#He just hates frilly clothes and lace and flowers

[dbphantom]

Reddit users as soon as you say Egghead Luffy is actually wearing a dress with a cropped jacket over top

Am I wrong tho? That's a dress. The jacket sleeves and the hood are attached to the top part which is seperate from it. And when he transforms into G5, he's just wearing shorts and no shirt which I also do when I'm wearing a dress, so I mean...

Also, fun fact, the numbers on the back change from 163 to 5G (or SG, to fit the front) only on this panel, which I'm assuming was an error, but could also just be a G5 reference, I dunno.

Watch next chapter have him unzip it and have a shirt underneath just bc I posted this asgdgdjssjdh

[rue-dixon]

Old Clothes

Modern au! Chilchuck and his family.

Flertom finds a box of her mother's old clothes in the attic.

Chilchuck's wife is named Bellana Sams.

Word count: 2,428

"Wow, Mom! I didn't know you had such cute clothes!" Flertom gasped, going through a big cardboard box she had found in the attic. Sitting on the kitchen tiles now as her mother sipped her drink at the table.

Bellana chuckled fondly as she watched her middle rummage through her clothes from the '90s - to the early 2000s.

"Oh, those old things? Honestly, I just didn't have the heart to throw them away." She sighed, resting her head in her hand.

Flertom stuck her tongue out in concentration as she rummaged around, pulling out a short denim miniskirt. "Cuuuute!" She squealed.

"Oh, that skirt was my favorite to go clubbing in. Although my parents and church hated it." Bellana sighed.

"You're so modest, I can't imagine you wearing something like this!"

Bellana rolled her eyes. "We were young and reckless back then. Your father and I used to sneak out to go drinking and clubbing as often as we could."

Flertom nodded as she dug more, pulling out a dark purple, frilly ruched bowknot top. "Why don't you dress like this anymore??" Flertom pouted, holding up a dark red bikini as well.

"Oh please, after three children I can't fit in any of that." Bellana laughed, "Besides, it would hardly be appropriate at my age."

Flertom huffed, "Aww but you look great for your age!"

"Thank you, sweetheart, but those clothes are hardly practical anyway."

"Then why are you still even holding on to all this stuff??"

Bellana shrugged with a soft smile. Standing up and sitting down on her knees with her daughter, having some trouble as she groaned softly.

"Sentimental reasons, I suppose. These are good memories, reminders of a time when life was simpler and your father and I were young and carefree."

She reached out to pat her daughter's hand, her eyes filled with nostalgia. "These clothes represent a part of our history, our love story. And honestly, some of the outfits are too pretty to part with."

"But they're just sitting in the attic.." Flertom pouted, holding up a long, off-the-shoulder white top.

Bellana sighed deeply, beginning to look through her old clothes as well. Memories came flooding back to her in waves. Both good and messy.

"I know I know.. I just can't bear the thought of them sitting in a thrift store.."

A soft smile slowly touched her lips as she looked back up to Flertom. "I'll tell you what, why don't you go through them and pick out some stuff you'd like to keep."

Flertom's face immediately lit up, her eyes wide and cheeks flushed as her smile looked like it'd slit her face in two.

"Really?! Can I??" She squealed.

"Of course, these clothes deserve to be worn still." She smiled, rummaging through the box before pulling out a baby pink, short dress, with white flower lace covering the skirt.

"Here, this should fit. You'd look beautiful, darling." She smiled, holding it up to Flertom's chest.

Flertom gasped at the gorgeous dress, it looked expressive. Immediately snatching it she squealed on the top of her lungs. Standing up and zooming to the bathroom to try it on. The noise caught the attention of her father who was in the garage that connected to the kitchen, causing him to poke his head in.

"Everything alright in here?" He asked, looking at Bellana as she giggled at her daughter's adorable excitement. Reminding her of when she was a little girl.

"Oh yes, Fler just found my old clothes." Bellana smiled.

Chilchuck smiled, "oh yeah?" Stepping into the room fully and shutting the door behind him. Walking up and leaning against the counter right behind his wife.

"Wow." He laughed, "they reek of cigarettes."

Bellana chuckled sheepishly, "Yeah.. smells like my teen years alright."

"I can't believe you still have that stuff."

"Of course I do, they're too nice to throw away."

Despite neither Bellana nor Chilchuck having much money growing up. Bellana would always save up for nice clothes like these. Fashion being everything to her at the time. The thought of throwing them out or donating them sounded absurd to her.

"Besides the memories of course." Bellana hummed, holding up a pink and white polka-dotted blouse.

"Like this one, I wore this on our first date." She smiled.

"Oh yeah, I remember. you looked so damn cute I couldn't take my eyes off you." Chilchuck smirked.

"As I recall you couldn't take your hands off me either." She chuckled, tossing the blouse back in the box.

Chilchuck pushed himself off the counter and walked over to his wife. "Can you blame me? You were, and still are, the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on." He leaned down and attempted to wrap his arms around her, only for Bellana to swat him away.

"Not now Romeo, us girls are at work right now."

As she said this, Flertom came racing back into the common area. "Sooo cute!" She screamed, jumping up and down while twirling in a circle. Fluffing up the skirt in her hands she twisted her hips back and forth.

Chilchuck and Bellana's attention was now on Flertom, eyes softening with affection. Bellana gasped, clasping her hands together and bringing them to her cheek.

"Oh my, look at you." She gushed, "Aren't you just adorable."

Chilchuck nodded in agreement, "You look just like your mother in that."

Flertom fluffed the skirt up and down as she still couldn't contain her excitement. Dancing around in place, fantasizing about what it would be like to be her mother frolicking in such a gorgeous dress.

Puckpatti rounded the corner with a class in her hand, going to the kitchen to refill her drink but stopping when she saw her older sister dancing in what looked like a princess dress met a dress for a school dance.

"What's going on?"

"Your sister's trying on my old clothes I had when I was your girl's age. Seeing if she likes any of them to take." Her mother gestured towards her sister who was still dancing around in her own little bubble.

Puckpatti raised a brow, putting her glass down as she walked over. Looking at all the cute clothes on the floor before looking into the box.

"Would you like to look too? You're welcome to any as well of course."

Puckpatti smiled, getting down on her knees as well as she picked at some resting on top.

"Yeah Puck!" Flertom now stopped, bending over next to her sister. "I bet some of this stuff would look great on you too!"

Puckpatti dug around for a moment, before pulling out a navy blue tube top with lace roses and lace trim on the top and bottom.

"Mom you owned something like this..?" Her eyes widened in disbelief. She couldn't imagine her modest and sweet mother in something like this.

"Oh yes, my parents were not happy with me." She giggled.

Chilchuck chuckled, remembering that top all too well. "I remember that one."

"Of course you do," Bellana muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes as she smacked his leg, it being the only thing she could reach.

"Gross!" Flertom whined, understanding her father's implication.

Puckpatti held it up to look at it better, "You're so proper, I can't believe it."

"Oh! It'll go great with this Patti!" Flertom gushed, grabbing the miniskirt she had earlier and handing it to her little sister.

Puckpatti smiled widely, "thanks!" Grabbing it and rushing to the bathroom to change.

A few minutes later Puckpatti came out, striking a pose with her hands on her hips. "Wow! My boobs look great in this!" She yelled.

Chilchuck choked out a cough, his ears turning red as covered his mouth. While Bellana let out a hearty laugh, a hand coming to her chest as she tried to catch her breath. That being the absolute last thing they expected her to say. Flertom on the other hand stood up and ran to her sister, admiring her outfit.

"Oh my god, they do! That skirt makes your legs look amazing too!" She squealed.

"I know right!" Puckpatti smiled, "I'm so keeping these!" the two girls began to giggle among themselves.

Eventually, the family's loud voices caught Meijack's attention up in her room. Coming down to see what all the commotion was.

"Ah Mei-Mei, your sisters are trying my old clothes on to keep, would you like some too?" Her mother smiled.

Meijack walked closer, glancing at the clothes her sisters were wearing and all the clothes scattered on the ground. None looked like anything she'd wear in a million years.

"Yeah Mei!" Flertom clapped her hands together.

"None of this stuff looks like me.." Meijack mumbled, kicking at some of the discarded clothes around.

Bellana chuckled, knowing her eldest had always been on the tomboy side, "That's alright sweetheart. I didn't expect you to like my old stuff, just thought I'd still ask."

Meijack nodded, going over to stand next to her father as she watched her sisters. Truthfully she did want to join her sisters, but none of that stuff looked like her or even would fit her. Meijack was a lot taller and thinner than her sisters. She didn't inherit the curvy figure that her mother was blessed with like her sisters did. So she doubted she'd be able to fill out most of those outfits properly anyway.

Chilchuck caught that small look of longing in his daughter's eyes and frowned. Sighing, he rested his hand on her shoulder.

"She owned plenty of jeans too you know. Not just skirts and dresses." He said softly, Meijack looked at him.

"But would they even fit..?"

"Only one way to find out."

She still hesitances for a moment, tugging at her sleeve before sighing. Crouching down next to her mother. Bellana smiled lovingly at her, happy she was at least giving it a try. After a few minutes, Bellana pulled out a black tank top that was just cropped at the waist, with a little symbol on the front in gold.

"Here," she smiled, "how about this."

Meijack looked at it, it didn't look that bad actually. With some hesitation, she reached out and took it.

"Yeah.. yeah this looks nice.." she mumbled. Causing all her family to smile, her sisters immediately diving into the box to find her something to match with it.

"Oh!" Puckpatti gasped, "What about these?!" She held up a pair of flared, low-rise jeans.

Meijack frowned, no way those would fit her.

"Those would be perfect!" Flertom beamed.

"Go try them on!"

"But-"Meijack tried to protest but her sisters were already pulling her to her feet and pushing her towards the bathroom door while shoving the clothes in her hands.

A few minutes later, Meijack reappeared, now wearing the black top and low-ride flares. Although the clothes were slightly loose on her, they did not look bad. The pants hung a little lower but not so much so it was unflattering or inappropriate. She tugged at the bottom of the shirt as she looked down at her body. The jeans still complimented he tall figure nicely, and the tank top fit her slightly muscular build well.

Chilchuck crossed his arms, "see, I told you."

He was happy Meijack was able to find something to her taste and didn't feel completely left out. He was aware of her insecurities, despite never being explicitly told about them.

Bellana smiled as well, "You look amazing, Mei, dear. It's a different look, but it suits you."

Meijack nodded as she looked at herself. Liking it nonetheless. Walking back next to her father who still stood with his arms crossed, looking over to her, "You like nice.." he mumbled softly.

Both comments caused Meijack's cheeks to flush as she picked at the jeans.

Flertom meanwhile went back to digging, before pulling out a beautiful, off-the-shoulder, yellow sundress, matched with a corset with sunflowers embroidered into it.

"How cute!" She squealed, unaware of the history behind it.

Chilchuck's eyes widened at the sight of the yellow sundress, recognizing it instantly. His face heated up as he coughed into his hand awkwardly. Bellana, too, noticed the change in Chilchuck's expression and shot him a knowing smirk, pink dusting her cheeks as well. Flertom, unaware of the significance and her parent's reaction, only focused on the dress's beauty.

"maybe.. don't take that one with you sweetheart.." Bellana chuckled nervously.

Flertom frowned, "why not? You said we could have anything we like.." she pouted, still clutching the dress, pouting at the thought of not being able to take the gorgeous piece with her.

Bellana and Chilchuck exchanged a glance.

Chilchuck, not very subtle with his excuse, chimed in, "Oh, well, that one's just... it's just a little too fragile, it's old. You wouldn't want to ruin it now, would you?"

Flertom looked at it confused, "It doesn't seem that old or fragile."

