in Gwyn's POV

Read: Masterlist | AO3

Tuesday, March 12th, 1889

***Nesta***

Nesta was scritch-scratching her way through the pile of correspondence in the parlor when the front door snicked shut. Blazing irritation ruined Nesta’s train of thought. Where the hell was her damn sister going?

Sure enough, Feyre’s cloaked form had just turned the corner down the street. Nesta ground her teeth, frustration fueling her quick steps into a light jog. She’d turned a blind eye to Feyre’s excursions long enough. As the eldest child, it was her responsibility to keep her sisters out of trouble. But Nesta hated running. Especially in such a layered skirt and dainty little shoes.

“You, there. I’ll pay you five shillings if you follow that girl in the black dress down the street.” Nesta announced to a boy who happened to be driving an empty wagon past her. He could not be any older than fourteen, based on his short stature and pimple-covered face. But he nodded, even cowing slightly as Nesta hopped into the grimy wagon. “Be discreet. If she catches us, you’ll only get two.”

The janky wagon rumbled and squelched over cobblestone and mud. The boy maintained a careful distance as they moved past soot-darkened gray buildings, ramshackle apartments, squalid beggars, and over the Thames River. They followed Feyre for a good half hour before she disappeared into thin air.

“Where did she go?” The boy stopped, his confusion mirroring Nesta’s. Nesta, who had been keeping a close eye on Feyre the entire time, was at a loss for words. Feyre’s honey-brown hair was easy to spot, even amongst the throng of Londoners. She was even wearing a knitted cream shawl that made her stand out in the gray. But they had traveled far enough that Nesta was certain where Feyre was headed.

The Prythian’s Fantasia tent rose tall and proud about a half mile away. The lines and colors were sharper in daylight, but the structure still evoked memories of that magical night. Nesta had not been able to stop thinking about how circus dancers pranced and spun across the ring, seductively contorting their bodies mid-air with silken ribbons. She would make the rest of the way by foot; Nesta plunked down the five shillings into the wagon before hopping out.

The circus gate was shut and the grounds were silent, which had Nesta wondering for a moment if she had guessed incorrectly. It seemed dead as a graveyard. But there it was…that faint jingle of music. Lilting notes and clear tones sweetened the air, beckoning her in. Nesta walked along the massive perimeter, following the music. She eventually reached the performers’ camp just behind the main circus.

Sure enough, her sister was idling at the camp’s edge, wringing her hands and pacing anxiously as if she was working up the nerve to enter. A gold-painted sign propped next to the small entrance read: Prospective performers, seek Amarantha.

“Feyre,” Nesta called out firmly.

Feyre jumped, her blue-gray eyes widening in surprise. “Nesta!” Her expression pinched with sudden nervousness. “What are you doing here? Have you been following me?”

“I should ask the same thing about yourself. Not thinking of running away to the circus, are you?” Nesta replied dryly.

“I’m not running away…I simply must speak with the ringmaster.” Nesta groaned in frustration when Feyre strode away. Whatever business Feyre had with Amarantha, Nesta was not going to wait around for her sister to come back out.

During the day, the circus performers were unrecognizable in regular garb, with women in plain linen dresses and men in standard brown pants and shirts. Nesta clearly stuck out, with her pale blue dress and embroidered silk slippers. Even Feyre looked more proper than usual, with her freshly cleaned lilac dress and carefully braided hair.

Colored caravans were interspersed between medium-sized tents and practice rings. The performers barely paid Nesta and Feyre any attention as they navigated down the crunchy dry grass and towards the large plum tent with the words “ringmaster’s office” scripted on a hanging placard.

A tall, muscular man stood under the tent’s awning, and Nesta gawked at him openly. He was not like the sniveling, pale, weak-boned aristocrats of London society. Nor was he like one of those bumbling country boys who were all brawn but no brain. His golden eyes were like a hawk’s: sharp, intelligent, and…beautiful. Was he a circus performer, or personal protection? Nesta could not recall having seen him in the show, for she would certainly remember a man like him.

“What’s your business here?” he asked with a half grin, in a deep voice that sounded like a song. Nesta clenched her jaw, trying to keep herself from getting carried away.

“We request an audience with Amarantha,” Feyre responded. The man’s crossed arms stretched and creased his gray shirt along defined muscles. Nesta’s eyes were fixated on the triangle of ruddy brown skin, like that of sailors who spent their days out in the open seas, peeking through the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

“What is the nature of your audience?”

“I seek her aid for our ailing mother.” Nesta blinked in surprise. Running to a circus ringmaster for healing? Feyre must have lost her mind.

The man’s hazel eyes snapped towards Nesta’s face, picking her steely facade apart and assessing every hidden, dark thought. She could have sworn his pupils widened with subtle desire. His chiseled face was rugged, as if a sculptor had failed to smooth down a marble statue before presenting their work to an art exhibit.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His attitude had changed, and it stung, for some reason.

“I don’t see why not?” Nesta blurted out. “You are not the ringmaster.” The man scoffed at her now, his lip twitching in condescension.

“What you seek would not benefit you in the slightest.” Normally, Nesta would have wholeheartedly used the barring of entry as an excuse to drag Feyre away. But his self-righteous and dismissive attitude riled her.

“Cassian,” a strong, female voice called from the interior of the tent. “Do we have guests outside? Do let them in.”

So that was his name. Cassian.

