#Imitation Bangles

[adityamjewels]

Sparkling Bangles & Ghungroos: Dance Through Every Moment!

Elevate every occasion with imitation bangles that sparkle and fill the air with the melodious sound of ghungroos as you dance through your day!

[nithilah]

Exploring The Beauty Of Artificial Bangles

Have you ever considered wearing artificial bangles? You might be surprised to learn how beautiful and stylish they can be! With the right choices, you can have a fashionable look that is unique and eye-catching.

In this article, we'll explore the evolution of artificial bangles, the different types you can choose from, and how to style them for maximum impact.

We will also provide some helpful tips on buying and caring for your artificial bangles.

So let's get started!

The Evolution of Artificial Bangles

You've probably noticed how Artificial or Imitation bangles have evolved over the years, becoming more stylish and modern!

From traditional materials and designs to modern innovations and materials used, artificial bangles have taken on many forms.

With cultural adaptation and global trends, imitation bangles, fancy bangles online shopping, artificial bangle designs with price, and imitation bangle online are just some of the varieties available in the market today.

It's no wonder that these fashion accessories are so popular; they come in a variety of styles that cater to different tastes.

And as technology advances, new types of artificial bangles keep popping up every day!

Types and Varieties of Artificial Bangles

Discovering the vast array of types and varieties of Fancy bangles online can be a fun and exciting adventure! From materials such as plastic, wood, paper, stone, metal, or shells to styles like plain or decorated; from special techniques and craftsmanship to simple designs - there's something for everyone when it comes to artificial bangles.

Whether you're looking for something unique or colorful, you can find artificial bangles online that'll make you stand out in any crowd. Fancy bangles online come in all shapes and sizes, making it easy for you to choose one that complements your style without compromising your budget.

No matter what type of bangles online you choose, there's no denying the beauty these accessories bring! With this variety available at your fingertips, transitioning into fashion and styling with artificial bangles will be a breeze.

Fashion and Styling with Artificial Bangles

Transform your style and fashion with an array of artificial bangles that can add a splash of color, texture, and uniqueness to any outfit! Whether it's formal wear, casual attire, or traditional wear, artificial bangles provide the perfect accessory to complete any look.

Celebrities and influencers have been seen wearing these pieces as they're not only stylish but also affordable. With various styles such as chunky or delicate designs, you're sure to find something that fits just right. From glitzy gold pieces to bold statement pieces, there's something for everyone!

The best part: all of these options are available at Nithilah, so shop now for the perfect piece to upgrade your wardrobe.

To make the most out of your purchase, consider our buying guide and maintenance tips for a worry-free experience.

Buying Guide and Maintenance Tip

When it comes to getting the perfect artificial bangle, make sure you consider our buying guide and maintenance tips for a worry-free experience.

To ensure the quality of your purchase, look for bangles made with high-quality materials that can withstand wear and tear over time. Make sure to check reviews from previous customers so that you know what kind of product you're investing in. Additionally, research potential retailers or online stores where you could obtain your desired bangle.

To maintain the beauty of your artificial bangle, keep it away from water and other liquids as much as possible as this could potentially damage the material. Also, avoid direct contact with lotions or creams since they can discolor the metal.

Store in a dry place when not in use and remember to occasionally dust off dirt buildup on any areas that are hard to reach. Following these simple steps will help keep your bangle looking brand new!

Conclusion

You've seen the amazing beauty of artificial bangles online and now you know all about the different types, how to style them, and how to care for them.

With so many options available, there's something for everyone. From classic designs to statement pieces, these accessories will add a touch of elegance and glamour to any ensemble. Visit Nithilah.com to know artificial bangles designs with price.

Whether you opt for a set or mix it up with individual pieces, rest assured that your chosen artificial bangles will be an eye-catching addition to your wardrobe.

So go ahead – explore the world of artificial jewelry and discover a collection that suits both your taste and budget!

[kollamsupreme]

Cuff Bangles Collection from Kollam Supreme

[southindiajewels]

'Peacock Design Glass Bangles From 'Aadhira'' - https://is.gd/Us0d0f

[danmeigirl]

[priestessame]

❁ From the depths of your very soul, I seek the purest devotion ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

🦋Rafayel x Princess! Reader🦋

❁ IIतबाही पक्की है आग तू मैं पानी II ❁

. ❁ AFAB fem reader, fem pronouns ❁ Minors DNI .

Warnings: Sub/switch Rafayel, dom reader, Oral (receiving), teasing, overstimulation, praise, dirty talk, riding, Food play? very bad things done to a grape, penetrative sex, Master x captive play?????? Idk I have gone mad after the memory.  

Malini held the perfume pot under your damp hair, humming her strange tune as the rich fumes curled around your chamber. Her fingers slid through your hair carefully, making you feel drowsier than ever.  

It was well past evening and the orange sky had started to bleed through your percolated windows. Your laziness was nothing short of audacious, if you had any care for discipline, you would have been hurrying to get ready for the rituals in the castle. But right now you couldn't be bothered to even drape your robes correctly.

You could practically see how the high priest would be pacing in the prayer hall, fists clenched with frustration, quivering lips murmuring on how the heir had no regard for tradition. 

You weren't supposed to keep the Gods waiting today. 

Gods, you scoffed under your breath, surely they were too sleepy themselves to be bothered with all of this. 

Nushkat tried her best to get some reaction from you, her bangles jingling as she comically imitated the high priest, sending another one of your handmaidens giggling as they set down your jewellery. The jewels glimmered in every shade under the sun, carved ivory and polished gold. But nothing appealed to you today. 

It was difficult to get the princess excited about something. Not the gold nor the small army of handmaidens you couldn't bother to remember the names of, not even the glorious festival waiting for you outside.

If the princess, the Noor of the empire was bored. She was simply bored.

"Your Highness." One of your handmaidens tried, "The moon will be visible soon."

You could hear the scare in her voice, eyes pleading with you to finally start getting dressed.

It was a heavy responsibility to get you there on time, no one in the kingdom could break their fast until the palace rituals were completed, and there were no palace rituals without the heir so right now the princess was just starving the people because she couldn't be bothered to get dressed. 

You waved Malini to stop drying your hair. "So it is." You hummed out, finding interest in the perfume pot now, opening it to find a small flame tickling over the carmofur. 

"I hold no interest in these so-called Gods and their boring tales." you said aloud, "If they were even real, to begin with." 

There was an odd silence following your words. 

Your thoughts were too arrogant, practically beseeching the old gods to rain down their wrath on you. Your company exchanged uncomfortable looks while you smiled at the reaction. In a sadistic way, you liked putting them in such predicaments. Agreeing with the princess was invoking the fury of gods and disagreeing with her was... disagreeing with the princess.

Nushkat was the first to speak, "But Your Highness, the festival isn't all that boring." She said playfully. 

You arched an eyebrow, "What do you mean?" 

The girl giggled, "I mean the story of course, about what happened between the Sea god and the princess all those years before! All everyone talks about is how the princess saved the Sea God and all that bogus about generosity and virtue and whatnot." Nushkat continued, rolling her eyes. 

That was the story bludgeoned into your head as well, the tale of ebb and flow, where the old sea god drained of his powers is found by a kind princess who nursed him back to strength and he had blessed her lineage with prosperity. That was the festival you were supposed to be celebrating today. 

"But what the Sea God did wasn't all that virtuous to begin with." 

hmm

"Shut up Nushkat," Malini chastised her through her own blush, "Don't speak of such vulgarities before the princess." 

Nushkat scowled, her almond eyes finding yours again, "They can't be vulgar if they're in our scriptures can they?" 

"There's nothing such in our scriptures." Another one retorted, she used the end of her shawls to cover her mouth, eyebrows knotted with anger as if just the mention of the story itself was blasphemous. 

Your fingers trailed over the open fire, the hungry flames trying to lick your fingers desperately. 

"I swear!" Nushkat hissed out, "They even painted them! I know they keep them on the higher shelves of the royal archives." 

You withdrew your hand before the flames got to char your fingertips, Malini opened her mouth, but you cut her to it, "Tell me more."

Nushkat grinned, happy to have finally gotten the princess's attention. She scurried towards you at once, plopping down on your duvet. 

Her fingers dug into your shoulders, "When the princess found the God, she was moved to tears at his state. The lone sea god sat writing on the sand, his veshti had rolled up and on his bare skin she saw his scales, translucent and blue like they were made from moonstone." Nushkat picked up one of your earrings to emphasize, the coral-colored stone rippling in the light, "she saw them lacing up his back, and trailing down his thighs, his body taut with pain." 

"With the blood moon rising, the tide had turned so wretched, that it drained the god of his powers. Now until the red moon would be high in the sky, the god would turn mortal, plagued with everything a human is. As the god turned mortal for the night, the winds became too cold for him, the tides too strong for him to swim back, the sharp reefs cut into his skin and he felt hunger for the first time." 

Someone in the back gave a dramatic gasp and Nushkat tapped your chin lightly, "So when he saw the princess, her beauty captivated him so much, that he begged her to relieve him. To do something, anything to quell his maddening thirst." 