"Hey," Meijack suddenly spoke up, recognizing the dress. "Isn't that dress in the picture hanging in the living room?"

The photo she was referring to was of Chilchuck and Bellana dancing together at an outdoor party as teenagers. A popular story from when they were young that the girls have progressively learned more details about as they got older and more age-appropriate.

Meijack frowned, Flertom's eyes widening.

"Yeah.. now that you mention it. Hey isn't that night you guys said you got pregnant with Meijack" Puckpatti blurted.

Chilchuck groaned, covering his face in his hands as Bellana chuckled nervously. It wasn't a secret, but they both knew how.. dramatic their middle girl could be.

Flertom's heart sank as her face slowly turned red, her expression dropping. Before throwing the dress in the air and screaming.

"EEEEEWWWW!! Gross gross gross gross gross! I need to disinfect my hands immediately!" She screamed, flinging her hands in the air.

Chilchuck groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He knew she'd react this way, such a silly girl who was invested in her parent's love life but always drew the line when it came to intimacy in such a dramatic way. Which in hindsight, was hypocritical of him considering she got her dramatic tendencies from him.

While Bellana sighed knowingly, already knowing she'd react this way. Just watching and shaking her head, as Flertom began to run around the room.

"I touched the dress my parents had sex in!" She cried, zooming around the room as her sisters watched her. Puckpatti poked at the dress as Meijack wished she had earplugs.

[planetflos]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞, timothee chalamet.

synopsis ⇨ it’s a full moon on halloween night, and a shared bubble bath turns into something more for the two vampires in love.

pairings ⇨ vampire!timothee chalamet x vampire!photographer!fem!reader.

warnings ⇨ FLUFF & SMUT, cutesy soft sex fluffy as a cloud!swearing here and there. marijuana usage, vampire talk, jokes about biting someone’s neck—timmy is a teeny bit possessive in this? i think that’s all!

notes from the author ⇨ inspired by this very saucy concept renny whipped up! i’ve always adored timothee from a distance but after the oscars…i think i’m fully a fangirl now. i’m feeling a bit insecure about this, but hopefully you guys love it.

the soft aroma of lavender mixed with the tangy scent of marijuana fills the air of the not-so-small bathroom you share with your boyfriend, timothee. you smile to yourself as you look in the mirror, gently taking off your falsie eyelashes. you can’t quite place why exactly, but there’s something so homey and comforting about unwinding at night as one of your favorite fragrances puffing sweet puffs of air from your oil diffuser.

your boyfriend, however, couldn’t agree. he doesn’t mind your oil diffuser but some of scents do get on his nerves—specifically the ones on the floral side.

“you know i hate that shit,” timothee says more to the air than you. you watch him through the mirror as he sits comfortably in the ginormous diamond crafted bathtub, removing the lit blunt from his soft lips; a curly puff of smoke leaving them shortly afterwards. you can’t help but to giggle, the way the foamy bubbles nearly swallow up his body.

“what, the lavender?” you respond catching his gaze in the crystal clear glass. “what do you have against lavender?”

“not just lavender, those flowery fragrances in general. i hate the way they smell, they make my nose hurt. you know that.”

and he’s right, you know that. but you don’t care, you love it. and plus, he’s been in the crabbiest mood since you two came back from the halloween party one of your friends was hosting at the party hall a few blocks away from your penthouse. as much as you love egging him on when he’s pissed, you’re not in the mood to argue—especially not tonight.

“alright fine,” you roll your eyes. “how about some vanilla maybe? something nice, soft, and sweet just like you!”

the pale boy shoots you a rather annoyed look as he sits up in the soapy water, clearly not pleased with your little sarcastic comment. you giggle in response as you open one of the cabinets underneath the sink that hold all of your luxurious oils—from sweet florals to warm and cozy coffeehouse smells like butterscotch, you at least have about fifty.

the full moon’s beautiful silver ray of light shines through the window of the bathroom and on to your gorgeous curves but you’re too busy in the cabinet to notice. timothee watches from his corner of the bathroom, his sharp fangs sinking into his soft bottom lip.

“ah, here it is.” you mumble as grab the small bottle from the box. you happily make your way over to the diffuser, removing the top and carefully dropping the oils in the lavender infused liquid. it won’t get rid of the smell the purple flowers give off but you know it’ll smell pleasant enough to get timothee to ease up on his complaints.

you sigh softly as stand back in front of your mirror and start removing your clothing. you carefully work on unbuttoning your frilly black lace top and make your way down to your black leather mini skirt. you almost laugh out loud when you catch timothee looking at your through the mirror, almost mesmerized by how the expensive fabrics fall off your delicate body with such ease.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

you sit on the other side of the tub with a thick romance novel in your hands. timothee sits across from you taking hits from his blunt, eyes not daring to leave from your presence. the tangy sweet smell of the rolled and lit sativa dance around nose, slowly seeping into your nostrils.

“are you gonna tell me why you’re in such a terrible mood?” you say after a while of you two sitting in silence. you don’t dare to look up from your book, but you know his eyes are on you. you can feel it.

he waits a minute before he speaks, like he always does when he’s mad. “i didn’t think i’d have to explain myself—he was all over you, yn. and were eating that shit up like—like fucking dinner or something.”

this time you look up from your book for real. you quickly huff and place it on down your towel tray being careful not to knock over some of the lit black pillar candles.

“are you talking about elijah—at the party? because if so, we were just talking. i promise.” you give your boyfriend a sweet smile for extra assurance. timothee’s jealous side always came out at the weirdest times, but you always found it to be cute. his not so subtle eye rolling, the sarcastic comments he mumbles underneath his breath thinking you’re listening (but you are), and the way he pulls you close to his side whenever you two are in public.

“‘didn’t seem like you two were ‘just talking’. ‘was practically eye fucking you.” the boy sulks, his upper body disappearing into the warm bubble filled water. a wave of sadness washes over you when you see his gloomy state, the edges of his face decorated with melancholy like his voice. you slowly move his end of the tub.

“baby, hey, look at me,” your voice so soft, bringing up your hand to caress his beautiful, beautiful face. “it doesn’t matter what he was doing because i love you, okay? you’re my one true love, i don’t want anyone else but you.” his eyes meet yours and you nearly melt; you’re so in love with him, like truly in love with him. you meant every word you said.

“i love you more than gomez loves morticia.” timothee hums as he pulls you into his lap, wrapping his muscular arms around your soft warm body. “but seriously, he’s lucky i didn’t react in the moment. ‘should’ve bitten his neck right then and there.”

“and i’m glad you didn’t!” you giggle as you lay your head back against his toned chest. “imagine all of the unnecessary attention you’d bring upon on yourself. it’s bad enough halloween is like, the only day we can actually be ourselves, babe.”

“true.” timothee responds quietly. “but for you, my love, i’d do anything. you know that.”

you smile to yourself. reaching behind yourself, you pluck the blunt out of your boyfriends fingers and bring it to your pretty pretty lips taking a big hit.

“needed that, thanks baby.” you hum as you hand timothee back his weed. you chuckle lightly as he plants peppery kisses all over your shoulders and neck.

“i need you.” the vampire boy’s voice laced with with honey, silky smooth velvet. hearing him say that—using that tone made you feel things in the places only he’s allowed to touch.

“well, you got me,” turning around to face him, your lips collide with his soft ones without warning. you don’t other fighting for dominance with this one, you know you’re not going to win. and that’s very much fine by you.

you melt into like butter over heat into the kiss; his lips capturing yours in the most blissful ways possible. everything around you becomes splotchy and blurry like a watercolor painting.

it doesn’t take a genius to see what happens next; you’re on top of your beloved boyfriend, riding him slowly and sensually. his soft moans and groans filling the air like a soft melodic night time lullaby. and you swear every time he kisses your neck, you inch closer and closer to climaxing. you gently sink your fangs into his shoulder causing him to laugh. it’s just you, him, and the moonlight.

( &. tags—taglist is under construction! tagging mutuals at the moment. ) @luversgirl @spideylore @claireunoia @diorsitgirl @lueurdoux @dylwrites @tinytulip.

[vaire-gwir]

I find you all Unwoven

I was sad, and then I decided to make myself even sadder writing this...yay me?

Geralt is outside Oxenfurt for a contract, something attracts his attention. Meeting Jaskier for the first time after the mountain scene doesn’t go as he expected. 

English is not my first language, I wrote it in a rush so it probably sucks a bit more than usual, let me know what you think!

***

There was music coming from inside the tavern, it was not Jaskier's voice hitting the notes but the lyrics were his, Geralt recognized them. It was a weird experience, more so because he knew Jaskier was here. He recognized the unique mix of flowers, lavender and honey that made up the bard's scent, he'd never get that wrong, it was hard to forget. So Jaskier was here, and so was the music, how strange he was not playing it.

If he were asked why, Geralt couldn't explain why he decided to enter. Last time he saw the bard was almost a year ago, and too much time passed to try and mend something he broke. And yet, he couldn't resist. The moment he caught that flowery scent he knew he had to see him, even from afar, even just for a second or two. It's been so long since the last time he saw him.

It took Geralt no longer than a minute to find Jaskier in the crowded inn, but something was off. Everything was off, to be honest. The black trousers and grey shirt were a weird sight on the bard. No colours or frilly shirts, no silk pants or lace doublets. He was sitting by himself, eyes lost in his mug, it almost seemed like he was trying to appear smaller, inconspicuous, invisible. 

He was not singing or playing, he was not talking with anyone, he wasn't trying to strike a conversation or catch anyone's eyes, he was there but he wasn't really there. That was not his bard. Something must have happened to him. That was not the man he used to know. 'You. You happened to him.' A cruel voice inside Geralt's head quickly supplied. Also, not his anymore.

Jaskier was like the middle of spring, when all the flowers start to bloom, the air is warm and filled with their scents, the nights are lighter and everything seemed a bit easier to bear. Now his eyes showed the end of autumn, when all the leaves fall from the dead trees, the nights are endless and even the days grow darker. There were no more flowers or light or sweet scents, there was nothing left. It physically hurts somewhere deep inside him to see Jaskier like that, it was painful for reasons he didn't know how to put into words.

Geralt was familiar with guilt, he knew its smell and ache, he knew how to bear it, but this was hitting him differently. He used to know a lively and bright person, chatty and quick, in love with life and everything in it, fierce and bubbly but whoever was sitting on that stool at the end of the bar was the very opposite of all that.

He observes from his corner at the back of the tavern, it's been months since he left Jaskier on the mountain after their stupid fight, and of all the times he wanted, needed, to see him again, this seemed almost unnatural. He's the last person the bard wants to see and yet Geralt feels compelled to call him, he's itching to say his name out loud and see the shadows dancing in the endless pool of ocean that were his blue eyes, he's craving to be close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin and hear him say his name, just once. Just once, like he always dreams about, like the dragon hunt never happened. 

He spent so many days regretting the words he said on top of that cursed mountain, wishing for forgiveness, cause he could deal with Yen leaving, but losing Jaskier hurt in a different way. On the way back to where they set camp Geralt secretly hoped until the last minute to see him waiting with Roach at the edge of the woods, pouting and cursing at him, but all his things were gone.

The guy wearing Jaskier's face murmurs something to the maid, slips a few coins into her hand, and gets up. He wraps a thick cloak around his thinner frame, he has probably lost some weight, Geralt can't tell for sure. When he walks out of the tavern, he has to fight every instinct screaming at him to follow him. He sits still for a grand total of a full minute before losing that fight and rushing out, following the faint trace of lavender in the air.

Jaskier is just crossing the square when a dark shadow looms behind him. "Why did you follow me, Witcher?" He whispers softly while turning around. He slowly takes in the black-clad figure in front of him, the white messy hair, the golden eyes, the frown on his face and the fine layer of dust on his clothes. Geralt is exactly how he remembers him. Jaskier feels his betrayer heart jumping in his chest.