“Seems you do not have the final word around here.” Nesta allowed her lips to twitch in a simpering smirk as she walked past Cassian, who had gone rigid with fury, most likely. She could not banish the memory of his intense hazel eyes, which were surely pinned on her back like a target as she slipped into the ringmaster’s tent.

***Feyre***

It was surprisingly dim inside the tent, and the air clung to Feyre’s cheeks like a damp fog. Ringmaster Amarantha sat in a large velvet chair, reading a book and sipping from a goblet of wine. She’d exchanged her bodice and breeches for a deep purple gown that made her alabaster skin appear bloodless.

“Good afternoon,” Amarantha purred with a saccharine smile. “What brings such lovely ladies to my domain today?” It seemed the ringmaster’s charisma was not limited to the stage. Feyre took a step forward, dipping her head in a slight bow.

“Good afternoon, ringmaster. I heard you possess…magic. And I’ve come to humbly request your assistance. My mother has been gravely ill for months.” The Archeron family’s fate hung upon Amarantha’s answer.

“My assistance does not come without a price. Tell me, dear, what is your name?” Amarantha tossed her thick, crimson hair behind a shoulder.

“Feyre Archeron.” Confidence—keeping her voice steady—was crucial.

“And yours?” Amarantha’s dark gaze swiveled to Nesta, who did not balk at the sheer weight of the ringmaster’s stare.

“Nesta. Nesta Archeron,” she replied. “I’m Feyre’s older sister.” Amarantha hummed in approval. She closed her eyes, tapping her fingers together in contemplation.

“Feyre Archeron, I do not desire money or riches as a form of payment. I will provide a healing potion for your mother, as long as you agree to half a year of service with my circus: Prythian’s Fantasia.”

Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But Nesta pinched Feyre’s arm hard before she could speak.

“Please excuse us for a moment,” Nesta said roughly. Amarantha waved her hand flippantly, returning to her book. Nesta dragged Feyre to the side. “Have you lost your mind, Feyre?” she hissed lowly. “Join a circus? For some crackpot potion, when Mother is already on her way out this world?”

Feyre’s blue eyes flashed angrily.

“I need to try, Nesta,” she argued back. “I know that you are not fond of Mother. But imagine what Father will endure if she dies. And think about Elain! You may not want to get married, but are you willing to be her chaperone next year? Be my chaperone for another season?”

“The ringmaster didn’t even inquire about Mother’s condition. How would her ‘potion’ be any useful cure?” Nesta asked, a little more loudly.

“Magic,” Amarantha called out lazily. “Six months of service seems sufficient in exchange for a potion that acts as a general restorative for any ailment, don’t you think?”

“Magic does not exist. Healing potions do not exist,” Nesta rationalized. “You’re being foolish, Feyre. Save yourself from the embarrassment.”

“Magic does exist. I know it,” Feyre shot back, her voice a harsh whisper. She turned back to Amarantha. “My mother’s condition is too dire to wait six months. What if she passes before my term of service is completed?”

Amarantha’s mouth curled in a wry grin. “You do drive a hard bargain, my dear. I will award you the potion after two months of service, but you must finish the six months with me before you are free to leave.”

“This is a traveling circus, is it not? Where do you plan to go?” Feyre asked.

“We will be making a touring loop around England before heading to Paris in May for the World’s Fair,” Amarantha responded. “Our stops will be in the main cities of Bristol, Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, Sheffield, Cambridge, and Southend-on-Sea.”

Feyre chewed her lip. Her answer was still ‘yes’ but would two months be soon enough?

“One month of service,” Nesta declared suddenly. Feyre stared at her older sister in confusion. “I will take part in the bargain, as long as you give us the ‘potion’ after one month of service.”

Amarantha’s dark eyes gleamed with feral delight. “Very well, then. Come closer, ladies. All I need is a few droplets of your blood.”

“For what?” Nesta blanched.

“The potion, of course.” Nesta and Feyre stepped closer to Amarantha, who produced a sharp needle. Amarantha grasped Feyre’s hand, her slender fingers icy cold and unusually strong.

“A bargain: one healing potion, to be given after a month of work, in exchange for six months of Feyre Archeron’s work in Prythian’s Fantasia,” Amarantha intoned.

Feyre watched with fascination as crimson welled from her index finger and dripped into a small glass vial. A prickling sensation raced from her fingertip to her elbow. Amarantha did the same for Nesta, handing them both linen bandages once she was done. The ringmaster pocketed the glass vial and smiled demurely at them.

“Thank you, ladies. Prythian’s Fantasia departs for Bristol on Friday morning. I shall see both of you here no later than eleven o’clock.”

“What will our roles be?” Feyre blurted out. Amarantha assessed them critically.

“Feyre, our magician is in need of an assistant, especially for the World’s Fair. You shall work closely with him on his acts. Nesta, I see you have a dancer’s grace. You shall participate in our aerial silks act.”

“Thank you.” Feyre smiled, feeling incandescent. Everything was lining into place: she would save her mother, go on an adventure, and become closer with the handsome magician. The magician! Perhaps by working with him, she could also find answers about her magic.

She was so caught up in her joy that she barely noticed a glowering Cassian as they exited Amarantha’s tent. She was going to join the circus! Feyre’s finger throbbed with residual pain, proof that this was truly happening. “You didn’t have to strike a bargain with Amarantha,” she pointed out. “So why did you?”

Nesta seemed lost in a similar wishful daze. “It’s a ticket to Manchester. The beating heart of the suffragist movement. I also couldn’t let you do such a foolish thing alone.” She gave Feyre a dubious glance.