Her words caused one of the girls to stumble over her skirts, and another one crawled closer, "And did she agree?" She asked, her voice bated, all too consumed by the scandalous story Nushkat was weaving. 

You rolled your eyes, there was no head no tail to the story, why was the sea god suddenly squirming with desire on the beach? And what kind of princess just went wandering around alone at night?

But regardless, the prospect was intriguing to you. A God begging a human princess for relief, you thought, just imagining the scene sent a strange thrill down your spine.

Nushkat just might find herself cradling a pearl necklace back for finally striking the princesses' interest. 

"The princess sliced her palm on his scales and fed him her own blood, her fingers ghosted over his taunt skin and he hitched under her touch,"

"And as they-" Nushkat suddenly stopped mid-sentence, her eyes glazing past your face with a new-found stiffness. Beside you, Malini made a small sound, and the other two scurried to cover their heads. The sudden change in your handmaidens' mannerisms told you who had shown up.

Rafayel leaned against the arched doorframe, hand parting the beaded curtain open, "Her Highness is late." He said simply. You look up innocently, not bothering to shift from your duvet. Admiring how lovely he looked in the amber robes you had tailored for him. As he moved, they fell over his body like water on a stone sculpture. 

"I must have finally worn the high priest's patience." You said, "For him to send his favorite minion to fetch me." 

Rafayel's face crinkled in a smile, "Who is he to command her highness?" His violet-blue eyes finding yours, "And who am I to fetch you?"

Your claim on him was brazen and shameless. Anyone who saw him could tell that the magician was the favorite toy of the vain, indulgent princess. He walked through the palace draped in clothes they knew came from your chambers, he had bells that rang every time he walked along the stone-cut halls and henna markings in your hand that showed crimson against his pale skin.  

"leave us." you said, Malini shuffled on her feet, "B-but your Highness, you're not ready yet."

You gave her a bored look and she dared not repeat herself. The women excused themselves at once, wandering eyes sweeping past Rafayel's frame. Their footsteps echoed as they hurried outside the chamber.

Rafayel crossed his hand over his chest, "That Nushkat needs to keep her nose out of the Royal archives."

"Still you interrupted her story." 

"How terrible of me." He mused, "But, Your Highness will get to hear a hundred stories about the sea God at the ritual." He said, his amber flame erupted on his fingers, dancing coyly for a moment before vanishing. 

You groaned, "I wanted to know how that particular story ended." you said, rolling over so that you were lying down on your back.

It was a smart move to send him to get you. You'd give the high priest that, maybe that old geezer wasn't all that useless. He knew well that the only way to get the princess to show up was to pique her interest. Dangled a toy before a cat so she crept out of the corner. Plus, no matter your boredom, you just found it hard to deny Rafayel anything. 

Somewhere you enjoyed the power you had on him, dressing him, feeding him, playing with him like he was just another one of your dolls. And he let you. That was really the catch, wasn't it? Rafayel never said no to your whimsies. He'd let you dress him in your favorite shades, let you tie little bells on his anklets. And when you'd want to paint, he'd let you trail his back in henna designs. 

He gestured towards the robes laid out for you and you shrugged, "You sent all my maids running, I have no one to dress me." 

A knowing smile played on his lips, he ran a hand over the blush-colored robes, the fabric seemed to seep through his fingers like water "Should I dress you then?"

This was too easy. You pushed yourself off the duvet finally at least sitting up.

You tilted your head gesturing him to go ahead. 

Rafayel's cheeks were dusted pink, his fingers diligently pleating your robes, not daring to meet your gaze.

Your fingers trailed down his chest playfully, only ghosting over his skin as he figured the drape of the fabric.

"How do you think the sea god felt?' You asked, eyes not leaving his face. 

"To find yourself at the mercy of a beautiful princess?" he said, "I can hardly imagine."

Your actions were already getting him worked up. Your fingers trailed down his tone chest, peeling the thin layer of silk so you could slip your palm up against his torso. You could see how deep his blush went, a ragged breath falling from his lips as his translucent scales peeked over his skin. They appeared every time you touched him, sprouting randomly, surfacing over his skin like little diamonds. You tugged him closer, blowing on the ones of his neck, making him quiver.

"Court magician," You hummed, "you're the one who creates flames, then why do you hiss like I scorched you?"

He pulled his doe eyes to meet yours, head tilting his a little. The heat in his gaze was masked with something playful yet dangerous, he took your wrist lightly, stopping you. "Your Highness", he warned, pressing your palm against the swell of his cheek, "You're being inappropriate." The slight pout on his face, the furrow of his brow wanted you to have him kneeling. 

But you huffed, retracting your fingers, being obedient for once. Rafayel continued to measure the fabric around your waist. As he tucked it in his fingertips brushed against your bare midriff, but he seemingly brushed off the touch, before reaching to adjust the pleats across your chest. You remained quiet as he did, eyes gazing at the thin sheen of sweat lining his neck and the little scales that refused to melt back into his skin. 

For a second, his fingers lingered on your waist slightly longer, thumb fanning over the smooth skin of your stomach before he could catch himself. You watched his eyelids flutter, his feverish eyes finally met yours and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him, so devoted and so lovely, like he could drown in reverence to you.

He just stared at you with that lovesick gaze as his fingers slipped under the fabric of your blouse, pushing it up to slide his fingers under your breasts. You jumped at his sudden touch, a faint blush covering your face as he continued to get bolder. Thumb grazing along your hardening nipple, 

You took in a ragged breath, arching a brow "You're supposed to dress me Rafayel."

Something about him was so insatiable to you, "Didn't Your Highness want to know how the story ended?"

You pushed him against the duvet and he went willingly, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you to straddle him. The moon had brought in a pleasant coolness, the midnight hue of the sky leaving the lamps in your chamber to be the only light. 

The low flame caught gold skittering over his bare chest, his eyes wandering shyly as you traced your fingers over his torso. From his chest to the slight dip of his waist.   

You cupped his face, drawing him closer, "Great sea God." you hummed out, running your thumb over his cheekbone, "What has this wretched moon done to you?"

He drew in a breath, taking your wrist to leave a featherlight kiss "I'm weak and tired, princess." He whispered against your skin, "The moon has drained me of all my strength." He continues, tracing his lips along your arm, leaving a quick kiss to taste your skin, "I couldn't even push you off even if I wanted to."

The way his mouth felt on you burned into your skin. You slung your hands around his neck, smiling at how red the tips of his ears went. His throat wobbled as you parted your lips over his neck. "How tragic" you whispered, nipping at him. The gentlest of pull from your teeth left immediate crimson marks down his neck, he moaned against your touch, fingers gripping your waist tighter. 

His fingers dug into your sides, hitching up your skirts and pressing you to grind down harder on his erection. They trailed from your hips to your bare breasts again, thumbs twirling around your sensitive nipples. You dragged your core against him, leaving a trail of slick on his amber-gold robes. 

But you kept drawing backward as he tried to kiss you, his violet eyes narrowing with frustration, pretty lips pulled in a soft 'o'. 

"Your Highness," He complained, annoyed fingers pinching down on your breasts. "In the story, the princess was very generous to the God." 

You chuckled, "I favor you too much." You said, reaching over to pluck a grape from the fruit plate beside your duvet. 

You pressed it to his lips and he dug into it willingly, lips parting over the grape in your hand, tongue flicking out to leave a kittenish lick on your fingers. He held it between his lips as the juice dribbled down his chin and you closed your own lips over it, using your tongue to push it deeper in his mouth.

It rolled sloppily between your tongues. You could taste the sweetness of the fruit between the panting. He pulled you closer, moaning into your mouth, arms around your waist pressing you against him. Your breasts grazed against his gilded chest, the gold deliciously cold against your feverish skin. 

His cock felt painfully hard, you had to fight the urge to just slip the blush tip in your mouth and feel his pre-cum against your tongue. But you just couldn't deny the way your core was throbbing anymore. A soft gasp left his mouth as you laced your fingers through his, pinning them on either side of his head. His cock kept slipping from your arousal, the tip briefly pressing into your clit, as you rubbed your folds along the length. 

He gasped helplessly as you slipped in the tip, before lifting yourself off entirely. 

"P-please." He gasped, shaking from the restraint. His doe eyes looked at you yearningly, "I want to feel you, please-" 

"Just look at you," you said, bottoming down on his girth feeling him twitch and throb desperately. He bit his lower lip, hair matted to his forehead from the sweat. How could you not tease him? Especially when he was making that divine face.

"Should I just..." You said, hooking your finger around his necklace, jerking him closer. "chain you in my chamber?" His eyes widened, breath hitching from the conviction with which you had said it. 

"Y-your Highness." He drew in a sharp breath as you held him close by the jewels. Close enough to feel his breath on your skin, but pulling away the moment he leaned in for a kiss. 