"How did you know...."Geralt begins to ask puzzled.

"I saw you at the tavern. I spent so long searching for your face in every crowd I started to think I was seeing things, but apparently I was right this time." Jaskier lowers his eyes and Geralt can't help but notice how tired he looks. The dark circle around his eyes threaten to swallow the sunlit blue sea with their purple hue, and he's so pale, his skin so white and washed out Geralt would almost suspect he was sick if he didn't know better. 

"I... You were not singing.” He knows it's stupid to say, but he can't ask any of the other questions on the tip of his tongue. 

Jaskier adjusts the cloak around himself, trying to keep the cold at bay. Geralt is yearning to trace the contours of his face, trail his fingers over his sharp cheekbones, or over his jaw, anything, he just needs a small touch, but he knows he can’t.  "I don't do that anymore," Jaskier says.

"Why not?" His yellow eyes seem to widen for a moment at the implications of those words and he sees the pain flickering over the bard's beautiful features. Pain that Geralt put there himself. The ache inside of him burns fiercely.  He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know where to find the right words. He’s not even sure Jaskier would listen, 

"Don't act like you care. I'm not the same person I was ten months ago. Besides, you hate my singing, you can barely stand my voice, what difference does it make to you?" Jaskier sighs, he feels drained and exhausted. Geralt was the last person he expected to see today. and the last he needed to see. Too long he spent trying to sew himself back together, too many tears were shed at every dream and every memory of their time together, too many little pieces of his heart were still refusing to stay put and make him whole. It all seemed in vain now that the Witcher was in front of him.

"That's not true," Geralt mumbles under his breath, clenching his hands at his side, resisting the urge to reach out for him. There must be something he could say to make Jaskier forgive him. 

"It's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling. There's a word for that, in case you didn't know, and it's called disappointment. Now, why did you follow me out here? I don't think it was to tell me you suddenly like my voice cause we both know you don't and honestly, bit late for that, don't you think?" Geralt hears it in his voice that if Jaskier had enough strength left in him to be mad, he'd be furious. He briefly wonders how long he stayed angry before he gave up.

"I just thought...we could maybe....talk?" Jaskier’s laugh is bitter and hollow, empty as his eyes.

"Really Geralt? That's rich coming from you. Now you want to talk? You know what, no. No, you don't get to come here and tell me you want to talk after I spent ten gods forsaken months trying to forget you. Don't you fucking dare. Not like this. Now if there's something I can help you with, do say so. If not, spare us both this conversation, I'm not sure I’m in the mood to have my heart broken again."

Geralt knows he's right, but it still hurts to hear it from his voice. It takes him a moment for the words to sink in, it’s like his mind refuses the real meaning of them. He steels himself before saying  "I'll leave you to your things then. Goodbye, Jaskier." And it’s harder than slaying any monster he ever encountered. For some messed up reasons, he thought Jaskier would be willing to talk to him, to give him a second chance he knows he hasn’t earned. It’s only fair that he doesn’t. 

"You were right." Geralt freezes in his spot when blue eyes search for his own golden ones. "You spent so much time trying to convince me to leave you alone and stop following you around and I never fucking listened. I realized you were right. Cause you, you got what you wanted, life, destiny, whatever, you had your sorceress and I'm finally off your hands, But what about me? That is why I wish...I wish I would have listened to you. Left. Before it was too late. Before having my heart broken."

Geralt doesn't miss how his voice breaks, he can taste the salt in the air from his unshed tears and he can't help but wonder how many times this precious human he loved cried because of him. Loves. He still loves him, even if he never knew how to show it. He stares at the black cloak trailing tiredly behind his companion, his best friend, his lover, and he knows he deserves the pain he feels for what he did to him. He whispers his poor apology to the wind, but nobody answers. He really wishes Witchers couldn't feel emotions.

[junie-bugg]

Prospects and Propriety - Chapter Two

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQbx-OkfN-M

(If you want to listen to this song on Spotify it's called Symphony No.5 in C Sharp Minor: 4. Adagietto (Sehr Iangsam))

Word Count: 3125

Chapter Two

Prim and I have the next day off of lessons. We’ve been homeschooled ever since we came to live with Haymitch, but the weekends are saved purely for whatever we see fit to fill them with. For me, that’s mostly hunting and being out in the woods, unless the weather is bad, and sometimes not even then. 

If I decide to stay at home I usually lounge around with a book and see what Prim is up to. It’s mostly knitting, dress-up, or playing with the ugly cat Haymitch let her keep a few years back. Prim named him Buttercup, claiming that his matted, ruddy coat matched the bright yellow of the flowers she so adored. I had wanted to drown the thing in a bucket when we caught him stealing scraps from the kitchen, but Haymitch had laughed, even picked the thing up by the scruff of his neck and shook him around. 

“Look at this little guy, sweetheart. He’s a survivor. We can’t kill him!” He had placed the dirty, mewling kitten into Prim’s arms and the thing had hissed at me. I was worried he’d give Prim some kind of disease but he never did. I don’t feel gratitude towards him though. Only suspicion. It could still happen. 

When I want to be alone I go to my greenhouse. Really it’s Prim’s and my greenhouse, but ever since she found maggots in the compost pile nearly two years ago, she hasn’t stepped foot in there.  The greenhouse is small, maybe a third the size of my bedroom, but it’s peaceful. Especially when it storms and I can hear every hollow beat of the raindrops on its glass roof. It’s situated on the edge of the grounds by the tree line that morphs into the large forested hill behind Victor Greene, Haymitch’s estate. Over the years I’ve planted herbs and flowers and medicinal plants I’ve found on my journeys into the woods. The plants do well here in the rows of dark soil I’ve fortified with compost and fertilizer. The whole place smells of earthy rot and there’s something about how sunlight scatters lazily through the frosted windows that calms me. There’s a nook on the far side of the greenhouse, past all the plants, where I’ve scattered some quilts and pillows on a wide triangular window ledge. It’s a perfect place to read or sleep. Or sing. 

This is the only place where I let myself sing. I don’t even do it in the woods, always afraid someone else taking a stroll will hear me or that I’ll scare away game. Ever since Prim and I were placed under Haymitch’s care, really ever since our dad died, I refuse to sing in front of others. Maybe it’s because I’m shy and I don’t like people listening to my voice swelling and breaking on the high notes. Or maybe I’m lying to myself and I don’t sing in front of others because it’s too painful to remember a time when my life was filled with music. Mountain aires and lullabies and love songs, all sung by my father. I guess I don’t like breaking apart when there’s an audience. But when I’m alone I can shatter beneath the notes for a time, before I’m needed back up at the house. 

Today, however, instead of knitting or playing hide and seek in the gardens, Prim has informed me she wants to walk to the village. “You need new ribbons for the ball!” She squeaks as I button up her light pink dress from behind. We have servants available who help us dress or bathe or brush our hair but I always like helping Prim myself. She looks like a tiny little princess with her frilly dress and her curls pulled back with a pearl white ribbon. In contrast, I look plain in a forest green frock and my light brown shawl. 

“I told you, Prim. I’m not going.” I struggle with the last button. Prim has been going through a growth spurt and soon she’ll be too big for this dress. I feel sad, watching my little sister growing up so fast. 

“I heard Mrs. Winthrop and Ms. Trinket talking and they said you had to go,” She’s grinning so hard I can see the slight gap between her two front teeth. “Because Mr. Hawthorne is going to be there.” 

Ah, yes. My supposed husband-to-be. So even Prim has heard about Ms. Trinkets’ ridiculous arrangements. A man with that much money has his pick of the litter when it comes to choosing brides. I’m not ugly, but I’m no exquisite beauty either. Not like some of the girls I see around Whitley. I have no fortune of my own, really no status either besides being Haymitch’s ward and that will go up in smoke the second he dies. Most likely Mr. Hawthorne will look right through me and move on. But the news that I’m being forced to attend the public ball worries me. The whole village will be there. Including him. The baker’s boy. 

Maybe some new ribbons aren’t such a bad idea. 

We turn down an offer for the carriage and instead walk along the main road into Whitley. My boots have barely brushed the cobblestone sidewalks when Prim is dragging me into the seamstresses’ shop. The dressmaker, Cinna Ludgate, and the tailor, I think her name is Portia Peever, both turn to welcome us. Prim tells Mr. Ludgate about my need for new ribbons and in a flash he pulls down the display from the ceiling, winking at me as he walks back to the counter. 

There are so many to choose from. Streams of all colors flutter between my outstretched fingertips like butterfly’s wings. I see ribbons of frilly lace, satin, velvet, and even silk. My eyes land on a simple, white cloth ribbon with a delicate embroidered lavender pattern. I hold it up for Prim’s inspection and she declares I have to buy two in case I manage to get one dirty before the ball. 

I’ve just handed Mrs. Peever the money for the ribbons when the bell over the door rings. In walks Ms. Delly Cartright, one of Prim’s closest friends, and her older sister, Ms. Marianne Cartright. Their father is the village shoemaker, so they’re well known and well-liked by almost everybody. Delly is Prim’s age which gives them plenty to talk about. Prim grabs a hold of Delly and begins showing her the latest shipment of buttons Mr. Ludgate has displayed. 

Marianne is one year younger than me but we’ve never exchanged more than simple pleasantries. I dread small talk but from my personal experience, a trip into town wouldn’t be deemed official without at least one awkward encounter. 

“Are you coming to the ball, Ms. Everdeen? You missed the last one,” Marianne asks. She’s absolutely gorgeous, with big, blue doe eyes and a pouty mouth. Her nose is small and her figure slender. She is what they call a “country belle” in Town. I know at least five love songs written about girls like her. I expect in a few years Prim will grow to be one herself. 

“The dancing was splendid. I do hope you’re coming next week,” She continues.

I hold up my ribbons in response. “My tutor Ms. Trinket won’t let me miss it.” I force my mouth into a smile. 

“Oh,” Marianne’s eyes have settled on my ribbons. They’re probably a tad dull for her taste seeing as there were velvets and silks to choose from, but I like the simple flower design. The white cloth paired with the purple and green thread looks pretty. “Well, as my darling mother always says: simple never goes out of style.” She smiles up at me but the warmth doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “My sister and I are here for my dress fitting. I can’t wait to show everyone what Mr. Ludgate made me for the ball. It’s a custom piece!” She practically squeals. I nod and bid her goodbye, waving Prim over so we can leave. I breathe a sigh of relief as we exit the shop. I hate girl talk. 

With our main objective for coming to Whitley carried out, my feet automatically turn towards home, but Prim has other ideas. “Can we look at the cakes, Katniss?” She begs. She’s like a little puppy. I can’t refuse, though I grow more anxious with every step closer to the bakery we get. 

I know what this is. A look at the cakes in the window leads to Prim asking to go inside. It’s happened before and I’ve been lucky enough to avoid him. He works alongside his parents and two older brothers anyway. What are the chances that he’ll be manning the counter and not the ovens in the back? 

Prim pulls me through the bakery doors and runs to press her face against the display case. I hear a call of “I’ll be right there!” from the back, followed by a grunt and the shuffling of boxes. I join Prim and am just starting to admire the selection of pastries when I hear a quiet gasp and look up. 

It's him. The baker’s youngest son. I don't know him by name but I remember him. Of course, I remember him. I can almost feel the icy sheets of rain and the hollow numbness of hunger from that horrible day as I meet his gaze. 