Feyre froze. “Oh, damn us,” she gasped, glancing at Nesta with wide eyes. “What are we going to say to Elain?”

***Gwyn***

Tears rolled down Gwyneth Berdara’s cheeks at the memory of her twin sister Catrin’s joyful face and pealing laugh. How many more times could she draw upon her recollections before they faded away? Catrin’s silver wedding ring hung on a chain around Gwyn’s neck, was the only physical part of her sister she had left—and served as a reminder of all that was lost.

Her heart hurt, but at least she wasn’t in physical pain anymore. Gwyn squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, pushing away the memories of the cursed brothel. The rank smells, the raucous laughter of drunkards. The clinking of coins before they began. The leering men who did not bother with “making love” to women.

From what Catrin told her, intercourse was supposed to be a blissful and exciting experience. But Gwyn only knew pain. Pain from the bruises, the pulling of her coppery-brown hair, the chafing of skin between her legs.

There was also a specific memory of warm, wet blood and the sounds of screams in the dark. And a fast-cooling body.

Gwyn wiped her teary face and allowed herself one last sniffle before getting up from her cot. At least the bruises on her arms and waist had faded after a week with Prythian’s Fantasia. She’d sought the help of Thesan, the circus physician, who gave her contraceptive tonics without any judgment.

The caravan she shared with Emerie, Nuala, and Cerridwen was packed to the brim. Small windows ventilated the space, a small copper tub was shoved in the corner, and clothes and books were strewn across all available surfaces.

Gwyn was on kitchen duty today. The center of the camp served as the main area for meals and congregating, with food prepared in the open air. Tarquin and Daphne Vanserra were already there, baking bread in the clay oven and handling the wheels of cheese.

“The vegetables are already washed,” Tarquin said, pointing to the crates of leafy greens, carrots, and potatoes. Tarquin cut a striking figure, with his turquoise eyes and long white hair contrasting with his dark brown skin. She’d only known him for a week, but his gentle smiles and thoughtful nature had put Gwyn at ease with her new surroundings.

Gwyn picked up a sharp knife and began dicing the vegetables, placing the smaller pieces into large wooden bowls for stew. She was so engrossed with her cutting that when a man silently stepped up next to her, Gwyn jumped with fright. But it was only the dagger-thrower, here to assist with meal preparation.

He was the same height as her, with a slightly muscled build. Inky black hair curled around the nape of his neck and fell in front of his angular hazel eyes, which softened slightly at her reaction.

“Apologies,” he muttered, his voice low.

“It’s alright,” Gwyn responded quickly. “My name is Gwyn. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She smiled broadly at him.

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?” Gwyn stiffened, her smile slipping away.

“Azriel, don’t you know it’s rude to say such things to a lady?” Daphne tutted at the dagger-thrower.

“Apologies,” Azriel said again. He picked up a knife and began expertly fileting the skin and bone off a slab of meat. Gwyn stared: pale scars streaked across his olive-toned hands. They moved with deadly precision. Smears of blood had begun to coat the tips of his fingers…Azriel met her gaze with a sharp look that had Gwyn glancing away with embarrassment. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” Gwyn replied. “I joined the circus right when it arrived in London.”

“Why?” His words were short, and to the point.

Catrin’s lifeless face, with sunken-in cheeks and chapped lips flashed before her. That horrible smell…those awful hands grabbing her, hurting her…Gwyn shrugged nonchalantly.

“I needed to make some money. When did you join the circus?” Azriel’s brows lifted slightly at her returning question.

“Almost five years,” he replied. The dagger-thrower did not offer any more words of conversation after that. Daphne and Tarquin chatted in the background, but between Azriel and Gwyn, there was only silence. Gwyn’s eyes began watering again when she started on the onions. Before she could reach for a second onion, Azriel wordlessly took the whole crate away.

“Thank you. I suppose I’ve cried enough for today,” Gwyn murmured. She snuck a glance at the dagger-thrower, and was disappointed to see his face stone-cold at her attempt to jest.

✨

Tags: @velidewrites @reverie-tales @highladysith @shadowsxgwynriel @foxwithagoldeye @sunshinebingo @jealousveronya @corcracrow @fieldofdaisiies @the-lonelybarricade

#prythian's fantasia #feysand #nessian #gwynriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #gwyneth berdara

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ramayantika · 11 months

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–✦– 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨, 𝙍𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙠𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙒𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣 –✦–

Usha Lakshmi Gargi Ratri Saraswati

Rati

(@krishna-sahacharini had figured it out 💖)

Amidst my box of pink, peach and nude shades of lipsticks, the bold red lip colour stands out. It appears as if it wants to mock me. 'You purchased me from Ladies Corner two months and I am still sitting in your box with an unbroken seal. Are you afraid of a colour?'

I have worn red sarees, red frocks and even red tops. I have red clips and rubber bands, heck even red sandals, but the prospect of applying red lipstick scares me. It makes me nervous. I have heard this boy tell me that you look gently and dainty in pink and peach shades like a fairy. The other day while coming back from college, I heard an aunty comment on a girl, saying, "God, did you see that bold red shade on her lips. It looks so improper. Girls should wear light shades that makes them look graceful."

But I remember applying the same red shade on my lips after borrowing her lipstick. She was reading a book then and I was trying out her lipstick. The colour suited me so well! For the first time, I got goosebumps when I saw my lips in red. It felt as empowering, liberating, bold as well as beautiful. My friend was observing my reaction and cheered, "You must wear red colour too you know. The shades you wear look pretty, but red has that charm which no other shade has." I blush and mutter a thank you. That evening I bought a red lipstick for myself.