"Keep you here as my pet?" You finally sank down, his balls slapping up against your ass. He jerked up from the sudden movement, hands flying to grab your waist. Your pace grew desperate as you fucked yourself on his cock, squeezing down on his girth until his face contorted from the pleasure. Arching your back just so his tip pressed in the right spot and his abs dragged deliciously against your clit as you rode him. His look of submission made you roll your hips harder, bounce on him until it hurt from friction. His hands grabbed at your waist weakly, trying to keep himself from squirming. But the way sunk down on him had him seeing stars. 

His jaw sagged lightly as you continued using him the way you liked, your movements rough, forcing him to bottom into you. You jerked his necklace again, pulling him towards you so your eyelashes brushed against the flush on his cheeks "You belong to me now, sea God." You whispered, sinking down his cock as he trembled from the overstimulation, "Your body is mine to command."

"Princess, if you move like that, I'll c-" He tries, voice choking as you orgasm, walls pressing down uncontrollably around him. That's what finally sends him over the edge, you feel his cock twitch as he cums inside you, filling you until his cum is trailing down your inner thigh.

You slide off him, as his cock softens, slipping out of you. You plop down beside him, the high from the orgasm washing over your body. You feel his arms around you immediately, crawling over you and caging you in a lover's embrace. 

You giggled as he kissed down your form, placing hot kisses on your breasts, halting only over your stomach. His fingers dug into the plushness of your thighs spreading you to open to admire his work. 

"You're highness, you're all dirty." he mused, eyes still hazy with desire. The pads of his thumb parting your folds, mewling praises. He leaned down, his scales luminant under the moonlight. Just the sight of him buried between your legs, had you squeezing your thighs around his neck.

"Such a pretty cunt," he purred, hot breath fanning over your core. He pressed fleeting kisses on your messy folds making you squirm under his touch, fingers digging to his violet locks, gleaming azure in the lamp-light. 

You yanked him up slightly, forcing him to meet your eyes. His mouth latched on to your clit, not breaking eye-contact, his tongue felt smiting hot, making you squelch as he ate you out. You pulled at his hair harder, grinding yourself against his mouth. Rafayel's grip around your thighs tightened, holding you in place. He felt himself grow hard again, dragging his cock along the duvet to get some friction. 

 "Does this please you, your Highness?" His asked innocently, tongue flat against your throbbing slit. "Such a greedy thing." He snarked suddenly finding his voice. His tone edged with something darker as he fell deeper into his desire.  

"It'll just lap up anything I offer" He says, a smile playing on his lips as he started to slip his fingers in you. His digits curving to dig into that one spot he knew so well.

"Rafayel? what-" your voice trailed off as you felt what he pressed up against your entrance. The cold skin a sudden change from his warm mouth. He pressed the grape into you shamelessly, coating it in your slick as he rolled it over your folds. 

"Look at you, "He cooed out, "So fucking hungry." Digging it deeper as he sucks on your clit. Your fingers dug into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. Your grip tightened painfully as you neared your release, mouth slacking open from the pleasure, "R-rafayel" you gasped out, and he groaned as you called his name, tossing the grape and slipping his tongue between your folds to feel you clamp down as you came. 

He pulled away, your arousal coating his chin, a thin string of slick connecting you as you pulled his face closer tasting yourself on his tongue. You moaned through the kiss, your grip on yourself slipping. Your entire body felt excruciatingly hot, clouding your mind with a desperate need to feel more of him. It was messy the way his fingers went grabbing to feel your soft breasts as you reached for his hardening cock, aligning it with your opening again. 

Again again, again, you wanted him again. 

No matter how many times he entered you, The stretch alone made you curl your toes. He was a tumble of flustered sounds, as he pushed his leaky tip inside, practically purring at at how warm you felt around him. His thumb brushed over your sensitive clit.

You were right, despite his mastery over flames, it was always you that scorched him. His fingers linked through yours as pressed into you deeper, the tip sitting snugly before he dragged it out, almost slipping out before slamming it back hilt deep.

"You're taking me - s-so well." He panted out, eyes pinned on how you sucked him in. You yelped as he pulled you back into himself, the slick trailing down your leg as he continued to fuck into you. Your thoughts were far too consumed with the pleasure, slamming bak into him so he didn't stop his delicious pace.

"Didn't you want me chained here mistress?" he whispered, "Keep me here, so i could only please you?" You bit your tongue to keep yourself from snapping back, giving him a bruised look. He was just treating you like some common cocksleeve. But you didn't want him to stop and tease you, not when you felt the pleasure of another orgasm right at the back of you throat. 

You fisted into the robes under you, crumpling the fine pressed silk, as he continued to split you open.

"Your highness! You're ruining your clothes," Rafayel purred out, pulling your wrists back as he thrust into you. It angled him deeper, and you threw your head back, the lewd slapping sounds echoing out in your chamber. 

The coil in your stomach snapped, your wrists slipping from his grip. And you sprawled forward unto your duvet, cunt spasming around his girth. You felt his swollen and hot his cock felt as he came inside you again, refusing to pull out. He felt so good, his length curving up, moulding your walls to his shape.

The warmth of the room hung around you and you buried your face in the peach-pink robes. Rafayel's voice was playful, humming against the nape of your neck, still buried deep into you,

"Would your Highness like to be dressed now?"

Don't actually fuck around with fruit it will give you infections xoxo. Reader here just has an all powerful magical princess pussy.

[shotos-angelic-whore]

It’s comical, really; the way Katsuki’s personality softens around her as if he never bullied Izuku (his now best friend) for most of their younger years.

What’s even funnier, is the fact that she’s Quirk-less. The very reason he bullied Izuku. Not that he needed a reason, he was just a shitty child.

But hey, character development exists for a reason.

*

The first time Katsuki Bakugo laid eyes on her was a routine patrol.

She was walking home from her job at the time—a hair stylist at a local boutique—when a drunk passerby approached her; asking her to go home with him.

“No, thank you.” she politely declined the man’s proposition.

“C’mon sweet - heart,” —the man was hiccuping between words— “I can show you a -hiccup- a good time.”

She kept walking, but faster now. “No.”

She was solid on her answer. “C’mon,” the man grabbed her arm, only for a small explosion to throw the man back.

“She said no, you lowlife. Don’t you have better things to do than prey on innocent women walking home from work?” Says the man at fault for the explosion.

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

Or, well, Dynamight for short.

Eventually ‘Kats’ and ‘Suki’ to her and only her.

The second the man turned around and wobbled away, the Hero turned around to face her, his voice instantly softening. “You all right ma’am?” His gloved hands place themselves on the side of her arms, his eyes scanning her for any injuries.

He felt obliged to make sure she was OK. More so than other civilians who just piss him off at their lack of common sense when walking home at night.

Like, why would a woman walk alone at night in this town? Are they stupid??

But he didn’t think that with her.

With her, he felt the need to protect like it was second nature. Scratch that, first nature.

“Y-yeah.” She stuttered; the sight of her Hero crush in front of her making her nervous. Not to mention he was touching her. “Thank you, Dynamight.”

He simply nodded before turning around and walking away. Why? Don’t ask. He doesn’t know. He wishes he stayed longer to talk to her.

**

The second time he saw her was at a Hero convention his management team forced him to attended a couple months later.

She was with a group of fellow Hero fanatic friends. Who were all cosplaying their favorite Heroes.

Her, on the other hand, was simply wearing a crop top with her favorite Heroes costume design on the front.

His hero costume design.

She wore black cargo pants with one orange stripe down each side, and black combat boots. Green bangle bracelets on both wrists to imitate his gauntlets.

She paid attention to detail too, and that didn’t go unnoticed.

She had a tiny braid over her shoulder, the Edgeshot symbol at the end.

She even wore a black mask, except she was using it as a headband instead of a mask.

The rest of the group consisted of two Deku’s (one of which was pre war), one Hawks, two Shoto’s (one pre war), one Lemillion, and the rest were Mirko’s.

She was the only Dynamight within a fifty foot radius.

He didn’t realize he was staring until Kirishima, whose booth was next to his, said something. “Bakubro, you’re staring.”

“Shut the fuck up. No I’m not.” He was quick to deny the accusation, in his usual rough tone.

His demeanor changed to a softer one the second she approached his booth. “Hi, Dynamight. I’m so sorry-” she says softly, sliding a piece of paper on the table. “I lost a bet and have to do this.” She informed.

His brows knit together in confusion, looking down at the piece of paper she had slid to him.

It had a series of numbers… her cell phone number.

When she looked back up, her face was nearly as red as the shade of hair dye named after his friend.

“Can I have a name to go with the number?” He spoke before thinking.

“Oh!” Her beautiful eyes widened in shock. “My- my name is [y/n].” She stutters.

Katsuki grabbed his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, tapping into his contact app and adding her to his contact list.

“You’re in.” He said simply, as if it was no big deal.

“OK,” she smiles, anxiously.

“I’ll see you later, [y/n].” He nodded at her.

She swears up and down, even to this very day, that he winked at her. But he denies in consistently.

***

The third time he saw [y/n], he wasn’t in his Hero costume. He was in his usual black wife beater. Showing off his muscles. He had grown a lot since high school. Especially since he was competing with Izuku again and wanted to climb the charts from Number Fifteen.

But that’s not the point here.