Our father had died three months earlier. He had been a poor wheat farmer but the income from the harvest was enough to support a small household. My mother traded plants and home remedies to supplement what our empty pockets couldn’t buy. One winter, my father had been kicked in the head by his horse. My mother did everything she could but even as young as I was, I knew he had died before he hit the ground. After that my mother stopped eating. She just sat in bed and stared at the walls while her children turned to skin and bone. I did everything to try and rouse her but it was no use. With our father dead so too was her will to live. 

At eleven I became the sole provider of the family. I ventured into town alone to sell that damn horse, some old jewelry, and even dresses of my mother’s from her merchant days, but the money ran out quickly and there was more to buy than food. Our hearth sat cold, unused, and wanting of wood, and we resorted to rubbing ourselves raw to keep warm. We stopped attending school in the village, afraid that a teacher would see how hollow we were becoming and would whisk us away to the orphanage. I had seen orphans in the schoolyard, their faces empty and their shoulders slumped in defeat. I would never let that happen to Prim. 

We had eaten nothing but dried mint leaves in water for three days before I decided to try selling some of Prim’s old baby clothes in town. The clothes were threadbare and faded so nobody had wanted them. My arms were shaking so violently from cold and malnourishment that I ended up dropping them in a puddle. I decided to leave them there, afraid that if I bent over I wouldn’t be able to get back up. 

I found myself stumbling around behind a row of brick buildings. The rain had started and I was soaked to the bone. The smell of baking bread carried over the frigid air and I realized I was behind the bakery. The back door was open and I stood, trancelike, basking in the warm glow of the ovens before a thought floated through my foggy head. Maybe they had food scraps in their trash. A crust of bread or rotting vegetables, something only my family was desperate enough to eat. I lifted the tops off of the bins and my hopes died when I saw that their insides were heartbreakingly bare. 

Suddenly, I heard a woman screeching. It was the baker’s wife. She spat remarks about how she was sick of people going through her trash bins and if I didn’t leave she would call law enforcement. As I dropped the lids and backed away I saw a boy peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts. I recognized him from school but we had never talked. 

With my final hope gone I slumped against a scrubby little apple tree in their yard. My knees buckled and I slipped down into the mud. I would rather die than go home empty-handed to Prim’s gaunt face and my mother’s sickly, unblinking eyes. 

I heard a commotion from the bakery and then the ring of metal on flesh. 

“Feed it to the pigs you worthless creature! No one decent will buy burnt bread!” The witch screeched. There was the boy again, come out the back door clutching two blackened loaves. A bright red mark shone on his cheek and my heart twisted when I realized his mother must have hit him. He looked between me and the pigpen, and then glanced back towards the door. His mother must have gone up to front to serve a customer because then I heard him sloshing his way through puddles to get to me. 

“Take them!” He urged, pressing the loaves into my skeletal hands. “Take them! Go!” As quickly as he came he was gone, back into the kitchens. I watched him disappear. As he closed the door only then did I realize what he had done for me. 

Two loaves of bread! And they weren’t even that burned, really only the crusts had been damaged. I quickly pressed them to the skin under my shirt and hurried home. The searing heat from the loaves roused something within me. I couldn’t die. Not when I had Prim to take care of.

I dropped the loaves on the table and stopped my sister from savagely tearing a chunk off for herself. I sat her down, forced our mother to join us, and then began scraping off the blackened bits. That night we feasted on two slices of bread each, afraid so much food might make us sick. The loaves were hearty, filled with nuts and bits of cranberry. I had never tasted anything so good in my entire life. 

 As I predicted, it was a teacher that found out about our situation. Upon our absence at school, she had come looking for us and found Prim and I living in squalor with a mother that was too sick to care. I thought that was it, that we were to be sent to the orphanage now and our mother taken away to an institution. But a man by the name of Haymitch Abernathy, wealthy and lacking a family of his own, intervened. He had heard of our misfortunes from hushed gossip around the village and had petitioned to adopt us. Our mother was eventually sent to an institution by the sea and we’ve lived with Haymitch, fed and clothed and taken care of, ever since. 

The baker’s boy saved our lives that day. Surely I would have given up and died under that apple tree if it wasn’t for the kindness he showed me. I owe him everything. And because of that, I will never be able to pay him back. 

I take him in now. He's taller than he was before. Much taller. His chubby child’s build has been replaced with an imposing stature that takes up almost the entire doorway. I guess a lifetime of hefting bakery pans and kneading dough has left him broad-shouldered and muscular. 

“Katniss,” he says. I can tell he’s surprised to see me. His voice is deep and I note that his blonde hair curls with sweat. There’s a streak of flour on his cheek and an apron tied around his waist.

“It’s Ms. Everdeen,” I correct him. It’s out before I can stop myself and as soon as I say it I want to bite my own tongue off. How pretentious I must sound. It's only after Prim has begun ordering a sugar-dusted fruit tart from the case that I realize with a start that the baker's boy knows my name. 

His face is flushed and pink when he turns his eyes to me. 

“I'll take four of those cookies,” I get out. “The orange lilies.” My voice sounds weaker than normal. I hate this. I feel fragile under this boy’s gaze. And that's when I realize: he must be waiting for his thank you. For the bread that he burned and took a beating for. But I can't do it, either because Prim is with me and it would confuse her and probably embarrass the boy, or because it's been five years and the time for ‘thank you’ is over. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he doesn't remember. He probably only knows my name because it was a source of gossip around town when Haymitch adopted Prim and I. He must remember me from then. 

He gives me a timid smile, deftly wraps the cookies in parchment paper, ties them securely with a piece of fringed twine, and hands the package to me. I suddenly feel the need to fill the silence so I blurt: “They’re beautiful. The cookies.” 

He manages to turn a shade pinker. “Thank you, I do most of the frosting around here. I made those this morning.” As I hand him the money for the treats, I assume that's it. That was the end of our conversation. But my tongue is moving again. 

“They look just like the lilies in the woods. I see them on my morning walks.” 

“Yes, exactly,” He grins and reveals a charming set of dimples. “I’ve seen them when I go to the woods to paint.” 

I don't know what else to say and Prim has started tugging on my hand. She’s probably anxious to get home so we can enjoy our treats with tea, so I give him one last look and utter one last thank you before heading back out into the crowded square. 

“Do you know him?” Prim asks as we begin walking towards home. 

“No,” I say, a little relieved to be leaving. I can't catch my breath and my heart is racing like it does when something frightens me. “I don't even know his name.”

“Well, I've never seen you be that talkative with a stranger.” She beams. “Wait until I tell Mrs. Winthrop!” 

Is that what he is to me? A stranger? I shake the thought from my head.

He knew my name. The very least I can do is learn his. 

[bobasheebaby]

Animals- Be Careful What You Wish For chapter 10

Pairing: Liam x MC; Liam x OC

Word count: 1,646

Warnings: Evil Liam, Rebecca, cheating, 🍋

Summary: Seven months later, some things changed; some for the better and some for the worse.

Song inspiration: Animals by Maroon 5 (I’m honestly not sure why this song drove this chapter but it did so here we are.)

A/N: A huge thank you to @sirbeepsalot for all of her help and advice and being an ever patient sounding board. (MoE thanks DoE as well.) Thank you to everyone still on this crazy train, and everyone who just joined. And another twist from DoE and MoE. Also I get one idea in my head and then I write and the characters change shit on me all the time so if something I said in a comment changes know it’s probably the crazy characters I refuse to fight because I enjoy the tiny bit of remaining sanity I have. This should be enjoyable for all whether you’re rooting for Evil Liam, for Rebecca to fall, or for there to be some justice for Bastien and Drake(I hope).

Series warnings: Evil Liam, dark!fic, deceit, manipulation, dub con, possible NSFW content, possible character death. This is taking the Liam from TRH to the extreme, he is not the Liam we know and love. By clicking read more you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I only own my OC’s, the rest I’m simply borrowing from PB for a bit.

Liam found her beguiling. He could hardly tear his eyes from her, unable to focus on anything she said. Her deep brown eyes that were like melted chocolate, the way her chestnut hair cascaded down in waves past her shoulders, and her olive skin glowed all left him nearly breathless. He found her and her curves intoxicating and all he wanted to do was run his hands and tongue all over her body.

“Liam, did you hear me?” Her lilting Italian accent music to his ears, pulling him up for air.

He subtly shook his head, trying to regain focus. It was hard, her beauty, and confidence made him feel drunk without a drop to drink. He smiled, nodding as he reached for his glass of Scotch. What was I thinking going to a dinner ‘meeting’ with her? We both know where this is headed by now, why all the pretenses? Because I’m still married. It was a mistake, she’s not who I thought. He smiled softly, his chestnut brown eyes soft as he gazed lovingly at her. She knows, she understands, how the fuck did I ever get so lucky?

*

Rebecca shifted uncomfortably in her bed. Stupid bed rest! Stupid high blood pressure! Her hand hit the bed as she clicked through the channels. Ugh there is nothing to do on bed rest! She rolled her eyes as another channel was still talking about Drake and Bastien. “You’d think they’d get bored of that after a while.”

THE SEARCH FOR THE BODIES OF BASTIEN LYKEL AND DRAKE WALKER STILL ONGOING

Her head turned as another sympathy arrangement was brought in. “Seriously?! Can they stop it with the damn flowers?!” She took a deep breath, Liam’s words trilling loudly in her head. You need to at least try to appear to be bereaved. She put on a perfect smile. “I think there are more than enough flowers in the bedroom maybe brighten up the kitchen instead.” It looks like a damn funeral home in here!

The maid nodded, retreating with the flowers.

It’s been months, why are they still sending stupid condolence gifts?! If they want to send something they should send baby gifts! She dropped her smile, rolling her eyes with distaste. Being on all the time is exhausting. She settled into the pillows, closing her eyes. Hopefully I can actually get some rest. She rested her hand on her round abdomen, wishing for one short period of respite. I’m not the one who killed them I don’t know why he plagues my dreams.

*

He pressed her up against the door, his hand fumbling with the keycard as he kissed and nipped her neck, her moans only spurring him on. His mind buzzed, and the room spun. How much did I have to drink? He finally slid the keycard in, pushing open the door, his lips moving to hers as they stumbled into the room. I’m drunk on her. He kicked the door shut, his hands sliding up her perfect curves, dragging the silky black fabric up over her hips.

She stepped back breaking the kiss, pushing him backward onto the couch. “Not yet your majesty.” She ran her hands up over her hips, gently swaying to the unheard beat. “I’m in charge tonight.”

Liam leaned forward, his hands going for her hips.

She stepped backward. “It’s easy to see your wife isn’t in charge enough.” She spun facing away from him, her hand reaching up, slowly dragging the zipper down. She allowed the silk to slip down her shoulders, gliding down her curves, pooling around her feet. She looked over her shoulder. “I would hate to have to punish you.”

Liam leaned back with a growl. He wanted to feel and caress her silky smooth skin, but she had him utterly bewitched. He watched as she continued to sway her hips, the movement intoxicating him more. He groaned as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, face temporarily hardening. Not dealing with her now. He quickly powered down his phone tossing it to the side, allowing her to entrance him with her body once more.

She unclasped her bra, sliding the straps down over her arms, tossing the bra to the side. She spun, still swaying to the beat in her head, her hair fanning out behind her. She felt her cheeks flush as he shamelessly raked his eyes over her nearly nude form. She had always been confident in her body, but the way he looked at her lit her skin on fire, every look telling her he wanted to devour her. “Someone’s a tad over dressed.” She giggled as he jumped to his feet, quickly ridding himself of his clothes. “Someone’s eager.” She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her lace panties, slowly dragging them drown. She allowed them to drop to her feet, carefully stepping out of them. She stepped forward, pushing him back onto the couch. “Now you may touch.” She grabbed his hands placing them on her hips.