Never wore it after I purchased it though. I always make excuses to myself. I carry a gentle, sweet, cotton candy persona so red isn't suitable.

Like always, I pick my light pink lipstick to retain my natural colour. I look at the black saree with golden borders carefully placed on the bed and then at my reflection in the mirror. Open tousled hair, black blouse, white petticoat and golden jhumke dangling down my ears. I bring the pink lipstick near my lips when suddenly the mirror turns black.

Gasping, I touch the mirror. I pinch myself to ensure if I am active or dreaming. The slight pain tells me I am actively experiencing this. My heart paces in panic. This feels like a scene from a horror movie and for a moment I brace myself to prepare for a ghostly attack when the black fades away only to reveal a lady dressed in dark red robes. Her outfit reminds me of sculptures of dancers, apsaras and goddesses from ancient Indian temples and paintings.

Her skin is as fair as milk. Well drawn arched eyebrows between which a red circular dot called bindu is carefully applied. Deep kohl highlights her beautiful pair of eyes. On her neck, I see a nuptial chain and a couple of jewelled necklaces reaching below her bosom. A thick strip of deep red cloth is tied around her chest. On her waist, I see a loosely tied waist chain and her hips sport a jingling hip belt. She wears a dhoti styled draped cloth which reaches till the knees to cover the lower half of the body. There was a specific name to it which I had read in a book. Sadly, I can't recall the name anymore.

I stare at her matchless beauty. She gracefully steps outside the mirror and stands behind me. Her thin fingers gently place themselves on my shoulders, and she whispers in my ear. "Did you recognize me?"

Stuttering, I try to form an answer. "Apsara Menaka?" She looks like a sculpture reborn alive from a temple after all!

The woman chuckles and taps my cheek with her index finger. "I am the Goddess of Love, my darling."

My lips part in shock. I gaze at the reflection of the woman beside me. "Rati...." I murmur.

"Absolutely correct! Thankfully, you remember me. Many women don't -- atleast not in today's generation."

Hundreds of question circle my mind regarding why is the Love goddess here in my room on a random Saturday afternoon when I am to leave for an outing in an hour.

"My my, did you forget about the lady in red from your visions? I am here for that only," I hear the goddess say.

She snaps her fingers and the lady in red appears on my mirror. Her face looks eerily similar to mine. I hear Devi Rati again. "Do not look away from the mirror until the lady in red disappears."

The woman looks mesmerizing. She doesn't have the perfect zero figure like models do. I see her belly rolls and love handles. There are a few stretch marks on the side of her waist where a thin chain lies. But God, the confidence on her face and eyes makes me shiver. Her eyes makes me want to get lost. This was the woman, I wanted to be and not someone who pinched at her love handles and looked up hundred ways of removing stretch marks from my hips and thighs while fretting over my slight double chin and non existent jawline.

Devi Rati speaks again. "Look at her, love. Her bold red dress stands for the feminine energy she carries within herself. Do not confuse her sensuality with lust. Her eyes are bright and playful. She needs no man no woman to tell her how gorgeous she looks or how modest she has to look. She saw you look at the 'flaws' of her form, but she is beyond flaws and perfections of the flesh. She knows the trivial nature of beauty. It only lasts until the age of youthfulness runs. But does that mean one should not appreciate beauty? Should one not wear good clothes and adorn themselves?

"They should and everyone has the right to feel good about themselves. Do not cover or hide yourself. If you love a colour, a dress or a jewel, wear it. If the world has to judge you, they would just do it for a minute and forget about you in the next minute." She picks the red lipstick from my box. "Your life is too short to be spent in worry if a boy or that old woman down the lane will call you bold for wearing a simple red shade."

She gently applies the lipstick on my lips. Her eyes meet mine and what she says next gives me goosebumps once again. "When they tell you to cover yourself on their narrowed understanding of modesty and culture, remind them about me, Rati, the goddess of Love and Beauty. Remind them of the goddesses and their sculptures from the same temples they love to visit. Remind them of apsaras and beautiful maidens who were clever, wise, knowledgeable and beautiful. Remind them of the same golden ancient culture that looked upon the female form, every female body as divine and everlasting."

The goddess makes me stand up and removes her hip belt and ties it around mine. "Do not let them dim your shine. This powerful red shade intimidates many. This power, this divinity and beauty is your reminder that we reside in you. Your body is a temple for the divine Shakti. You are the legacy of us Goddesses, queens and maidens who carried wisdom and power equally. Do not let them take away or make you hide this powerful radiance from your mind, heart, body and soul."

Rati snaps her fingers once again and the mirror shows my reflection. I am dressed in the same red saree, bold dark kohl lined eyes, red lipstick, jingling anklets and roses in my hair just like the lady in red from my dreams. She winks and says, "I not only make two people fall in love, my love. I also teach how to fall in love and admire oneself."

"Thank you, Rati..." My eyes well up with tears. It's not because I look so pretty. It's because for finally acknowledging my identity, my power and my connection with these divine women and Goddesses who have looked after me and every woman on earth. I promise myself that I shall let no one especially a man to take away my strength and pride for me, not when I carry the power of the Goddesses in my bones.

"Now now, i would hate to see that kajal drip down your eyes."

I laugh and wave at the goddess. Time to show the world sakhis!

******** ***** ****** ******** ****** ***********

Look, I am really excited for this. For a while before writing about Sarawati, I thought maybe I shouldn't write Rati because I was afraid if I would do justice to her.