He decided on picking her up from your studio apartment and take her back to his place. He didn’t feel comfortable taking her out publicly. He didn’t want to expose her to the media right away.

The knock on her door was uncharacteristically soft, but hard enough for her to hear it.

“Coming!” Her voice called through the door, the pitter padder of feet on hardwood sounding from the other side. The door opens to reveal [y/n], as beautiful as ever. “I’m not quite ready yet, but make yourself at home.” She says after answering the door, walking away and heading back to her room.

“Well OK then,” he mumbles to himself, crossing the threshold of her apartment and closing the door behind him.

He takes in the small apartment. It was very nicely organized and decorated.

All the kitchen appliances are a light shade of purple—possibly lilac. The couch is set up against the brick accent wall, a few pillows set neatly on it. A black blanket hung on the back of the couch and upon closer inspection, Katsuki notices his signature orange ‘X’ embroidered into the center.

“Don’t mind the mess, my friend Asuna crashed on the couch last night. She’s not the best house guest.” [Y/n] calls from the bathroom.

“What mess?” Katsuki questions as he makes himself comfortable on the couch.

“Well if you don’t notice it, I won’t point it out.” She re-enters the scene, her hair held up in her hands as she puts it into a ponytail; chuckling lightly as she wraps the lilac scrunchie around her hair, pulling out her perfectly done curtain bangs.

“I take it, lilac is your favorite color?” Katsuki questions, leaning back against her couch and manspreading with his arms crossed.

[Y/n] hesitates to answer, her eyes fixated on his biceps. “Yeah,” she answers, her voice in a higher octave. She forces a cough to cover it up. “My favorite flower, too.” She smiles.

A beautiful sight, really.

“You ready?” Katsuki asks kindly.

“Yeah! Let me go grab my phone off the charger and I’m good to go!” She exclaims, jumping—literally jumping—up from her position before skipping back to the bedroom to grab her phone.

Katsuki smiled to himself as he stood up from his seated position on her, very comfortable, couch.

“Let’s go!” She happily exclaimed as she came out of her bedroom.

Yup. He fell in love with her right then and there. No doubt about it.

[ramayantika]

Apsaras (Mystery Academia)

The gateway of the temple is built of stone, but the statues of dancing women, also built of stone feel alive. As if they are watching you.

You twirl in the courtyard. The other visitors move around you, their eyes enraptured by the magnificent pillars and sculptures of the temples. A tinkling feminine laughter rings in your ears. Your friends are near the abandoned empty shrine. They aren't laughing.

You imitate a pose of a nymph immortalized in stone. Giggling, you stand back normally when there is a slight tilt of her head, very slight. You swear you saw her stone head move.

Dozing in the passenger seat, the sun casts a warm glow over your face. A pleasant smile graces your lips as the car radio plays a soft tune. The soft romantic music changes to the first beats of Apsara aali. Your head reels. There is a flash of coloured patterns in the darkness: A court, infinitely beautiful damsels and instruments. It vanishes in a blink.

You find yourself standing against a mirror. It is a very normal day. You dangle a long shiny earring. The sparkle brightens and the room clouds in smoke except the silver mirror. The fog deepens and there is the fruity scent of ambrosia. Red and gold smoke dance around the foggy haze and the mirror reveals a different reflection. A beauty so killer, that the blessed viewers might choose death than to see something else less beautiful than the sight in the mirror.

The beauty keeps a finger on her lips while a surprised shriek catches in your throat. She winks at you and you hear a click. You are back in your little room and the mirror shows you your own reflection. Very normal.

A love song plays. There are damsels with translucent veils and scarves, all decked in jewels in every limb dancing, their gaze as sharp as a hunter's arrow. You clutch your heart. How else can you look at anything else in the world when the universe's beauty has graced you a vision for a minor second?

Back to the temple near the same statue, all alone. The twilight hour peaks and the birds go silent. Not a leaf moves. The stillness is heavy until a familiar scent of jasmine and roses permeate the air. Everything moves, and you see the dancing statues stretch their limbs lazily in a graceful way. Are they Art or is Art them?

"There, she is our hidden sister," says one, smiling, her stony teeth still appear mesmerizing than something eerily beautiful. "Poor you, the mortals dull our shine," says another as a stone hand makes you spin. Another holds you, her hold isn't tight nor do the stone surfaces bruise your skin. She says, "Your mother had left you too long here. You were to grow up amongst us!" A sharp headache ensues and all you can hear is chiming anklets and bangles. The stone bracelets don't break.

Life is a waking dream. The heavenly damsels follow you around, coaxing you to come home, to the heavens. Their stony faces wither away to shining skin, gorgeous hair and colourful priceless jewels. Their voices, husky and full of mystery as they narrate the sights of Indra's golden city, the best wine and musical festivities of the Gods.

When you play an instrument, you see a nymph sing the following raaga. When you dance, you see a nymph spin around you. Their eyes bore into yours and you see Indra's golden city, towering palaces, art galleries and courts. A world full of beauty, mystery and intrigue.

You recite a romantic couplet. Again a nymph brings it on a tune. So much beauty and art surrounds every waking moment. Their calls bring you closer to the edge. "A home strange but yours for all time or the home always known? Make your choice," The Queen of the Apsaras poses a question.

They live in art, and where art resides. They roam in the most beauteous places, and walk in secret groves. They swim in distant rivers and shores, and their reflections beautify a lake. An older nymph braids your air. A nymph of your age adorns your braid with sweet-smelling flowers. Someone fixes a ruby diadem atop your hear and you are dressed in hues of maroon and gold. The mirror shows you. They whisper: "Your true form."

Nothing really changes. Your beauty doesn't become illuminating nor do the eyes turn two shades lighter. The flesh is the same and the magic is the same. They adorn you in beauty and jewels, and though it all is the same as before, something has changed. Your gait smoother and bolder and your limbs move as graceful as a gentle river. As wise words and honeyed poetic verses escape your red coloured lips, you mesmerize the audience. The audience who? Another lesson for later, my nymph in the making.

You must make a choice now. Oh. You made it. You chose the home familiar to you since birth, but your ancestry doesn't change and the bonds of sisterhood are strong. Your paintings are vibrant and poetry unmatched, tugging at one's heart. When you dance, they stop to admire and curse their eyelashes for casting darkness for a second. When you sing they dance and when you touch a budding artist, inspiration strikes them.

Someone casts a statue in your name. You live like a mortal on your plane, your nymph sisters looking out for you. And then this statue finds itself in a temple. You find yourself amidst your sisters in the same temple where this tale started ages ago.

Another curious, bright-eyed girl arrives. She copies the way your body curves. She has noticed your stony lips smirk. You have found another one of your clan.

___***___

Tagging: @ahamasmiyodhah (will tag the others later as per taglist as i am late for practice. Spl mention to Khyati for this so dedicating this one to her. I thought I would do this later after coming back from the fest but again inspiration and the will strikes when a nymph touches you :)

Hehe enjoy

[mumms-the-word]

In the Company of Wolves

Characters: Solas x fem!Lavellan Summary: Solas spends part of the evening at Halamshiral admiring Iren and pondering the similarities between an Orlesian masquerade and ancient Arlathan. When he's not being grim and fatalistic about it all, he's imagining a few naughty things he would like to do with Iren, should the evening give them a chance. Basically it's a whole lot of Solas pining and pondering and wishing, at least for one night, that he were not the Dread Wolf after all. A/N: Some of this is inspired by information we learn in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, but does not contain any Veilguard spoilers. Also, tried something new with verb tenses and flashbacks. I haven't decided if I like it yet, but an attempt was made! AO3 link if you want to read it there! MDNI 18+ even though most of the smut is relatively tame (teasing and such, you know)

Solas cradled a glass of wine in his hand, lifting it to his lips as he watched the Orlesian nobility wandering past. Each one was dressed in their finest silks and brocades, buttons and buckles gleaming, feathers floating, jewels sparkling. There was more wealth in one antechamber or narrow hallway here than in whole towns and villages around Orlais and Ferelden. And as was the fashion, the requirement of Orlais, every single one of them was masked, their faces covered with thin plaster or porcelain, paper-mâché or paint, imitating lips and noses and mustaches and carefully plucked brows. Faces upon faces. Falsehoods upon falsehoods.

It was as familiar as it was foreign. Had he come here alone, had there not been any threat of Corypheus and his Venatori conspirators, he would have been content to watch and observe. Smile to himself at the frivolous concerns of a nobility that cared more for their appearances than anything else and stand unseen and quietly amused at how seriously they conducted their clandestine affairs in half-hidden alcoves and darkened stairwells.

In this sea of masks, it was all too easy to believe they were little more than mindless animals, prettied and painted up to appear as intelligent creatures. If he wasn’t careful, everything would seem as a dream, each person drifting by as no more than a blur of meaningless color. Not real. Completely beneath his notice.

But then she would appear again, sweeping quietly through the hall, and the world would sharpen into focus again.

Iren. His vhenan.