Liam pulled her onto his lap with a growl. He kissed up her neck, gently nipping her earlobe. “You’re such a fucking tease.” His hot breath fanned against her neck, sending goosebumps across her skin.

Her chocolate eyes sparkled. “You know you love it.”

Liam hummed his agreement, his hands moving to caress her full breasts. I love you. He dipped his head down, taking her perfect breast into his mouth. You can’t say it until you’re free. He swirled his tongue around her hardening bud, teasing the other between his thumb and forefinger.

“Liam.” She threw her head back with a moan, her entire body alight with need.

He grazed his teeth over her nipple as he pulled off, ravishing her other breast with the same attention. He slid his hand down over curves to the apex of her thighs. She arched her back as his fingers slipped through her slick folds. “Tell me what you want Andra.”

“You.” She gasped, his fingers circling her clit. All of you. The she-witch doesn’t deserve you.

He circled her entrance making her mewl with need.

“Please.” She begged.

He delved his fingers inside her, pumping them in and out. He slipped her hardened peak from his mouth, sitting back watching her wither and moan as he worked her closer to her first climax.

She gripped his shoulders, French tipped nails digging crescent moons into the skin. Her head fell back as his thumb found her clit, sending her over the edge. Her walls pulsed around his fingers, a gush of wetness coating them in her essence.

He slipped his fingers from her bringing them to his mouth licking them clean. She tastes like heaven. He groaned as her hand slipped between them grabbing his thick length, she lifted her hips, teasing him through her folds. He grabbed her hips pulling her down, impaling her on his throbbing length, groaning as she stretched around him. She rolled her hips, slowly raising her hips teasing him, returning her hands to his shoulders. He thrust upward, pulling her hips back down, a dangerous hunger in his eyes as he took control.  “Yes… Liam…” She whimpered and gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, piercing the skin. I’m yours.

He flipped her onto the couch, fucking into her harder and deeper. Her legs wrapped around his waist, nails dragging down his back leaving angry red lines. Her vision blurred and body spasmed as her walls clamped around him pulling him with her to oblivion, their cries of pleasure mixing together.

*

Rebecca sighed, tossing the remote to the side. Every station seemed to be obsessed with the search for Drake and Bastien, and of course she couldn’t get a moments rest without being plagued by his face. Why aren’t they that obsessed with me? I’m carrying their damn heir! She picked up her phone, clicking into her messages.

Rebecca- I’m bored and I miss you.

She placed her phone back beside her waiting for it to light up with his response. She retrieved the remote. Maybe there is something I haven’t already watched a million times on Netflix. She scrolled through, rolling her eyes and sighing as she selected America’s Most Eligible season ten. It’s mind numbingly boring but at least Ivy knows how to get what she wants. She shifted as the music filtered through the speakers.

As the episode ended she glanced at her phone. Nothing. Why hasn’t he answered me?!

Rebecca- Will you be back in time for our ultrasound? I really miss you and maybe if the doctor says it’s okay we can go shopping for our little princess.

She dropped her phone back onto the bed as the second episode started to play. She allowed her mind to wander to thoughts of their daughter. Princess Emilia Rose Rhys. She could picture her so clearly, how she’d dress her in the cutest, most frilly dresses. I wonder if they make real tiaras for baby’s. I’ll have to see if it can be done. She picked up her phone as the third episode ended. He still hasn’t replied?! What the hell Liam?!

Rebecca- What the hell Liam?! How dare you ignore your queen?!

Oh he better have a good reason for not getting back to me!

*

“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” She asked drawing circles on his chest as they cuddled on the bed after there second romp.

Liam smoothed down her hair as he sighed. “I promised I’d be back for the ultrasound.”

She lifted her head, replacing her frown with a seductive smile. She refused to waste a second of their time together being sad. “Then let’s not waste another minute.”

He smiled as he pulled her down for a kiss. How in the world did I get so lucky to find you Alessandra?

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[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Seven

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 7

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up." -Neil Gaiman

+

He hates her, he hates her, he fucking doesn't hate her at all and that’s a major fucking problem.

This repeats over and over again, driving him from her in attempt to soothe the beast in his chest. The furious feeling of his heart beating wildly and every inch of him vibrating with unwanted energy. Like he had been shot up with pure adrenaline, like he could start a fucking war and win it.

Like liquid golden luck has been poured into his veins.

Everything in him roars and heats, his cock is hard enough to cut fucking steel at this rate, and the pounding of his blood threatens to make him go deaf. He hasn't felt this rush in years. Possibly decades, and it burns him inside and out knowing that some how Laura Fucking Moon is the cause.

-because this shit is addictive.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” He roars, slamming into the first empty bedroom he finds. Tearing off his clothes as he heads to the connected bathroom. Not even waiting to lose his boxers to jump in under the running shower head. Its cold as hell, but he doesn’t budge. Forces himself to stay under, intent on driving out all the warmth in his bones.

He can not get addicted to her. It's just not a fucking option.

It's one thing to fancy her, to make a deal with her and help bring her back to life.

He owes her that much.

Even the idea of her sticking to her end and giving him a bit of her hard earned faith is just a fancy. A bit of leftover desire from the old days, of Essie and her clan. A selfish, ego centered day dream. One where she goes off to live the life she wants and he can maybe get an ounce of who he was at the end of all this hell.

That's the reason he can't get addicted.

Laura needs him for now, and maybe she even believes in him enough for that to mean something but if there is one thing he knows all too well is that eventually belief will fade.

All it takes is time.

+

Laura allows Mad Sweeney his space. Despite the clawing need to recapture the odd feeling from before, or the deep unsettled tension developing in her the longer he is gone.

Death has made her clingy.

When she was alive, she enjoyed her space. Loved the days off when no one wanted anything from her and she was allowed to simply be. It would just be her, her cat and a good book, perhaps Shadow out to work or minding the backyard. Back then, she even enjoyed the silence.

Now, it grates on her nerves. Just as darkness reminds her of the grave, now being left alone in silence sends her back. Trapped and scared in a box, confused as hell.

She screamed at first, before realizing quickly that this far down under the earth no one could hear her.

It wasn't until she became enraged, and struck her fist upwards through the wood paneling that she discovered how strong she was. Even then it wasn't an easy climb, the soil was thick and wet, and six feet turns out to be a long way up when you can't fucking see or hear.

More than once, she choked on grave dirt.

After breaking free, it was a blur of rain and violence. Of tracking Shadow and quickly realizing, oh yeah, she was a walking fucking corpse with a missing arm.

She had lied, back when she told Sweeney she didn't have any shame. She did have shame, at least in that moment and that’s what made her turn away from Shadow. She hadn't wanted him to see what death had done to her.

Even now. In retrospect of everything, she finds herself ridiculous, the earlier shame replaced by indifference. Shadow was going to eventually see her, and her shitty sewing job wasn't going to change what he saw.

Fuck, not even the polished, professional look changed that fact.

Just remembering that night, when she had gone to him and posed on his dirty motel bed like a gift makes her insides curl with disgust for herself. She had gone all out. Nice dress, nice hair and gone the extra mile afterwards to warm herself up. Did she really think that would last?

Did she really think Shadow would touch her cold skin and want more?

She decides that at least some of her disgust belongs to the brothers of death, it was their words that had given her false hope. Small as it might have been, it fueled her enough to be brave and confront Shadow.

Any man will be grateful, they had said.

Only Shadow hadn't. He had been horrified.

Scared. Shocked. Hurt.

All well within his right, because she was the corpse of his cheating wife. Who died with his best friend’s dick in her mouth. Who had smelled like rot and lies, trying desperately to pretend she wasn't.

Maybe if she hadn't kissed him, things could have been different. She will at point blank refuse to admit Sweeney might have been right about that too. As far as she is concerned he is at max, allowed to be right once a day.

Any more than that and he would just be an insufferable prick.

+

The morning shifts to afternoon and Laura goes stir crazy trying to keep herself busy. First she cleans the kitchen (Sweeney had made a mess) and then she goes through the library, this time with a fine eye. Picking out all that she can find on Egyptian mythology. 

Truthfully, she just skims. The names are complicated in different tongues, none of which she can get her dead one around. Each entry is miles longs with histories that extend not just to Egypt but to Greek and Rome. Of the resurgences and connections to more modern ideals, basically making her unable to read more than a handful of paragraphs.

She was a shit student, okay?

Afterwards does her best to find something to wear, just because she's dead doesn't mean she likes wearing week old pants.

It was only by luck that Ostara's height and body shape was similar enough to her own that she could borrow an outfit or two. The goddess had offered earlier to help pick things out for her, but Laura worried that it would be extra frilly pink monsters. Like the kind her mother used to set out for her on Sunday mornings for church. All pastel colors with seas of lace and flowers, that only succeeded to wash her out. The kind she’d never be caught dead in. 

Which is why it’s worth a laugh at, since it’s exactly the kind she was buried in.

In the end, she doesn't find a lot that suits her tasted, just a pair of dark fitted jeans and a few plain colored t-shirts, that still have the tags on them. She slips on a deep blue one and looks down, it manages to just cover her open chest stitches.

Another thing she attempts to fix on her own.

This time goes a little better than the first, the angle not as awkward as her shoulder. It helps that Ostara's needles are thinner than Aubrey's, and the thread finer but Laura has never been gifted with sewing.

She was good with her hands in other ways, with the smooth flex of cards and coins. Needle work had always been beyond her, those were the skills of her mother and grandmother. She remembers watching them stitch flowers, cute little sayings and mermaids with shiny tails. They recreated famous art pieces, of medieval maidens begging for love and Greek heroes slaying monsters, every fairy tale she had ever heard had been stitched into neat little pillows. Every delicate detail perfectly etched by hand, needle and thread.

The stitches she makes now, don’t even come close. They are uneven and crooked, the dead skin she punctures the needle through bunches up and makes it look like the work of a child compared to the beautiful thick straight lines of the god of death's skilled work. Anubis would probably laugh at her attempt to copy his work at all.

Laura traces them both, and looks at herself in the mirror.

Shit, she is starting to look like a fucked up Raggedy Ann doll.

+

By six in the afternoon, Laura is done waiting.

Any longer and she is going to start foaming at the mouth. She has given him enough space to get over his weirdness, a lot more than she normally would.

Her search doesn't take long, her feet leading her to him in record time. She is only mildly surprised to find him passed out on a grand king sized bed with several empty bottles of booze. Only surprised in that he still has pants on and there is no sign of vomit on him.

For a second she almost decides to shove him off the bed or perhaps pull the sheets out from under him…but then she looks again and stops.

He is shining.

Not blinding like Shadow, who seemed to vanish under the furious glory and fire of a sun being born. This is altogether softer, his skin seems to shimmer and move. Soaking up the natural light of the setting sun peaking through the blinds. Making every inch of him glitter like gold.

She is touching him before she even realizes she has moved. Climbing into the bed carefully as she can, so not to wake him, she crawls forward on hands and knees. Until she is poised above him, staring down at his sleeping face.

The second her finger comes in contact with the skin of his cheek, she loses any grace to back out of this easily. Just one touch has her gasping, the same spark of lightning hits her again, just as strong as the last time. Maybe even harder because now she can chase it.

Laura's thumb strokes the surprisingly soft hair of his beard, followed by the rest of her fingers drifting down and giving into that long ignored urge of tracing his jaw line.

The longer she touches, the warmer she feels and it makes her nearly sick, the slow push of something white hot and slick being poured into her dry veins.

Like a balloon being filled to the brim, it hurts to feel the pressure building but the heat of it all only makes her ache for more.

Under her touch Sweeney sighs softly, still asleep but seeking her out until his head is resting against her palm and his whole body is radiating delicious warmth into her own.