But as every piece of art that I do is inspired and dedicated to the gods. Nothing of it is mine, somehow the Goddesses made me do it skskkanskakasmsmsmsks so here I am. Mein jaa rahi nahane ab :)

Tagging all of you because I want all of you to read this 🤧: @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @tumhari-bhairavi @sanskari-kanya @krishna-sahacharini @krishna-priyatama @mere-heera @morally-gayy @shut-up-rabert @arachneofthoughts @thegleamingmoon @flowerheadkiller @ketchup-jar-ka @kaal-naagin

#desiblr #hinduisim #goddesses #samridhi writes #indian gods #indian goddess #writings #devi

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kelenia · 2 years

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hey i was looking at some of ur art & looked up that villain series you often draw for & wanted to ask why you draw the sha hualing lady in like. a "belly dancer" outfit. i looked her up & none of the stuff i saw looked like what you draw her in. those stereotypical "belly dancer" outfits are rife with orientalism & fetishism & that's kinda how your drawings of her come off as (please note: i'm not trying to accuse you of anything! i'm just saying that this is how it comes off to me, personally. others may disagree!)

Hi!

I understand your concern so I´ll give a bit of context!

In the book, the main character gets transported into a badly written stallion novel where the og protagonist had a huge harem and its described as being Very much fanservice for the readers, something that the main character doesnt really like and critiques a lot!

For Sha Hualing specifically she is describes as "She dresses in an unusual and exotic manner with bold and bright make-up and jingling silver rings around her wrists and ankles while her feet remain bare. For attire, she wears several bolts of red veils that wrap around her body." (taken from her wiki)

I didnt really design most of the way I draw her as much as I did with the other two, I mostly draw her close to her official english design (By VELINXI) I tried to find a pic of her from the animated adaptation as well but couldnt get a fullbody so I´ll add just a face shot

Tbh I never realised the clothes I draw her in could be compared to the ones of belly dancers? I never looked those up for reference or anything. Honestly I just thought the outfit was like that so it could cover the explicitly neccesary and so it could have the canon jinggle of the bells she wears?

But if anyone that has read the novels want to weight in please feel free! I´d hate to be disrespectuf without meaning to

#answered #svsss #sha hualing

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theberrybrothel · 4 months

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Berry Brothel Christmas

“Merry x-mas girls, It's showtime!” I wake up and my nose is immediately assaulted by the smells of cinnamon, gingerbread, eggnog, and of course rum. It's X-mas at the Brothel, so management has prepared a special list of acts for the patrons who have decided to brave the cold, and spend some of their money on us.

I look in my assignment box and find my act for the night; the card is red, decorated with reindeer. It says: ‘All I want for X-mas is You’. I smile to myself, just the one I was hoping for. I get dressed for my little number. I'm wearing a sexy elf costume, tight green pants to show my ass and a low cut green crop top to show the tits. Its matched with a pair of high heels that curl at the toe ending in a bell, so every step I take jingles. I top the outfit off with a short green cap with bells around the crown so I jingle even more. Still jingling, I step out into the main hall to join my group for the evening.

Tonight I'm joined by Brenda, sporting a sexy Santa outfit complete with gloves. Can't beat the classic, and Eartha who is going for a hipster christmas party vibe. She is wearing a knit beanie pulled low over her head, covering her brown hair and an ugly christmas sweater that is sporting a malibu barbie theme. The look is completed by the converses she has on her feet. We start walking to the green room, and talking about what we are gonna do after we finish this show, and are done for the night.

“Going out drinking with Christy, Ann and Jen. They have to be back early though so I’m down to chill later” Brenda says. “They all are working the late shift upstairs covering for some of the staff that went home for the holidays' ' Brenda has worked at the brothel for a while, so she has the extreme stripper curves that so many of us get after a few months of inflation. Honestly, Management can mold us however they want but they don't want to change much from the tried and true.

Eartha is one of the few exceptions to this. Management keeps her flat as a board, in all places. For the odd duck that isn't into curves, or wants a very specific type of transformation. It's probably the reason that Management denied her request for time off. Some V.I.P with those specific tastes is going to be in town. “I think I’m going to put on Die Hard and sleep the rest of the night. I’m going to go visit the Fam for New Year since Janice can cover my clients.”

“Ugh you have the most predictable tastes in movies Earth” Brenda teases. “How about you Jordan?”

“I might head over to the Punk Rock Museum, see who is playing. It will be a nice change from the Christmas pop”.

We get to the fork that leads to the green room and the main stage.Brenda splits off to the stage. Looking through the window in the green room, Eartha and I see the stage has been made to look like a literal stage from a high school auditorium. Brenda’s client, a well dressed man sits in the single chair facing the stage. I recognize him from some of his other visits. He is a nice guy; respectful too. Bennet I think his name is.

Brenda walks out and strikes a pose. The light projectors fill in three dancers who will all be linked to Brenda’s movements. We call this a shadow dance. Brenda takes a shot of blueberry liqueur, we use that when gum will mess up the performance. As the music begins to play. Brenda starts lip syncing.

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring

Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun

Now the jingle hop has begun

Brenda begins by stepping forward slowly and sensually, using her enlarged assets she adds an extra jiggle and shake to every one of her steps. The Shadow dances mirror her, so when She bends over to Bennet he had four sets of cleavage surrounding him. He only gets a quick peek before . She twirls away the tell tale blue spot appearing on her nose and quickly flushes her face blue.