She stood out among the crowd as easily as a single star in a void of night. Whereas everyone else here was dripping with color, turning about the room in their jewel tones, vibrant satins, and complex patterns, she was dressed simply and elegantly in a white dress of soft linen and breezy chiffon that left much of her sides and all of her arms bare. A brushed gold collar and matching thin belt gave the dress shape and held it close to her body, preserving all the necessary modesty that the court required, though her bare arms and sides had already been the subject of several scandalized whispers. Solas alone had overheard a handful of remarks here in this hall where he lingered, so he could only imagine the talk that went on in the ballroom proper. The court was undecided on which was the most offending detail, the sight of her bare skin or the dark red vallaslin she wore so boldly on her face, a vallaslin that also adorned her back and curled gently beneath her collarbone, faintly visible even beneath two layers of chiffon over linen.

She was ornamented lightly with gold in the same brushed finish as her collar and belt—a golden armband around one bicep, a set of simple thin bangles around both wrists, earrings that threaded thin chains between her earlobe and piercings that sat halfway up the line of her pointed ears. And of course the thin ring she always wore in her lip, the gold indenting her bottom lip and drawing the eye there every time. She had painted her hands with dark henna, a pattern of swirls that matched the markings of Sylaise on her face and darkened the tips of each finger to a shade of dark rust red. Crowning it all was a gold headdress of sorts, shaped in curving lines to form a pair of halla antlers that stretched back from her head.

She looked like a long-forgotten goddess among distracted mortals, a being from an ancient empire whom nobody could remember. She appeared simultaneously as a creature out of place and a being that rose above as something more.

She looked like one of the ancient elvhen.

No. He smiled to himself. Even among the nobility of ancient Arlathan she would have stood apart. There, the nobility had been just as opulent and colorful. More so, in fact, when Arlathan was at the height of its power. Iren, in all her simplicity, wearing only white and gold, would have appeared not as one of the Evanuris, but as something set apart. Something not even they would know what to do with.

He doubted she knew the effect her appearance had on those around her. She had wanted simple and she had gotten it, for better or worse. For here, simplicity was an outlier. Here, simplicity was rare.

Simplicity meant every eye was on her now, rather than passing over her.

As she drifted by him again, offering him a small smile that he returned as she made her way toward the gardens, he recalled how nervous she had been in the days leading up to this ball.

She paces his rotunda restlessly as she frets over the ambassador’s choice of fashion and uniform. “She’s talking about corsets and laces now, Solas.”

“Oh? Has our ambassador already selected your outfit for the evening?”

“She’s working on it.” She stops with a sigh, resting a hand on a stack of books that stand on his desk. “I requested her to go as simple as possible, but I’m not sure she understands what that word actually means.”

He laughs at that and takes her hand from his books, raising it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Lady Josephine can be reasoned with, after a fashion. She will honor your wishes if you communicate them clearly.”

“I just want to be…comfortable,” she says. But he knows that isn’t the word she wants to say. She wants to be helpful. She wants to heal hurts and move on. She wants to be invisible. She wants to be herself. It is, in part, why she is so drawn to Cole, and so protective over him. If she were a spirit, she would be Compassion.

But she is flesh and blood, and the Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. Who better than the woman who heals the sky and who stops the pain of every conflict ravaging the land?

He gently pulls her in close for a soft kiss. “Whatever you wear, you will be beautiful, my heart. You always are.”

And she was. The light of hundreds of candles illuminated golden light over her warm, dusky skin as if to cast her in polished bronze. The dark red of her vallaslin and henna added an enchanting, otherworldly effect to her natural beauty that these Orlesians, in all their paints and powders, didn’t know what to make of.

So as with anything they did not understand, they warped fear and curiosity into scorn and hostility.

Primitive. Rabbit. Savage. Knife-ear. Witch. The nobles used these words so carelessly, as though the sight of her bare skin and unmasked face were an open invitation. Like wolves, they surrounded her, thinking they scented blood, ready to sink their teeth into her flesh and tear her to shreds. They saw the halla antlers that adorned her head and thought her a prize beast to fell in a hunt.

She had predicted that.

He steps into her rented room in the city of Halamshiral, nodding quietly to the assistants who are putting the final touches on her face. A subtle dusting of shimmering powder on her eyelids, a line of dark kohl around her eyes, and a dark red stain on her lips, just a shade or two darker than that of her vallaslin and henna. Iren sees him in the mirror and dismisses the assistants with a smile.

“What do you think?” she asks, standing as the others file out of the room, leaving them alone. “I doubt I’ve ever worn this much finery in my entire life. This part in particular seems a little excessive.”

She touches the golden horns that curve and curl back from her head, an elegant mimicry of halla antlers to remind the court of her proud Dalish heritage. Her dark hair has been carefully arranged to cover the headbands that keep them secure on her head, the rest of her long tresses left to fall loose down her back and over her shoulders. He clasps his hands behind his back and smiles.

“You wear them well,” he says. “And the court will certainly have opinions about them.”

“Of course. I can’t wait for someone to call me a halla rider and think it’s a compliment. I’d almost rather they just insult me outright.”

Her eyes drift away from him, toward a painting that hangs on one wall. A group of Orlesian nobility dressed in the fashion of the age long since passed, gathered as a hunting party, their bows drawn. At their feet and beside the fine horses, sleek gray hunting hounds lead them through the forest. Their prey, a white halla with silver horns.

“They hunt them for their pelts and antlers, you know,” she says quietly. “In Orlais, a single halla is worth a fortune. Dead, of course. No point in capturing the creature alive.”

He says nothing. He is all too aware of the destructive tendencies of a people who would rather attack first than seek to understand, to appreciate, to learn. After a moment, Iren purses her lips, playing idly with the bangles around one wrist.

“I wonder what they will think of me.”

“They will think you are simple and easily defeated.” He smiles. “And like the stubborn, clever halla, who has no doubt felled many an arrogant Orlesian hunter, you will prove them wrong.”

She had said nothing to that, but he had seen how she entered the main ballroom, how she had navigated the first hour of the masquerade. As they thought, the nobility here watched her with predatory stares, eager to pounce on a single mistake. They tittered behind their fans and perfumed the air with cruel whispers. They murmured ridicule just low enough to sit at the edge of one’s hearing,

She had acted as though they hadn’t spoken, keeping her back straight and her chin high as she entered the ballroom on the Grand Duke’s arm. She had curtsied to Empress Celene, walked a confident circuit of the ballroom, and made it out into the hallway where Solas had taken up a place in one corner. It wasn’t until she had slipped her hand in his that he noticed the tremor in her fingers, the fine trembling tension that sang in her body as her blood thrummed with adrenaline and fear. On the surface, she had kept all of that hidden away.

He was the only one who knew how terrified she was.

“You will be fine, vhenan. And I will be here if you need me.”

But she didn’t need him. Or at the very least, she had no need to rely on him as a wounded man might rely on a crutch. She was, above all, adaptable and clever, and she had a natural grace and elegance that made her seem nearly at home among the more civilized Orlesians. They still derided her, of course. But they found very little purchase for their barbed words and veiled insults.

He watched her through the window as she perched on one of the railings that lined two sides of the Winter Palace garden, only a few feet away from him. The only things separating them were clear glass panels, but she didn’t look his way. She sipped from a glass of wine and pretended to find something interesting in the statuary of the fountain, but he knew she was listening for secrets. Feigning indifference or boredom to lure others into a false sense of security, where they may let slip something vital within earshot.

But then, as he watched, she lifted a hand and traced one finger against a spot on her neck, beneath her hair.

Ah. He smiled again. Perhaps her mind was not as much on the mission as he thought.

She turns to look again in the mirror of that room in Halamshiral. Her eyes are on the halla horns she wears, contemplating his words about proving the court wrong. He comes up softly behind her and wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. Beside her, he looks pale and sharp, his indigo eyes darkened by the falling evening light. Still weak. A shadow of what he had once been. A humble disguise he didn’t even have to fabricate.

He focuses on her instead, admiring the curve of her brows over her dark brown eyes, the shape of her lips when she purses them faintly as she considers the two of them in the mirror.

He presses a slow kiss to her bare shoulder. “You will be the envy of all the court, ma vhenan.”

Her lips flicker with a darkly amused smile. “No, I won’t. Even with all this finery, I have no doubt I’ll be the most underdressed guest at the masquerade.”

He hums into her skin as he brushes another kiss against her shoulder. “But you are beautiful. You are enchanting. I doubt even the empress herself could compare.”

“Only to you, perhaps.”

To that he says nothing. Instead, he carefully moves aside the long, dark hair that trails over her shoulder, pushing it back to bare her throat above her golden collar. From his place behind her, he has easy access to the space just below and behind her long, slender ear, and it is there that he kisses now, lathing his tongue against her neck before gently taking her skin between his teeth in little nips. She relaxes against him, nearly melting, listing her head to one side to give him better access.

“Solas…” His name is a sigh, a breath from her lungs.

“Relax, my heart,” he purrs against her throat.