An insane thought crosses her mind to curl herself around him, to just give in completely and hug him. Or kiss him, Sleeping Beauty style. And just like that, the slow push ache turns into a flood of actual desire. She would melt, wouldn't she?

But in a way that would feel amazing, a little voice inside her says.

The only thing stopping her is the fact she knows if she dares, and he wakes up, she will never hear the end of it. And then she might accidently-on-purpose murder him, and then what she will she do?

So she pulls back the touch, despite her bones screaming at her to not and not so gently shoves him -right off the bed.

“FUCK!”

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty. We have a road trip to start.”

>

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—He Died on Mallie’s Sixteenth Birthday—

Pairing: None

Pairing Type: N/A

Words: 2,494

Warnings: Implied Homophobia, Transphobia, and a Whole Host of Bullshit, Gender Dysphoria and Euphoria, Implied Alcoholism, Pretty Fluffy Ending, I Swear There’s Cute Stuff in Here

Mal died that day. 

It was supposed to be a day of celebration and happiness, but Mallory Trevelyan only felt empty. He fidgeted with a wine glass in his hand, pressed against the wall in the corner of the ballroom. The band was playing loudly, something upbeat and jubilant, and guests danced accordingly. But Mallory was still, save his awkward wiggling as his body rejected the fancy suit he wore. A dark navy blue and purple, a sash across his waist, and black leather boots. His hair was in a simple low ponytail, tied with a black ribbon.

He felt like he was at a funeral.

He watched the women twirl in their gowns, smiles on their faces as their partners led them around the dance floor. They looked so beautiful, so graceful, so happy. One young woman, a blonde with hair that ran all the way down her back, spun in circles as her partner grinned, her pink dress seeming to float up, teasingly showing off all the mass of tulle and lace beneath that made it bloom out like a flower.

"Come on, Lord Mal," someone said, making him jump. He turned to see a young girl, perhaps his age, smiling up at him. She wore a light yellow dress embroidered with orange and red roses along the bottom. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Her dark brown hair was tied up into a large bun, decorated with a crown of yellow spring flowers. "Why aren’t you dancing?"

"I’m, I’m a little tired," he said, forcing himself to laugh off the question. "And this drab garb is just ugh!"

The young lady laughed, hiding her smile with her hand. "It looks wonderful on you, don’t be silly!" She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, looking out at the dance floor. "Such a handsome man as yourself, you can really pull anything off."

He smiled nervously. "That’s awfully nice of you to say," he said, awkward. He took a sip of his wine in an attempt to wet his dry throat.

"Come, please, Lord Mal," she said, her voice low as she offered her hand. "The night’s quite young. Just one dance?"

"Uh," he faltered, "I think there’s plenty others who’d love to dance with you."

The girl’s brows furrowed, a frown setting in on her red lips. "Enjoy your wine, my Lord," she said, curtsying before walking away, obviously insulted. He sighed as he watched her make her way out to the far patio, feeling guilty. He felt like such a typical man, turning down a girl just because he wasn't feeling very up to dancing. The tall, dark stone walls of the castle hall were starting to feel horribly oppressive, and he made his way to the door, trying to avoid notice. He nearly ran head-on into an elven servant, who timidly asked him if he’d like a refill on his wine. He thanked her and made his way out the hall with a full glass. To think he was merely sixteen and already drinking like an aged veteran, he surely brought shame onto his family. Not that he particularly cared, of course.

The cool night air was a welcome relief. Music was slightly muffled as it came through the heavy oak doors behind him. A more somber melody came on—or at least it sounded somber to him. Low notes and heavy drumming rang out as he leaned over the balcony, glass in hand. He heard idle chatter come from down the way, but he paid it no mind. He took a rather uncouth swig from his wine.

His mind wandered back to the girl in the yellow dress.

Mal. Everyone always called him Mal. He hated the name. Mother had always introduced him as such—Mal, her dearest son. He’d taken enough lessons in Orlesian to know it meant nothing but wrong. He drained the rest of his wine.

I hate that stupid name. He glared at the wine glass in his hand, and, in a fit of childish anger, threw it over the side of the balcony. He heard it shatter after a moment on the rocky mountainside below. Why can’t I throw out this stupid name like that? He gripped at the stone railing, his lip curled at the thoughts running through his head. I hate this name! I hate it! A cold mountain breeze ran across the balcony, making him shiver. The nearly full moon above lit his skin like a ghost against the dark blue and purple of his suit. The music from inside grated on his ears.

He was sixteen. He was supposed to be sneaking off with pretty girls and kissing them in dark corners of the castle, getting drunk with other teenage boys and catcalling the pretty guests and elven servants that walked by. He wasn’t supposed to be out here, alone on a balcony wishing he were that beautiful blonde woman inside, twirling about in her lovely pink dress. His face went as white as a sheet as he registered what he had just thought.

Mother would kill me if she knew what I was thinking! His breathing picked up, and he keeled over the railing like he was seasick. His mind kept going back to that woman. Her pink dress. The handsome man spinning her around, and around, and around. Why am I stuck in this awful suit while she gets to wear that? He gazed out at the mountains, their white tops hardly white anymore as winter faded away. His thoughts were becoming more and more girly as he grew older. Thoughts of dressing as the noblewomen did kept crossing his mind with disturbing frequency. He took a hand from the stone railing and undid his hair, letting it fall loose around his face. Slightly better. He looked back and forth down the darkened patio, making sure he could sneak away unnoticed.

He only bumped into three servants on his way to his room, apologizing profusely each time. As he neared the final turn to his chambers, he noticed that the door to mother’s room was ajar. A stupid thought crossed his mind, and, like a fool, he followed where it led.

Mother’s closet was massive—a whole separate room full of beautiful dresses. Frilly and lacy and flowing and just beautiful. It smelled like old perfume and dust. Like what he imagined the Maker’s side to smell like. Heaven. He ran back into her bedchamber and grabbed a candle from the nightstand, lighting it and walking back into the closet.

Just one, he told himself. Just touch it. Just think about it. Don’t do anything stupid. His eyes landed on one near the back, far past the invisible line that separated mother’s beloved dresses from the forgotten treasures. It was baby pink, with frills around the waist and beautiful white lace along the low neckline. Its skirt was full of white lace and tulle and silk, making it puff up like an Orlesian pastry. Oh, Maker, please, do something stupid!

Mallory sprinted back to his chambers, dress in hand. He locked his door and shut his curtains, leaving only the single candle to see by. Faint, slow music drifted up from the grand hall. He held the pink dress in his hands, almost drooling over its beauty.

Mother will kill me if she finds out. She’d kill her only heir without a second thought if she saw him with this. His breathing picked up. Only if she finds out. He braced himself, hands gripping the fabric tightly. “Only if she finds out...” He repeated to himself. He set it down gingerly on the bed and tore off the awful navy and purple suit. Clad in only his linens, he held up the dress and tried to figure out how to get himself into it. He was nearly six feet tall already, and not exactly slim.

First, the slip. Then, the mass of tulle fabric that went underneath. He sucked in his stomach as he pulled on the corset that was thankfully put away with the dress. It hurt, but he’d always heard women say that to be beautiful was to suffer. He managed to work his way into the dress after what felt like ages, and readjusted the muscle and slight fat on his chest to create a faux bosom. He grabbed his brush without looking in the mirror, making sure his hair wasn’t a knotted mess. He tossed the brush onto his bed and took a deep breath.

“You can do this, Mallory,” he told himself, eyes closed as he made his way to the three angled mirrors in the corner of his bedroom. “Just take a peek, see how foolish you look. Put this stupid fascination behind you.” He slowly opened his eyes and looked at his reflection, preparing for the worst.

A woman stood in the mirrors, looking back at him shyly. She seemed taken aback, anxious to meet him. He was a Trevelyan, after all. She reached her hand out as Mallory did, and when they touched, all he felt was cold glass.

I’m... her... He looked at the reflection with wide eyes. He wondered how he’d look with makeup on, his hair braided, all dolled up like a princess. She’s... she’s...

"Beautiful!" His voice was breathy and airy, like a young woman meeting a beautiful queen. "I’m, I’m so... pretty!" Tears spilled forth from his bright blue eyes, rolling down freckled cheeks. His hand dragged down the mirror as he fell to his knees. "No, no, this isn’t me," he said, voice shaking. "I’m not pretty," he spat at the reflection. Tears flowed faster. The sound of a happy waltz from the hall below hardly registered in his ears. "I’m just a stupid boy playing in his mother’s clothes." His other hand reached out to touch the mirror, the reflection reaching out to him in return. The soft orange glow of the candlelight made his tears shimmer. "I could never be pretty if I’m so ugly inside..." Mother’s words haunted him. She always spoke of his flaws, his inability to be a proper young man an ugliness that would soon taint him like a Blight’s plague. "Mallory isn’t pretty," he sighed, shaking his head.

She’s not Mallory. He shook away the thought. Of course she was. It was just him in a dress. The girl in the mirror wasn’t a girl at all. No. She doesn’t have to be Mallory. The mirror was now warm where his hand pressed against it.

"Not Mallory, huh?" He asked the reflection. The reflection seemed to contemplate the same question in return. "Not Mallory..." His face scrunched up as he thought. "Just... Mallie." He paused as the reflection seemed to speak instead of him. "Mallie." The name was so similar on his tongue, and yet so different.

Mallie was the name of a tempting young woman, who hid a smile behind a fan as she flirted with a ruggedly handsome man. Mallie was the name of a social butterfly, dancing and laughing as she fluttered about a hall that overflowed with wine and music, her pink dress and long blonde hair and bold makeup catching everyone’s eyes in the best way possible.

Mallie wasn’t Mal.

Mal was the name of young man struck by nothing but bad luck and anxiety, forced into suits he didn’t want to wear as a mother’s hand held his arm far too tight. Mal was the name of a man who hated nothing more than himself, despising how all he ever seemed to be was a failure of a nobleman.

Mallory liked Mallie. He liked her so much more than Mal. He looked over at his right hand, and remembered the wine glass that now sat shattered on the mountain rocks. Mal could be that wine glass—broken and useless, discarded. Except Mal was never beautiful, never held anything that brought anyone joy. Mallie was this pink dress, stolen from mother and made his own. The reflection smiled, and the pain in his jaw told him the smile was his own. He never smiled so wide. He stood, and looked in the reflection. Then he gave the dress an experimental twirl. It blossomed out, just like that woman’s. He spun again, imagining that it was a beautiful man that spun him, a grin beneath his beard as he gazed at the princess in his hands. The music from the hall floated up through the walls, and he found himself truly dancing for the first time in years. He nearly tripped over the massive amount of tulle several times, but he didn’t care. He’d practice and practice, and one day, he’d be more ladylike and graceful than any noblewoman ever born.

He collapsed on his bed as the music ebbed away, his chest rising and falling ever so rapidly, sweat rolling down the side of his face. The dress was tight and hot, constricting his breathing and making his back ache. He’d never been happier. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the flickering orange light of the candle make the shadows waltz along the woodwork.

Eventually, he decided it was time to take off the dress, and he did so with a heavy, yet full, heart. He carefully packed it away in the furthest corner of his closet, carefully stored where he could find it, but where nobody would accidentally stumble upon it. He kissed it and closed the lid of the once empty trunk.

As he walked back to bed, he noticed himself in the mirror. His reflection showed a muscular—though slightly chubby—man, with pudge on his stomach and a fairly pronounced rear end. He smiled almost shyly at the reflection, holding back a girlish giggle as he noticed the lines from the corset on his stomach and sides. Holding the candle carefully with one hand, he grabbed a pectoral with the other, moving it to see how big he could make his Mallie’s breasts. He chuckled to himself as he thought about using wool socks to stuff some undergarments with. His eyes wandered downward, and he sighed at the rather large thing between his legs. He rolled his eyes at the thought of it getting any bigger as he got older. A fluffy skirt could easily hide it, so he wasn’t all too worried about it. Perhaps he could learn to tuck it away, too, if Mallie ended up liking trousers in addition to skirts. He shook his head, blond hair swaying as he smiled to himself. He crawled into bed, leaving the mirrors behind, and blew out the candle.