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock

Jingle bells chime in jingle bell time

Dancin' and prancin' in jingle bell square

In the frosty air

The other three dancers all stay their natural color as they continue to mirror Brenda’s movements.

Brenda places her hands on her thighs, and sticks her rear out. Bending over to give him a better look at her now blue tits. They have started bloating up, smoothing the wrinkles of her outfit. A sharp eye can also see the slight belly bump that is pressing on the shiny Fabric of her costume. He smiles back at her and she stands up straight, slapping her thighs in the process. She has timed it so that the blue flush is passing right through her smack.

What a bright time, it's the right time

To rock the night away

Jingle bell time is a swell time

To go glidin' in a one-horse sleigh

Now that she is fully blue, she begins to make slow hip shaking twirls emphasizing the size of her hips as they get fuller and juicer with every twirl. Simultaneously a blue band can be seen separating her red top and red skirt. She faces away from Bennet so that he can inspect her rear, bending over again so that it is fully on display for him. she gives it a bit of a shake before standing up again.

Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet

Jingle around the clock

As she stands back up the man spanks her bare ass causing it to jiggle. She turns around with a playfully shocked look on her face, repeated by the other 3 girls that circle around his chair. The four dancers line up placing their elbows on the girl in front of them’s ass they all playfully wag a finger at him. No touching until she is ripe.

When she stands up you can see the blue band has grown, her belly button is now on full display. The middle of her extreme hourglass is filling in her thighs filled with juice widening her stance. They have also become hard to bend, causing her to have to swing her legs out to take a step forward.

Brenda tries to do the sexy stride that she did when she started the dance but now it looks silly and awkward. The four girls all line up in front of Bennet facing away from him placing a hand on the dancer next to their ass cheek. they shake and rotate their hips sensually. Brenda’s inflated hips hit into both dancers on either side of her, throwing off their rhythm. The shadow dancers all turn and look at her. they mockingly look angry that her size is messing up their choreography; they all stop mirroring her and go sit on Bennet’s lap like groupies, teasing him with their perfect breasts and asses, while Brenda struggles to finish her routine. Due to her rapidly increasing size when she turns around and struts rather waddles away. my, you can see that booty jiggle! The fabric of her costume breaks away with a sharp snap leaving her naked in the middle of the room as she awkwardly still tries to dance.

Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin' feet

That's the jingle bell rock

Her breast are really out of control now, jiggling and bouncing with every tottering step she takes. her body has started the process of rounding out filling in her once luxurious curves higher and higher on her body until she is more or less round.

What a bright time, it's the right time

To rock the night away

She takes a few more tottering steps before her body has totally outswelled her legs and forces her feet from the floor. Bennet smiles at her, past the groupies as he watches her flap her limbless hands and feet helplessly in an attempt to finish dancing to the song. The three shadow dancers leave Bennet and take positions on each side of the stage. With a nod the first gives Brenda a hard shove and rolls her to the other two dancers waiting to catch her. After sending her back across the stage one of the dancers brings Bennet up on stage and positions Brenda in front of him. Another dancer places a large prop bow on her so she looks like a helpless present. Brenda looks at him with her big puppy dog eyes “Master I think Im ripe”. she says the words breathlessly trying to contain the anticipation that is in her voice. He stands up, pushing the holograms away as they look on with jealousy, and free’s he very hard cock. “Well then time for your present berry.”

Jingle bell time is a swell time

To go glidin' in a one-horse sleigh

He rolls her so that her mouth is at the level of his dick. dutifully knowing what he wants, she opens her mouth to takes his cock moaning through it and licking at it. I am told that bjs are extra good here because the guys can feel the juices flooding your mouth. plus all that swallowing is really good for getting guys off.

Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet

Jingle around the clock

Mix and a-mingle in the jinglin' feet

Bennet grabs ahold of Brenda’s hair as he begin to speed up his thrusting face fucking her with passion

That's the jingle bell

Brenda’s eyes go wide as she feels Bennet’s member stiffen in her mouth she knows whats coming and that she is powerless to stop it

That's the jingle bell

He comes in her mouth, hard by the way his body is shaking.As he finishes the lights in the room go out so that the pair can be taken to a more private playroom.

That's the jingle bell rock

Eartha ribs me as she heads out of the room “Guess it was a ‘swell time’ after all.” I roll her eyes at the pun

#blueberryinflation #blueberry expansion

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anarchytaken · 2 years

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Topsy Turvy - Esmerelda Yuu

Rumors of the Roma of NRC spread through the school like a flame, some whisper of their beauty that rivals Neige, some whisper of their impressive feats of directing the rowdy students and taking down not one, not two but three overblots! (Four for those who know what happened in Scarabia and five for the few in the NRC tribe) But today is where the whispers talk about the performance in Monstro Lounge.

The cafe was fuller than before, students of various dorms seated as they ate, waiting for the awaited performance. A dragon fae eyed the empty stage in anticipation. “When is child of man to arrive?” He muttered

Lilia chuckled beside Malleus. “They’ll be out soon, my lord.”

The horned fae huffed impatiently.

“Oh! I can’t wait for Yuu’s dance!” Kalim beamed at a table with Jamil. “What do you think they’ll dance?”

“I’m sure you’ll know once they’re on stage.” Was his friend(?) answer. The heir of the Asim family looked at the dark haired teen. “But aren’t you excited? I thought you liked the-“

Jamil covered the albino before anyone could hear the last statement, ears burning red.