One of his hands finds purchase in her skirt, slowly and carefully drawing it up until his fingers brush against warm skin rather than cool fabric. He brushes his fingers up the inside of her thigh, inching closer and closer to her heat, only to smooth his touch back down and away. Teasing and tempting, the game they play, have played, since that first kiss in the Fade. She shifts, parting her legs to give him better access as she leans back against him, but he ignores the invitation. They don’t have time for what he wants, what he has planned. It would have to wait. For now, though…

He flicks his gaze back toward the mirror, watching her eyes flutter closed as his fingertips brush featherlight against her inner thigh again, close but not quite where she wants him. He sees himself in the reflection, too, his lips pressed against her skin as he sucks a dark mark onto her throat just below her ear. He watches them both, his gaze hungry, intense, while she relaxes back against him with her head to one side. The halla antlers curve back over their shoulders, glinting in the warm evening light. As the last of the daylight falls, shadows creeping into the room, his pupils reflect gold-green, a predator’s gaze in the dark.

If they had a few moments more…

A knock at the door brings him back to his senses.

“Are you ready, Inquisitor? We are gathering outside at the carriages now.”

The ambassador’s voice. Iren shifts as if to draw away, but Solas wraps an arm tighter around her, determined to finish what he started with the mark on her neck. “Y-yes,” she calls. “I’ll be down in a moment!”

He listens for the telltale sound of a latch being thrown at the door, but instead they hear footsteps drawing away. Satisfied, he finally lifts his head, brushing her hair away to admire his work.

There, just below her ear, a red love mark almost dark enough to match the red of her vallaslin and henna. By the end of the night, it will be bruise purple. A semi-permanent mark of his own making. One more adornment to add to her finery.

He smiles and rearranges her hair to cover the mark, hiding it from view. A secret, just for them.

Back in the garden, she seemed to catch herself and dropped her hand in her lap, idly rubbing the fabric of her dress between her thumb and forefinger. She had chided him when she caught a glimpse of the mark in the mirror. But her hair hid the bruise, so long as she kept it over her shoulder, as she did now. No one knew it was there, except for the two of them.

She turned her head again, following the sound of some whispered secret or another. With her dark profile set against the white and blue of the Winter Palace, he was free to admire the curve of her aquiline nose and the plump shape of her lips. Strong features. Regal features. You would not have found them among the nobility of the ancient Elvhen, who favored delicate noses and pointed chins, large eyes and small mouths. But the ancient Elvhen had not made her.

She was a product of this world. The world he had been forced to create and had hated with each step in its hollow realm. Millennia of elves fighting, surviving, fleeing, dying, carving out an existence in a world that should have been their ready inheritance, all funneled down to the happy accident of her birth, her creation. Solas hated the Dalish for the same reasons he hated the Orlesians—their arrogance in thinking they knew the world, knew their own history, better than any outsider might. But for all that he disliked the Dalish, they had done one thing right.

They had made her.

She was so beautiful. But that wasn’t the only thing that had drawn him in. She was kind and empathetic; she felt every emotion too deeply, raw and ragged, even as she was forced to suppress it all to maintain her solid facade as the Inquisitor. And she was stubborn, too, as immovable as a rock in a churning sea. She didn’t stop until a task was complete and someone got the aid they needed, whether that be healing a wound, clearing out bandits in a fortress, or saving a wayward druffalo. She sought wisdom and guidance when she needed it, but once her mind was set, there was no persuading her.

But she wasn’t reckless. If anything, she was patient, selfless to a fault, watching everyone else and planning ways to help them, often at the expense of herself. He recognized these traits easily. He shared them, or he had once, when the world was different. When the Evanuris ruled, and these traits were what he had aspired to. Kindness. Patience. Resilience. Selflessness. She bore these traits better than he ever had.

His stare must have been more piercing or intense than he intended. She turned her head, as if feeling the weight of his gaze, and their eyes locked through the panes of glass that separated them. He offered her a light toast with his goblet, a smile playing on his lips.

To your hunt, ma vhenan.

A hint of a smile flickered on her plump lips. She pretended not to notice his toast, turning her head away again. But then she gathered her hair carefully over one shoulder, bearing her neck toward him. Bearing the side that was, as of yet, blemish free. He saw her dark eyes flick back toward him, trying to gauge his reaction in the corner of her eye.

An open invitation, or a tease. Solas suppressed a smirk.

He wasn’t certain whether it was the wine or the atmosphere or some other terrible influence that was weakening his resolve, but the sight of her skin, offered so freely, tempted him almost beyond his control. He longed to pull her aside into some hidden shadowed corner and make a mark to match the one she already wore beneath one ear. To guide her away, his hand on her hip, fingers brushing over her bare waist, while the eyes of the court followed them and whispered about how dreadfully forward the Inquisitor’s elven serving man was being, to touch her so openly and boldly. Then to find a private corner away from all else and press her back against the cold marble of some column or wall, inhaling her surprised gasp as he closed the distance between them for a kiss, slipping his hands through the opening of her dress to the smooth planes of her back.

If this were any other party, if they were there for any other reason than to stop a madman’s agents from threatening chaos over an entire nation, he might give in to such fantasies. It would be all too tempting, once he had her there in those imagined, stolen moments, to lose himself to her henna-stained touch. To guide her fingers to the buttons of his coat and press in close, hiking her skirts up just enough to slip his thigh between her bare legs and leave her with nowhere to go, save closer to him. Her sex against him. Her perfect breasts heaving against him. Her panting breaths mingling with his.

They’d have to get rid of the halla antlers, of course, if he was going to make such ample use of the wall to satisfy them both. Pull them free from her hair and toss them aside as he caught the skin of her neck between his teeth again. A halla caught in the jaws of a wolf…

His smirk faded as the thought, unbidden, bitter, sarcastic, invaded his fantasy. What was that old Dalish curse? May the Dread Wolf take you? And now the fantasy was ruined, as reality crashed down around him. A reality of his own making.

Not that she had any way of knowing the irony. Here, she thought the Orlesian nobility were like wolves, crowding around her on the hunt for blood. If she had any idea who he was, who he had been, would she bare herself so openly to him? Would she look at him the way she did these days? With nothing but tenderness and care, and perhaps more than a little hunger of her own? No. If she ever truly knew…

There was no one here to warn her save himself. And he could not. It would risk everything, ruin everything, and it…it was too soon.

Even so, he could all too easily imagine the whispers that would follow her if his secret was known. Old Dalish warnings and snide comments from the ancient elvhen, allies of the Evanuris, mingled together in his mind.

See how the Dread Wolf stares at her, so lurid and open. See how his great, fanged jaws salivate for a taste of her flesh. Cavort not with wolves, young elvhen, lest you fall prey to their charms. For He Who Hunts Alone may devour you, if you let him draw close, and then where will you be?

He tightened his grip on his glass of wine and then, after a moment, set it aside. This masquerade brought too much of the old Solas out of him. All this courtly intrigue, this heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex, it all felt so familiar that he could easily conjure the sort of talk the elvhen would have said, had said, about him.

Some things never changed. The scorn was the same, it was only the words that differed. And here, just as it was then, the powerful preyed on the weak and boasted their victories prematurely, while others lay in wait for their chance to usurp, to upset the balance, to rebel and create change.

Like his Inquisitor, he supposed. For all his wine-muddled thoughts about wolves and halla, predators and prey, Iren was ultimately neither. Though she wore the halla antlers for the sake of costuming and carried herself with the elegance of nobility, and though she was on the hunt for agents of the Elder One to stop his plans before they even began, she did not fit so easily in these categories. She was neither halla, nor noble, nor huntress.

She was what she had professed to be from the start, when she had first introduced herself to him. A shepherd guarding her flock. A Dalish Keeper in training.

Therein lay the true irony. He should have seen it from the beginning.

“I am surprised you offered to stand watch,” he says, approaching her as she sits by the campfire in the midst of the Ferelden Hinterlands. After only two weeks of knowing her, she remains a mystery. Beautiful. Gifted in magic and in healing. Quiet, but stubborn. She is the bearer of the Anchor, a gift that should never have been hers, but which she has learned to use with surprising rapidity. But as with so many others in this world, she still seems a little unreal. Unfinished. Unrefined.

Yet he can’t help but be drawn to her, at least a little. The warm tones of her skin, the soft fall of her dark russet hair, the ring she wears in her lip that never fails to draw his gaze. The way she tilts her head, listening closely to his words when he speaks. The way her eyes flash with surprising anger when someone attempts to dissuade her from a path she has chosen to take. There are hints of cleverness within her he wants to see more of, despite knowing that what he ought to do is keep himself distanced and aloof.

At his casual remark, she looks up at him, the glow of the firelight warming her dusky skin. “Pardon?”

“I would not have expected one of the Dalish mages to be accustomed to the task,” he says, by way of explanation. “I suspect most of them sleep comfortably while their hunters do all the watching…and lose all the sleep.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” she says, smiling dryly. “In my clan, the Keeper, the First, and the Second each take one of the three night watches with the hunters. The Keeper always takes the first watch, then the First takes the middle watch, and the Second the third watch early in the morning. In Clan Lavellan, there is always a mage awake and relatively alert every hour of the night. Just so you know, the middle watch is the worst.”