In the dark, he was just Mallory, someone just now realizing what it meant to be himself. Even if being himself meant being herself sometimes. He smiled as a final conscious thought went through his head.

Mal’s gone, isn’t he? He died on Mallie’s sixteenth birthday.

[john-cardoza]

A Wedding Day

Winnie gets advice from her mothers on her wedding day.

This is focused on Winnie and all the mother figures in her life, but there is some Winnie/Hugo at the end.

Winnie stared at the dress hanging by the closet. It felt like it was mocking her, all white and frilly, her mom had picked it out and she hated it.

How did she even get here? She was about to get married to the sweetest boy, and she was totally in love. But part of her wondered how different her life could have been. She could be marrying Jesse right now. Instead she was marrying Hugo, and while she still thought it was one of the best decisions she had ever made, she was a little sad. She was 21 and she had never left Tree Gap. The farthest she had gone was the fair, which didn't really count.

"No time like the present" Winnie reasoned. She ignored the dress and instead walked to the window. She tried to open it, but froze midway when she heard footsteps.

"Winnie dear, can I come in?" Her grandmother asked.

Winnie stopped trying to open the window and sat back on the bed "Yes nanna"

Nanna walked in with a smile on her face and sat next to Winnie on the bed, she was getting older and it was one of the reasons they were having the wedding so early "That dress is hideous"

Winnie let out a small smile "I agree"

"Betsy was always good at many things but clothing was not one of them" Nanna said a little louder than necessary.

"I've noticed" Winnie still hadn't forgotten the two years where she could only wear black, even during the summer.

"Are you sure about this?" Nanna asked. She looked Winnie in the eye "I don't want you to make the wrong choice just so I can see your wedding"

"I do love him" Winnie promised. She didn't think marrying Hugo was the problem "I just feel like I haven't seen anything, I've never even left Tree Gap"

Nanna started laughing "Neither have I. But I've still seen things"

"Yeah, trees" Winnie looked out her window where all that was visible was the forest.

"No. Better than that" Nanna stood up and stretched before opening the window the rest of the way and looking out. "I've seen you and your mother grow up, I've seen you go missing" Nanna gave her a meaningful look and Winnie was again struck with the feeling that Nanna knew more about the woods than she let on. "I've seen the town grow, I've seen people die. You don't have to leave to see amazing things, you just have to look for them"

"Thanks Nanna" Even though she was old, Nanna still gave great advice.

"Think about it" Nanna patted her shoulder "I'd rather see you happy then see a wedding ceremony"

Nanna left with one more glance at the open window. Winnie was considering climbing out of it when her mother appeared "Winnie why aren't you dressed?" The words were clipped and impatient, like Winnie was just one more thing to check off a list.

"I was just getting dressed now" Winnie took the hideous dress off the hanger and put it on, flinching when the puffy lace scratched at her arms.

"You did it wrong" Her mother sighed. After what felt like hours, Winnie had the dress on correctly and was even more uncomfortable.

"I hate this dress" Winnie complained pointlessly.

Her mother gave her an annoyed look "The wedding is starting in three hours be ready"

Winnie really wanted to roll her eyes. Thank you for telling me, it's not like I helped plan the wedding or anything. "Yes mother"

Her mother's eyes softened "You look beautiful. I'm very proud of you Winnie"

"Thank you" Winnie smiled and let her mother hug her. "It means a lot"

The second her mother left Winnie maneuvered out the window with her huge dress, there was one more person she wanted to see.

∞∞∞

She knocked lightly on the old wooden door "Hello"

"Who is it?" Mae Tuck opened the door a crack. Winnie waved at her a little and the door swung the rest of the way open "Winnie!" Mae pulled her into a tight hug "It's so nice to see you"

"May I come in?" Winnie asked once Mae stopped hugging her.

"Of course. The boys won't be here until later, they're busy..." Mae trailed off when she got a good look at Winnie "Why is that a wedding dress?"

"Yeah" Winnie was torn between hate for the dress and how excited she was. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about"

"Of course sit down" Mae pulled out a chair at the table and sat across from her "Are you hungry"

"Not thanks" Winnie thought about exactly what she wanted to ask "I want to see the world and go on adventures, but I don't think I can do that" Winnie blurted out.

"Why not?" Mae asked.

"I'm getting married." Winnie shrugged "So now I'm going to be stuck in Tree Gap forever"

"Why can't you travel once you get married?" Mae asked. She usually felt like her adventure started after she married Angus.

"Because I'll have a family" Winnie said like it was the most natural thing

"Why can't they go with you?" Mae wondered.

Winnie froze. She hadn't thought of that "Oh"

"Think about it" Mae said before changing the subject "Who's the boy?"

"Hugo Jackson" Winnie loved saying it out loud.

"Winnie Foster-Jackson" Mae smiled warmly. "I like it"

"I do too" Winnie fiddled with the uncomfortable dress.

"Do you need a change of clothes?" Mae smiled, reminiscing in the memory of the first time Winnie came over.

As much as she wanted to say yes.. "My mother would kill me if I showed up at the wedding in fair clothes"

"Those wouldn't fit you anyway" Mae smiled knowingly and stood up from the table. "Follow me"

Mae lead her through the house and into the attic where she dug through the closet until she pulled out a mound of white. Winnie's jaw dropped "Wow"

"I think its it's about your size" Mae hung the dress on the door "Do you need help?"

Winnie took on look at her dress and groaned "Yes" She was 21, she should not need help taking off a dress. "I hate this"

After a small struggle Winnie was wearing the new dress. Even without looking at it, she loved it. It was way more comfortable. Mae smiled proudly "You look like you"

Winnie looked down and couldn't hold back a small gasp "It's beautiful" The dress was almost exactly the same style as the last other one, but more simple, rather than scratchy lace it had small flowers and the most complicated part was the hem on the bottom where the stitching looked a little like trees. "Thank you" Winnie launched forward to hug Mae.

"It's no problem" Mae's voice was a little choked up and she gently stroked Winnie's hair. Mae took a deep breath before pulling away "Go get married"

∞∞∞

Winnie walked slowly down the aisle clutching her flowers like a lifeline (They were daisies that Winnie had picked in a field) Luckily her mother wasn't wearing her glasses so she hadn't noticed Winnie's new dress. "You may all be seated"

Winnie finally got to the altar and she smiled at Hugo. Despite the nerves he gave her a smile back and reached out to take her hand. Mr. Smith was officiating the ceremony, but Winnie blocked his voice out and instead focused on Hugo. His hands were shaking a little bit and his hair looked messy like he ran a hand through it. She loved her voice into a whisper "I love you"

Hugo's hands stopped shaking abruptly and he let out a real smile "I love you too"

Winnie jumped a little when movement behind a tree caught her eye. After watching the tree for a while, but when she saw nothing she put it down to nerves. As Mr. Smith finished his speech Winnie remembered all the advice she got. It’s not the end, it's a new beginning.

[thej13579]

The Girlish Rise of Madame Margaret

After getting picked on by her brothers one too many times, Margie decides to turn them into girls and, in the process, paves the way for the rise of Madame Margaret.

Here's something from a show that I liked growing up as a kid and I'm anyone who both likes gender bending and this show would probably remember the episode Operation F.U.T.U.R.E where the inspiration for this came from.

If you have any constructive criticism and feedback, please comment down below.

---

Once upon a time there was a girl named Margie. She was a girl who loved being girly and doing all the stuff that entailed; playing with Rainbow Monkeys, tea parties, dress up and lots of other girly stuff that most girls her age are prone to do.

But she had three brothers who were not so keen on her feminine side, nor keen on girls in general. Ben, Penn, and Andy all loved to pick on their sister. They liked to pull her hair, throw mud on her lovely dresses and all the things immature little boys love to do to their sisters. Margie hated it, but whenever she tells it her father shrugs it off as “boys being boys”.

At least until one day where Margie had an idea. An awfully evil idea. A way to make her brothers into good little girls; the kind who would rather spend their time playing with dolls and wearing pretty dresses than even entertaining the thought of playing sports.

Through a surprising amount of mechanical talent, an understanding of mental changes and tons of hard work, Margie invented the Girlifying Rifle. It was a beautiful device to her. A weapon of pure femininity. A weapon that can turn even the crudest and rudest of boys into the sweetest and girliest little girls.

Of course, Margie knew she needed to actually test the device first. She did not want the device’s effect to be temporary or be the exact opposite of what she intended. In order to do that, she needed a test subject. Luckily for her, her little brother, Ben, was more than capable of filling the role.

He was lazy and slept often. It wasn’t hard for Margie to tie him to a chair without waking him up. She was glad she got those rope tying skills from Girl Scouts. Now all she has to do is to wake Ben up and she can begin the testing.

---

“Ben. Wakey wakey.”

The brother opened his eyes. He looked down to find his arms tightly tied behind a chair. He struggled, but his bonds wouldn't budge.

“Margie! Let me go!”

“I don’t think so,” Margie giggled evilly. “In fact, I think I’ll keep you here until I’m done with you.”

“What are you going to do? Make me wear one of your stupid dresses?”

“You’re close, but no dice. I should show you what I have in store for you.”

Margie gleefully pulled out the Girlifying Rifle, allowing Ben to stare in confusion at the pink weapon before him.

“What is that thing?”

“This,” Margie tapped the weapon in her hand. “Is the Girlifiying Rifle. Guess what it does?”

“Wait…” It didn’t take long for Ben to put two and two together. “You don’t mean it will-”

“Yes, Ben,” Margie giggled. “This will make you into a good little girl. A girl who would gladly choose to play with her Rainbow Monkeys over playing that stupid baseball sport.”

“Nooooo!”

“Oh, yes!” Margie pointed the feminizing rifle at her brother. The thought of finally turning the tables on her brothers made her giggle inwardly. “Goodbye, Ben. Hello, Brenda!”

With a press of the trigger, Margie fired the Girlifying Rifle. The bright pink ray from the feminizing weapon hit Ben, engulfing him in a bright light.

When the light disappeared, Margie couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of her handiwork. Ben’s dirty shirt and pants were completely gone and in its place was a much cuter outfit: black Mary Janes, soft white tights, a full blue dress with a frilly pinafore and a white sun hat to complete the ensemble. It was an outfit that any little girly girl would love to wear.

Unfortunately, there was one major problem with the transformation.

“Hey! Get me out of this stupid dress! Where are my pants?”

While his outfit was changed, Ben was the same rude boy who helped his brothers pick on Margie.

Margie turned to her Girlifying Rifle. How could she have girlified Ben’s outfit, but not the boy himself? She must’ve forgotten to adjust the settings for biological matter.

“Hey, Margie! I can’t be seen like this! My friends will laugh at me!”

Ben’s protests were ignored as Margie modified the Girlifying Rifle. A mix up on the wires caused the feminizing weapon to ignore the biological components on its target. But it wasn’t anything that Margie couldn’t fix.

“Let’s try this again.”

Margie blasted Ben with the Girlifiying Rifle again. This time the feminization affected his body as well, instantly turning him into a girl. His features were softer, his hair grew past his shoulders, his muscles dwindled, his voice raised to a high, girlish pitch. By the time the pink flowery light faded away, his body looked every bit the sweet little girl Margie wanted him to be.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! What have you done to me!”

Margie’s eyes widened in shock. A second time that the Girlifying Rifle didn’t work the way she intended. Ben looked and dressed like Brenda but he was still the same bratty brother in mentality.