A lion’s ear twitched before he sneered at the table near him. “Great, more competition.”

Ruggie chuckled, despite being one of the many admirers and suitors of the Roma.

A hush fell through the cafe as the white lights changed to various colors, the stage in the middle of the room exploded to life with smoke as standing there was a familiar man of colorful clothing with bells hanging from his poncho, hat, and shoes. A mask covering the area around his eyes as he shone his pearly whites to the crowd.

“Wait, that’s not Yu-“ the student was shush as the man sang.

Come one~ Come all~

The man twirled as he jumped of the stage and appeared next to a table with a pair of heartslabyul students and a blue cat, startling them.

Hurry hurry, here’s your chance

See the mystery and romance!

At this point, he appeared beside Azul, flinched when the man nudged him before he ran off, the mer-octopus dusting invisible dirt off his shoulder.

Come one, come all!

See the finest dancer in Norte Dame!

Makes an entrance to entrance!

The lights moved to the stage where the man was standing, his fist curled over something as he grinned at the audience, holding his fit to the sky.

“Dance fore us Yuu-u,”

He let out a long a before throwing his fist to the floor and smoke curled around, and in the man’s place was the rumored Roma, Yuu, who wore a red dress that curled at their ankles, sleeves that showed their shoulders and arms, and the bodice hugging their torso in all the right places.

They were bare feet except some golden anklet that jingled at every movement. A headdress on their head, emphasizing their hair color.

Students went slack jawed as Yuu danced in seductive steps. Jade, who was polishing a cup behind the bar, smiled a bit wider as he eyed Azul, who’s face was redder than a tomato. “Enjoying the show, Azul?”

“Be quiet before I make you do more work.”

Malleus’s eyes went wide at the appearance of his child of man. “. . .Beautiful.”

Ruggie had to put a hand on his dorm leader’s sleeve in case he would snatch the Roma away. And judging by the intensity of his green eyes and the way he licked his lips, the hyena could say that would be soon.

#twisted wonderland #esmerelda yuu #twisted wonderland x yuu #twst x reader

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w0lp3rtinger · 10 months

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The Kids Are Alright Ch 3 (The Miracle of Love)

Thank you to @killingthecringe, @lambpaca and @shadowsfascination for looking this over. I’m writing in a style I usually like to do for short stories and such, but not for longer pieces. This is an experiment on my end. I... have decided I do genuinely prefer this style of writing to just one-shots but here we are XD It's done. Onto other things.

Ch 1 can be read here Ch 2 can be read here

---

‘Barbie: Dolphin Magic’ over dinner was a success, and ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’ before bedtime was a showstopper, even if that was largely due to everyone starting to fall asleep in the middle of it.

“Do you think we’ll need to stop the movie early?” Amy muttered, leaning towards Shadow without taking her eyes from the screen.

“Why?”

“To get them to bed.”

Shadow hummed at that. Amy watched their fingers drum atop their knees.

She pointed to Cream, who was slumped over Tails’ shoulder. “The first time Hushaby Mountain played, Cream almost fell out of her chair. I can’t tell if she is even awake now that they’re in the middle of the reprise.”

Amy watched Shadow’s face, watched their eyes crinkle in the corners as they took in the scene before them.

“Their teeth are already brushed, and they are in their night clothes,” he whispered softly. “I say let them fall asleep to this. We can carry them to bed.”

Amy couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. “We’ll need to set up the cots for Tails and Charmy in Cream’s room.”

“Already done.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, and Shadow shrugged.

“I took care of it while you were helping them clean up from dinner.”

“Oh…” Amy blinked in surprise, “I-I’m sorry. I would have helped.”

Shadow turned to look at her then, brow furrowed. “You did.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it with a sigh, gesturing loosely as she did so. “Well, I mean, yeah okay, but it took a bit longer than expected… I have no idea how Tails got pizza grease in his fur.”

Shadow cocked his head. “He’s a child.”

“Well, I mean, he’s so smart-”

Shadow huffed, the ghost of a smile crossing his face. “Okay, a smart child who is still a child and will get pizza grease in his fur.”

Amy bit her lip, shaking her head even as she tried to hold in her laughter. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Shadow’s face soften in the dim glow of the television. It was only when the music picked up again, a bright swell in the dark of the living room, that Amy turned back to watch the movie.

There, unfolding from a makeshift box, one of the characters stood tall. She had been dressed to look like a little toy, with her hair up in braids and big red circles for cheeks. Amy couldn’t help but giggle as she watched the pantomime of the old toymaker rushing around whilst pretending to wind the woman up until she began to turn.

Amy leaned forward.

The song came forth, crisp and clear, as the music box dancer spun around. Her eyes were alive, even while being caged by her motions and the moment, pinned by the gaze of the evil Barron and his wife, the crowd that came leering in wait of something dreadful.

And she sang of wanting to be loved.

Amy took a deep breath. A hand moved to hide the tightness in her chest.

The woman’s voice echoed through the tiled halls of the tyrant’s castle, each word a bright star against the dark backdrop of lonely solitude. Trapped. She was trapped, waiting for love’s first kiss.

Yearning and turning, around and around, until finally, she wound down once more into silence.

“Oh,” Amy’s hand balled into a fist.

There was a pause, just long enough for the bureaucrats and wealthy to clap like a herd of seals before the chum bucket, before the second box opened. There lay a second character made up to look like a ragdoll, all stitched parts and the bright colours of a plaything. It bobbed its head in the silence, swaying without destination until it rose up, up, onto its own two feet.