He tilts his head. These Dalish clans never do the same thing twice, he’s found. “Fascinating. And what do you keep watch for? Bandits and wolves, like your hunters do? Or are you there to watch for demons?”

Her dry smile is still on her lips, but it shifts. “Any of it. Among other things.”

She twists a thick sylvanwood ring on her first finger, carved to depict a wolf flanked on either side by delicate elven figures. The elves face away from the wolf, as if marching toward a destination not depicted on the ring. He recognizes the scene instantly. A depiction of the Betrayal. Or at least, how the Dalish remember it.

It was a gift from her Keeper to guide her on the way to the Conclave, she had once told him, the first time he had noticed the ring. A reminder of the people she left behind. A people she hopes one day to return to and eventually to lead.

“Anyone can watch for bandits,” she continues. “But we were meant to watch for something else. Someone else.”

She twists the ring on her finger again. He knows the answer even before the name crosses her lips, a title he will never be able to escape, not even in death.

“Fen’Harel. The Dread Wolf. It is our job to keep him from leading our people astray.”

If she only knew…

No. It would shatter her. She would be left ashamed and embarrassed, or worse, betrayed. He would lose her in an instant.

He would never be able to tell her the truth. No matter how much he longed to. No matter how much he saw in her the traits and strengths and the determination that he himself had once exemplified in his early days of rebellion. If this were another time, another place, perhaps then he could bring himself to trust her with the truth. But those days were long gone. Elvhenan was gone. He had destroyed it.

How different would things be, would things have been, if she were there in the days of the Elvhenan empire? Would she have sided with him in rebellion, or clung to Sylaise as a devoted follower or slave? He doubted sincerely that she would be content in slavery, content to sit idly by while people suffered the whims of the powerful and the corrupt. If she had been born in the time of ancient Arlathan, if she had been part of his rebellion against the Evanuris, if he had been drawn to her in the days after Mythal, would she have been able to find a better solution that he could not see at the time? Would her wisdom have shown her better paths?

Would he even have listened?

That was the real question, and he knew the answer. He wouldn’t have. He hadn’t listened to the friends he’d had. And even now, seeing what world he had created, he wasn’t entirely certain that if he had the chance to go back and correct his mistakes he would choose any differently.

All this, to stop powerful tyrants and would-be gods…

“Solas?”

He blinked, drawn from his brooding thoughts by the sound of Iren’s voice. She stood now just a few steps away, waiting for him to see her. And as before, the world crystallized with her at the center. Everything made a little more real.

He softened his brooding expression as best he could. “Ah. My apologies, vhenan. My mind was…elsewhere.”

She fought a smile, but he could see it twitching at the corners of her mouth, her lip ring glinting in the candlelight. Unbidden, his thoughts were drawn there, focused and warm. He wanted to catch the ring between his teeth and tug gently at her lip while his hands pulled her flush against him. He wanted—but then she smiled, amused, and he realized how brazenly he stared at her mouth.

“I can guess where your mind was,” she murmured. “But…later. We still have work to do.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice even further. “No matter how much I might wish otherwise.”

“Indeed,” he breathed. Better that she thought his mind wholly distracted by her than to suspect him of other treachery. And, if he were honest, it was all too easy for his mind to turn, again and again, to the subject of her beauty, in praise of her figure, lost in fantasies of what he would do if he didn’t fear the consequences so much. He cleared his throat gently. Back to work. “How goes your search?”

“Something is happening in the servant’s wing nearest the ballroom,” she said, keeping her voice quiet, lest anyone try to overhear. “It has me worried about the elven servants…”

“You think they are involved?”

“I think they’re being killed, and that worries me.” She gnawed at the corner of her upper lip a moment. Then she forced a little smile, as if they were once more flirting, their words meaningless and shallow. “Can I interest you in a distraction soon?”

“You are already a distraction, ma vhenan,” he said softly, taking the risk, despite all the eyes and ears potentially turned their way, of taking her hand and lifting it for a brief kiss. “But I understand your question. I would be very interested. And I am ready whenever you are.”

“Good. The door in the next room, down the stairs, to your left. I’ll have it unlocked soon. Meet me there in a few moments.”

“As you say.”

“And…Solas?”

“Yes, vhenan?”

She hesitated, the first obvious sign of reluctance or even doubt he had seen in the time since they’d entered the grounds of the Winter Palace. Her hand was still in his. In her hesitant silence, she gave his fingers a fierce, firm squeeze, as if she were nervous and seeking reassurance.

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “I’m just…I’m glad you’re here with me. That’s all. I don’t think I could do all of this without you.”

And just like that, he remembered just how mortal, how fragile she was compared to the elvhen, the Evanuris, compared even to himself, weakened as he now was. This was not Arlathan. She was not one of the People. She was Dalish, part of a quickened race of elves who forgot everything and clung to legends and fanciful stories as if they were true history.

And he loved her. His foolish bleeding heart couldn’t help but love her. Try as he might to harden his heart, to remain callous, distanced, cold, neutral, he couldn’t. With her hand in his, drawing strength and courage from his touch, her warm brown eyes earnestly seeking his to convey not just gratitude, but love, her plump lips holding the hint of a smile meant just for him and no one else, how could he do anything but love her? As she was. Mortal. Dalish.

Real.

He wished he could be anything but the Dread Wolf in that moment. That he could be nothing other than an odd, wandering, elven apostate, a scholar of the Fade. That he could set everything aside and be what she needed him to be, nothing more, nothing less. That this night would end with a victory, in some form or fashion, and her hand once more in his as he led her to a private room to celebrate. No more danger of the Dread Wolf leading the Dalish Keeper astray. Just a man in love with a woman and proving his love with searing touches and whispered words. He would give anything to be just that, to be the man she believed him to be.

She saw the best in him. He wanted so dearly to live up to her vision.

Perhaps, for tonight, he could try.

Let there be other wolves. For one night, let him be as he began, simply Solas, and as he wished to become, a man devoted to his heart’s desire. His Inquisitor. His Iren.

He lifted her hand to his lips for another kiss, reverent and slow, a silent response to her remarks. Then he let her go, watching as she slipped her hand reluctantly from his and drew away; watching as the eyes of Orlesian nobles and elven servants alike turned to follow her as she left the room.

She had nothing to fear from them. She had already faced worse than an Orlesian court. Like so many other obstacles she had already faced and overcome, she would find a way forward, a way to help those who needed help, a way to stop the Elder One from sowing chaos. She would succeed, one way or another, because that was simply what she did. She could handle a few predatory glares and poisonous whispers, in light of all that.

She would be fine. She had grown accustomed to the company of wolves, for better or for worse, whether she knew it or not.

But for tonight, he would not be another among them.

[peranbe-kadhal]

WhatsApp forward style!!!

[ ID: Art of my OCs Tamizh and Faiza.

Tamizh (pronouns he/she) is a person of average or thinner size, brown skinned and with light brown eyes, blue-black hair. He has acne scars. Faiza is a fat woman, tan complexioned, with a unibrow and some facial hair on her upper lip. She is a hjiabi.

Tamizh wears a silk chudidar, half handed and without shawl. It's light blue with gold accents. He also wears silver earrings,nose ring, an elaborate necklace and gold bangles. His nails are painted red and he has black eyeshadow, eyeliner. His hair is tied in a long ponytail. Faiza wears pink square glasses, and her face is surrounded by dark maroon hijab with a black cap underneath. She wears a full handed dark maroon dress ending in a design with silver swirls at the hands, along with a scattering of light pink gems at and above the sleeves.

Faiza holds Tamizh in an imitation of an iconic Revolutionary Girl Utena pose. Faizas eyes shien brightly and she looks serious as she lays a hand across Tamizh, shielding her. Faiza other hand splays downwards. Tamizh is snug, and looks to the side, lopsidedly smiling. She leans into Faiza's touch, putting her hand above Faiza's, caressing it, while she holds her own waist with her other hand, balancing.

Two rainbow roses entwine below them at their stem point, their leaves crossing, but the flower heads standing apart on either side of Tamizh and Faiza. A giant glittery rainbow heart is the background behind them. Below it are softer shades of pink. At the very bottom centre, fancy, gothic looking neon pink text reads "Tamizh X Faiza". End ID]

Thoughts below cut!

Soooo...

[ ID: the same pose Faiza and Tamizh are doing with some differences in expression. It's the reference photo of Utena and Anthy. End ID]

:)

I drew this a while ago so I don't remember WHY I drew this but I think I was probably listening to some emotional song and getting inspired, like it happens so many times. I consider music a big part of my inspiration!

And yes I've watched RGU. I needed a review guide to get through the whole thing without exploding my mind from metaphors, but it was worth it. Watch RGU.

[presidentlokis-hornyhelmet]

okay but like,

since it's halloween, pavitr and reader, even tho as teens (and spider people), dress up in matching costumes and decides to trick-or-treat at the Spider HQ

Miguel is confused while Jessica and Peter B just go along with it

(Bonus points if Miles, Gwen, and Hobie decides to join you guys for fun)

Knock Knock, Trick or Treat!🎃✨

👻MASTERLIST🦇

And, for @rinnsworldd: "And, Halloween is coming up, so I thought of GN!reader x pav are wearing matching costumes!! (kuromi and my melody would be SO cute!!)”