When it bowed, the evil Barron bowed back.

Their bells jingled as they moved, the blank face of the performer held perfectly still as a band in the balcony of the palace commanded it to move for the entertainment of the viewers, both those in the movie and her, sitting there on the couch. It jerked about the place as if pulled by a string, puppeted by those watching.

It watched the world slack-jawed and bug-eyed, not allowed to think, not allowed to breathe.

Amy knew it was just the performance. Even within the script, it was a part that the character had to play in order to gain access to the castle and destroy it from within. Still, there was something unsettling about watching someone move with no light behind its eyes. It was as though it was pantomiming the most basic elements of living.

That was until the ragdoll saw the music box dancer and stopped.

Amy watched its janky limbs sway to a halt as it beheld the music box doll with eyes that suddenly sparkled with life. With the most dedicated motions Amy had seen yet, the little ragdoll turned the key to wind up the music box, and once again, the music box doll sang of love, and wanting to be loved, and waiting for love.

But this time, the ragdoll sang with the music box dancer.

And yes, there were silly moments, where the ragdoll didn’t understand the movements of the dancer, where the dancer, a victim of her circumstances, could not move to the song with the ragdoll. Yet still, the ragdoll sang with such love and affection to the music box dancer of its little patchwork heart and how it beat for her, how it loved her, how it hoped she knew.

“Are you alright?”

Amy blinked, turning to face Shadow. In the evening dark of the living room, Shadow’s eyes glowed brighter than the hazy light of the television, two searing points in the blackness. Their brow was furrowed as they leaned in, watching her, waiting.

Amy shook her head even as she chuckled. “Yeah, yeah no I’m fine.”

Shadow’s face darkened further as Amy stood, brushing down her skirts.

“They’re all asleep,” she said. “Why don’t you make us something to drink while I put them to bed. Dealer’s choice.”

She swooped to pick up Cream and left before anything else could be said.

—

Amy came back to a cup of coffee and a piece of peanut butter toast waiting for her on the kitchen table, closest to the window, opposite an empty chair. It took her a moment to spot Shadow standing off by the sink. Their hands gripped the countertop as they looked out into the night.

“I thought you didn’t like coffee,” she said as she sat down, pulling the mug toward her.

Shadow said nothing.

Amy took a sip and sighed. “Well, you got it perfect. At least for me, you did. This is really good. Thank you.”

Still, nothing.

Amy swallowed. She turned to the window and watched as fireflies danced about the lawn. Even in the near pitch blackness, the traces of their earlier antics could still be seen, imprinted in the grass. No doubt they would be gone by sunrise tomorrow, but for this moment, they were there, illuminated, if only for this brief amount of time.

The katydids sang.

“Are you alright?”

Amy blinked, turning back to look at Shadow. They were facing her now. Under the kitchen table light, Amy had to squint to see them, a slightly darker shade of black against the dim of the rest of the room, but still, their glowing eyes gave them away.

She chuckled. “Yeah? Why?”

There was no reply.

Amy’grip around her mug tightened. Slowly, Shadow walked toward her, the light, sliding up and across his skin until his hands rested atop the chair across from her.

She looked away. “I’m fine.”

Silence. Amy drummed her fingers.

“I don’t believe you,” they said softly.

She shrugged. “Oh well.”

Amy kept her eyes glued to the woodgrain of the table as she heard the chair across from her slide out, then creak as Shadow sat down. Gentle vibrations of his movements set ripples through what was left of her coffee.

She pushed the mug away.

The kitchen hummed in the silence, illuminated briefly by lightning.

“There’s a lot of things I’ve been noticing about you…” Amy muttered, “since All Hallows Eve.”

There was a noise of intrigue. Just a small upwards note, nothing else.

Amy crossed her arms. “I didn’t- I dunno. I feel like I’ve been… a bad friend, not realizing you were so much more than I took you for.”

A distant peel of thunder sounded over the trees, the windows shuddering as it rolled over the house.

“And what did you take me for?”

She looked up, at their face, into their eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said. “You, I guess, and you’re still you, just… more.”

Shadow blinked.

“I should have known you better sooner,” Amy said.

“But you do now.”

“Yes.”

They shrugged. Lightning flashed again.

Amy sighed, letting her crossed arms sit atop the table as she leaned forward. “You’re so calm, and you’re so gentle. I knew about the gentle thing but…. And you actually like to have fun. I feel badly that it’s all of this that I didn’t realize about you.”

Thunder rolled once more. Amy shook her head. Shadow pushed the peanut butter toast toward her.

“If it’s any consolation,” he muttered, “I am not half so worried about this as you are.”

“That’s because you’re a good person,” she grumbled as she took a bite of toast.

Shadow chuckled at that. “I think it has more to do with you being a good person than it has anything to do with me. You are the one overthinking this.”

“Everyone judges you,” Amy snapped as she threw the snack back down on the table, “And I thought I didn’t. I thought I knew you. But here, I didn’t see just how much of you there was to know, and now I’m mad because I feel like not only have I missed out, but I also- I- I let you down.”

One raindrop fell, then two. In an instant, the kitchen was filled with the soft sounds of a summer thunderstorm. Amy looked up at Shadow, only to find that his eyes were already on her.

“You could never let me down.”

He pushed the toast towards her once more, and Amy ate it in the comfortable quiet as they listened to the rain together.

#shadamy #shadamy week 2023 #miracle of love #the kids are alright #library #cream the rabbit #charmy bee #miles tails prower

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