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x GN!reader Summary: It was just a normal day at the Spider HQ. Undecorated, unspooky, normal day as ever. No fake blood, no edible skulls or zombie cookies -nothing; standing out amidst a very festive Nueva York. Miguel doing his Miguel things as all the Spider's spend their day in their regular spidey suit and as unfestive as possible. That was, until their spidey senses tingled. Tags: Halloween costumes, trick or treating A/N: A Halloween fic for yall. Enjoy ! <3

👽Also read on AO3🍬

It was just a normal day at the Spider HQ. Undecorated, unspooky, normal day as ever. No fake blood, no edible skulls or zombie cookies -nothing; standing out amidst a very festive Nueva York. Miguel doing his Miguel things as all the Spider's spend their day in their regular spidey suit and as unfestive as possible.

That was, until their spidey senses tingled.

A blur of black and pink shoots through the entrance, swinging and screaming as they pass through to the main hall.

"TIRCK OR TREAT, ARACHNO-FOLKS!"

Pavitr Prabhakar's voice rings loud through the establishment, the hoodie of his onesie flipping back to reveal his ever-amazing luscious raven hair. He lands and plays with his bangles, watching you do a somersault between the gaps in the lanes and land beside him.

You screech out a "HAPPY HALLOWEEN, Y'ALL!", waving your plastic jack-o-lantern candy bucket around and holding it up for treats.

The perplexed face of Miguel O'Hara, however, stops you in your tracks.

Dang. [Cue dramatic music]

"What the hell!?", he sputters, baffled at your appearance. "And what is that costume?!"

"I'm Kuromi!", Pavitr says enthusiastically, gesturing to the pink skull on his forehead and the black devil tail on his costume.

"And, I'm My Melody!" Your pink bunny ears flopping around as you begin to explain the characters excitedly.

Miguel crosses his arms over his chest, halting you short -the least bit amused. "Did I not say no parties inside the HQ? We have more important work than dressing up for a sugar high."

His menacing glare can be seen from a mile away, but you won't let that faze you. Not today.

"But, señor Miguel, it's Halloween!" Pavitr and you pout, making puppy eyes at him.

He's stubborn. "Get rid of the ridiculous costume. Now."

"No!", you say, not backing down. "We want a Halloween party! Party! Party! Party!"

Miguel grows even more annoyed when some other spideys, including Spider-ham, join in the chant. A hand lays on his shoulder.

"Let them, O'Hara, they're children", Jessica says. "A little party ain't gonna do nobody no harm. Plus, it's HAL-LO-WEEN!"

She turns around, her black and red velvet cape flying behind her, and looks up from behind the stiff collar like Dracula. She winks at you. "Looking cute, kiddos!"

"You too?- ugh!" Miguel groans and turns to you. "Costumes. Off. Now. Nobody here is going to party!"

You pout, just when your spidey senses tingle again.

"Did somebody say Party?"

Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Peter B, with May Parker on the baby carrier, wearing Halloween outfits land in a perfect line beside you guys.

"Uhh.....", drags Morales as he looks at Hobie in his usual attire, but more colourful. "You didn't dress up."

"I have. I'm anarchy."

"Yeah, very creative", Miles retorts, earning an elbow from Gwen.

"Who are you dressed up as, again?" Hobie wears a smug smile, gesturing to the imitation Spider-punk suit Miles is parading around in. The Brit leans down his ear as if to whisper a conspiracy. "I'll admit bruv, you look much more cooler, now."

Miles doesn't reply as Hobie pats his shoulder and moves past him with a smirk. This encourages the other spideys to reveal their own costumes that they've hidden under their suits.

"You planned this beforehand? Without my knowledge?!"

You guys blush sheepishly but O'Hara has moved on to a more ridiculous sight that just walked in.

"And what are you supposed to be?", he asks Peter B, eyes squinted as he judges the medieval costume he's wearing.

"I'm the Mandalorian and this is my cute, sweet little baby Yoda", he says, holding May Parker up in the air like the Lion King. She giggles, making her father coo. "May the force be with us!"

O'Hara shoots him a deadpan glare.

Miguel's brows twitch, shooting betrayed looks at the 'adults' who were supposed to supervise such naughtiness.

Jessica playfully rolls her eyes, trying to coax him. "It's okay to let a little loose  sometimes, big guy."

Miguel internally sighs but doesn't show it on his face, though everyone knows he caved in. "You party, You clean."

A loud hurray erupts in the room. Soon, you begin to make skulls, ghosts and various spooky animal shapes from your web solutions, hanging it around the place. Hobie brings a few jack-o-lanterns using his Gizmo imitation watch, Gwen brings candy and at the end of half an hour, everything is set for merriment.

Miguel shakes his head and tries to walk away but Peter B persuades him to join. "C'mon, old man! Trick or treat?"

It's the first time most spideys see Miguel genuinely smile. He has many a cool trick up his sleeve, no doubt what he used to entertain his daughter with. You watch in awe, trying out a few yourselves.

"Is that a trick I see coming my way, Kuromi?", you ask, catching Pavitr trying to sneak candy from your bucket to his.

"Oh, absolutely, My Melody!"

He starts chasing you around as you scream and run. Decors and other stuff are knocked over, but nobody cares. Even Miguel chuckles watching you get tangled in the decor webs while Pavitr takes advantage of it to steal all your candies.

Worst trick, but Best Halloween ever! _____

Hope you enjoyed it! 😉 Thank you for reading and Happy Halloween!!!! 🎃👻

[nithilah]

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[swiftdupes]

taylor at the 81st annual golden globe awards at the beverly hilton

beverly hills, ca // january 7, 2024

earrings

pear cut cubic zirconia drop earrings in silver from shashi // $96

pave the way long linear drop earrings in silver from nadri // $88

crystal occasion earrings in silver from adrienne vittadini // $5.99

bracelet

crystal & imitation pearl flower bangle bracelet in silver from marchesa // $58

flower tennis bracelet in sterling silver from massoyan jewelers // $75

ring

open bezel set eternity band ring in sterling silver from sterling forever // $42

bubble cz stackable ring set in sterling silver from berricle // $67.90

band

cubic zirconia prong set eternity ring in platinum from crislu // $98

[batslime]

I will say the first thing I recognize in this trend is that you can always tell when somebody’s “love” for Miyazaki’s work is surface-level by the way they attempt to imitate his style and EVERYONE is just an average-to-conventionally attractive looking anime character.

Miyazaki has some of the most over the top yet lovingly designed characters to come out of Japan and some of his most famous characters are fat, have very blatant flaws, wrinkles, unique silhouettes etc. Characters Miyazaki gifted big noses and blemishes and double chins and sagging skin and other “uglinesses” that in different movies would mark a comedic relief or stupid or evil or unlikeable side character, but in their world is still intelligent, respected, plot-important, and often antagonistic but develops and becomes a better person, because these things aren’t flaws or failures or ugly, they’re humanities. They’re little things that make people individual and special and even tells their story.

People who engage with this AI only like the visuals of his movies and at that only his more lighthearted films like Spirited Away, Howl’s Moving Castle, Totoro, Kiki’s etc and at that they don’t digest the messages he put so much work into imparting, they just see a pretty picture. They don’t listen to what he’s saying with them and they clearly aren’t familiar with his philosophies or hard work or relationship to art because they would be aware of how insulting this crap is to him.

This may be a strange bridge to make, but when people try to defend themselves against the accusation of cultural appropriation, they’ll often use the excuse that stealing somebody else’s culture is appreciation. I’ve always hated this. If you appreciate something, you don’t feel a need to insert yourself or rip it off. When you really admire something, especially when it comes down to cultural customs and traditions, you enjoy it best and find its beauty in its home, with the people it belongs to. Indian women will always look the most radiant in their saris, adorned with bangles, henna, and bindi. Black hair will always be the most complementary of their intricate and heartfelt styles, telling their stories that span centuries and continents. Native Americans gifted the world with such ingeniously developed textiles and techniques from such wonderfully humble materials and now we get to gaze at incredibly made beading and buckskins, all made from the nature they lived so closely with. These are all examples of small beauties from around the world we have the pleasure of being able to witness, learn about, and empathize with the history and meaning behind them- but we do no honor to them or their people by making cheap knockoffs for the sake of novelty.

Miyazaki is held so highly for his lifelong dedication and even inescapability to his art- his work. He’s known for his long, hard, meticulous, heartfelt work, even just for a few silent seconds of nothingness to reflect as he so famously does in his films. And people spit in his face with this sloppy no-effort mimicry. AI is antithetical to artists like Miyazaki and their craft. He’s voiced his opinion on it in the past and if you’re REALLY familiar with him at all, you’d be aware how much he’d hate this.

:C

I’m so fucking sick of AI

[tarathijewels]

No More Sweaty Wrists! Cool Materials for Imitation Bangles by Tarathi Jewels

Also Read : Buy Imitation Bangles Online at Top Terrific Price For All..

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