“Did the Mental Girlifier not register during the process? I had to check and see.”

“You stupid girl! Change me back now!”

Margie tried to ignore her now boyish sister as she worked on the Girlifying Rifle. After some brief examination, she found out that the Mental Girlifier was not connected to the rest of the machine. She wondered how she could’ve missed something so obvious during the building stage. At least she found such a fatal flaw during testing and not on a battlefield of some kind.

“Get me back to normal now now now now!”

Margie turned back to Ben with a dark glare. She can feel his whining getting on her last nerve.

“Listen to me you-”

“No, you listen!” Margie yelled. “I’m tired of boys like you always picking on me and bossing me around! From now on, you and your brothers will all be sweet little girls! Now then…”

Margie gleefully pointed the girlish weapon at her brother and fired it upon him a third time. This time, Ben could feel the ray’s powers flowing through his brain. His mind was being drowned in girlish thoughts.

“I feel… I f-feel…”

It was then a tidal wave of femininity came crashing down on his mind. Every masculine barrier was torn down, every single shred of his former self was smothered by the girlish thoughts plaguing his mind. She was now every bit the sweet little sister Margie wanted her to be, both on the inside and the outside.

“I feel so pretty!”

“Excellent,” Margie laughed as she untied her new sister. “What do you think of your new look, Brenda?”

“I love it. So much better than when I was an icky boy.”

Margie couldn’t stop giggling. Aside from a few mishaps, the Girlifying Rifle worked perfectly. The mental feminization could have gone a bit faster, but it was nothing that she couldn’t fix later.

“Perhaps we can make our brothers into sisters?” Margie suggested.

“That sounds wonderful,” Brenda squealed.

“I know,” Margie said. “That’s why I did it to you. When they get home, they’ll be in for quite a surprise.”

“Can we play tea party afterwards?”

“Definitely.”

---

“More tea, Penelope?”

“I would love that, Brenda,” Penelope giggled. She smoothed the skirt of her red polka-dotted dress as she pantomimed drinking tea. Pearls adorned her neck as her puffy sleeves ruffled during the event. Her feet were clad in frilly anklets and red Mary Janes. “Would you like some crumpets, Ariana?”

“Definitely,” Ariana gave off an image of pure innocence as she pretended to eat crumpets. Her full white dress was longer, reaching all the way to her feet. Made of soft silk, it held beautiful flower embroidery and a high, lacy collar that climbed up her neck. The sleeves were puffy as was an adorned sash, its prominent larger bow decorated his collective display

of lace and little pearls. White Mary Janes adorned her little feet, complemented by matching tights. Dainty ears offered a clear view of her flower shaped earrings with little pearls at the center.

Margie looked at her new sisters with pride. Less than a few hours ago, they were boys who wouldn’t hesitate to push her into a mud puddle if they could get some enjoyment from ruining her clothes. Now, the very thought would never even cross their minds. In fact...

“Hey girls! Aren’t you supposed to go to some soccer event this afternoon?”

The trio turned to Margie with disgusted looks on their faces.

“No, sports are gross.”

“I can’t let the dirt ruin my pretty dress.”

“You can’t let us hang out with boys! They have cooties!”

Margie grinned evilly. Not only had she had the minds of her three brothers completely feminized, she also had them completely disgusted at the thought of resuming their old habits and hobbies.

“I’m just joking, girls. How about the three of you play dress-up?”

“We would love to!” Brenda, Penelope and Ariana squealed in unison.

“Great. Just need to make sure your clothes are ready. I’ll be right back.”

Margie approached her brothers’ room with the Girlifying Rifle in tow. She wasted no time blasting everything in the room with the weapon: shirts and pants became skirts and dresses, action figures became Rainbow Monkeys and various other forms of dolls and stuffed animals, posters of action heroes and monsters became posters of ballerinas and princesses. Not a single trace of masculinity was spared from Margie’s wrath.

The last target was a trunk full of costumes whenever her brothers wanted to pretend to be superheroes. Ratman or something. A simple use of the Girlfiying Rifle turned those costumes into costumes more suited for little girls. Costumes of princess and fairies and many other girly figures filled the trunk.

“There. Perfect.”

As she was about to leave her new sisters’ room, Margie heard a voice.

“Well done, Margie.”

The girl turned at the sound of the voice. It was a hologram of an old woman not much taller than her. She was wearing a dark red dress and a pink cape that went up in a way that reminded her of those villains from those comic books her brothers read. But there was something about that old woman that looked familiar. Something that she can’t quite put her finger on.

“W-who are you?”

“I’m Madame Margaret,” the hologram answered. “Or if you want me to go into a little more detail, I’m you.”

“You’re me?”

“Yes. I am contacting you from seventy-five years in the future because I want to help you create a boy-free world.

“That does sound appealing.”

“It is,” Madame Margaret said. “After all, compare your old brothers to your new sisters and I doubt there’s any contest on who is better. Let me help you, and together, we can create a better world.”

Margie knew the right answer was obvious. The prospect was too tempting for her to refuse such an idea.

“I’m in.”

“Wonderful.”

It was then a piece of paper manifested into the room. Margie picked it up and began reading over it.

“That’s only phase one of the master plan,” Madame Margaret said. “Now before we proceed further, your father will be home any minute now. You know what to do.”

The hologram faded, leaving only the projector. A quick analysis indicated that Margie can contact her future self anytime she wants. More or less. Margie could feel the complicated nature of time travel giving her a headache. She can worry about it later.

“In the meantime,” Margie picked up the Girlifying Rifle. “Goodbye Daddy, hello Mommy.”

---

“Let’s see. How can I fix this?”

Margie continued to modify the Girlifying Rifle. She knew that, while the girlifying effect on the target can go pretty fast, she was slightly concerned about it not being instantaneous.

“Maybe if I speed up the time function? No, no. I should probably amplify the girliness factor. That should make the transformation instantaneous.”

“Hello, Margie, I brought you lunch.”

Margie’s new mother minced into the room. Her father was the first time she tested the ray on an adult and the results were glamorous. She looked like a housewife straight out of the 1950s with her red full-skirted dress: her hair was immaculately coiffed and her face was tastefully made up. Her feet were in three-inch red high heels and her delicately manicured hands carried a tray of cookies and cupcakes.

“Thanks, Mom. It’s time for my lunch break”

Margie took the tray and gave her mom a kiss on the cheek. As she ate the cookies, her feminized parent’s eyes glazed over the paper placed right by the Girlifying Rifle.”

“What’s this?”

“Just something my future self gave me.” Margie took a bit out of her cupcake. “It’s blueprints for an academy designed to help me get rid of those pesky boys.”

“That sounds delightful! Sounds like the recipe for a perfect world. What’s it called?”

“St. Rita's Preparatory School and it’s only the beginning. Soon, we’ll have a boy-free world and I’ll rule over it.”

“I agree with that, Margie. Our family was an awful mess before you turned us all into girls. This world would be so much nicer when you're done with it.”

“Please, Mom, call me… Madame Margaret.”

[hopingforjoyfuldays]

Jimin as you bf!!

hello friends ヽ(〃･ω･)ﾉ !!!! not requested im just bored …….

edit: for some reason this post just won’t show up in the tag :( so thank you for reading and tumblr, eat a dick.

this sweet boy….where do i start

he LOVES you

like damn boy chill

you probably met at the company

you were a intern there for only a week

and chim saw you walking around with your messy bun and tired eyes

and he was STRUCK

he was so shy around you

like how do i talk to this goddess wtf

BUT he gathered up the courage and said hi

and you were STRUCK

you exchanged numbers and quickly you became close

very close •̀.̫•́✧

lol jk

you talked daily and at some point you decided to meet up

친구를 만나느라 shy shy shy

you get a bit of ice cream on your nose and jimin wipes it off

and he gets all red n shit

and youre like ?????????

“i cant help it, youre so pretty”

lets just say that the rest of the day was v enjoyable (●˙꒳˙●)

after it’s official, he tends to get kinda protective

it’s cute at first but it can get annoying

he doesnt want the other members to fall for you so he doesnt let you around them

but you start to complain since you want to meet his friends so eventually he lets you

“wow guys look how pretty she is!!”

“dont look for too long tho” ꉂ `o´ )

buys you stuff

like a lot of stuff

expect rilakkuma plushies and flowers at your bed

and you always feel so bad bc you cant buy him as much

“i dont need anything else, i already have you”(´,,•ω•,,)♡

barf

HATES skinship outside but LOVES it when you two are alone

outside:he does hold your hand

and maybe a small peck when no one is looking

inside: he likes it when you sit on his lap

and will kiss you without holding back chim u dirty boy

you rarely fight

usually about his health

bc youre v worried about his dieting habits

he always defends himself even if he’s completely wrong

even if you cry he wont care bc he gets really mad

after a few hours of calming down he realizes what he did

and he will try so hard to make it right

buys you food and watches that dumb movie with you

never goes to bed angry

it’s usually forgotten in a day

if youre smaller than him, he’ll tease you to the end of time

he will stop tho if he sees that you dont like it

if youre taller he would just hope that you dont tease him

“oh pls mighty jagi leave i, your humble servant, alone”

but you tease him anyway lol

teaches you how to dance

and if youre not interested he just wants you to watch him

you two do cute couple shit ALL THE TIME

cooking together: ✓

going to the zoo and imitating the animals: ✓

sharing a drink: ✓

couple clothing: ✓

and everyone around you thinks it’s gross

bc theyre jealous

OK YALL NFSW COMING UP

HE IS SUCH A SUB I WILL FIGHT YOU ON THIS

whines

probably v intimate

he really wants you to feel beautiful

l o u d

likes it if you cling on to him

he likes frilly lingerie

like this one http://www.thewildflowershop.com/intimates/3770-serena-frilly-lace-lingerie-set.html

or this one https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aYKmHJsRq48

(˵¯̴͒ꇴ¯̴͒˵)

he will 100% cuddle you afterwards

the next morning he’d just look at you with that smile

and youre like boyy if you dont stop youre gonna catch these hands

but you still love him

and he loves you too

even if youre kinda weird and want to fight everyone

[hoesplatinumedition-blog]

Ryth;an’s Chamber2

Electric Boogaloo

Tags: Containment, Stripping(nonsexual), mechanical arms, corsets,  Nasty La]na

“Rythiaaaan …”

Rythian stirred, finding himself once again laying on the cold floor.

“Welcome back, Rythian!”

The harsh yellow light on above him. He was back in the cell. He groaned. 

“Hey, Rythian.” Lalna cooed through a hidden speaker in the ceiling, “You gave me quite a start when I found your cell empty. Well, actually you didn’t because I knew you couldn’t get out. The glass was a test. I wanted to see what you would do and if you would fall for my trick. You were simply marvelous dancing!”

Rythian glared at the ceiling.

“But I don’t need to worry about you wandering off again, so your cell has been upgraded to iron bars now.”

Rythian looked at the bars. The gaps were wide enough to where he could fit his arm through but too narrow for his body to squeeze through. “I also made your cell a bit smaller, just to punish you a bit. It’s much more convenient for keeping you where I want you to be at all times." 

Rythian snorted.

Lalna chuckled, "Still so against this?”

Rythian refused to answer.

“Don’t worry Ryth, I’ll keep you plenty entertained. You see Rythian,” Lalna said, his words gaining an eager lilt, “You’re now my pet.”

“Like hell!” Rythian snarled at him.

“Anyways!” Lalna exclaimed over him, “What do you want to do today? Shall we go  … Crocodile Riding?”

Rythian’s eye widened and behind him he heard a garage door creak open. He spun around as light filed the chamber. A new space had opened up. He pressed up against the bars to see the horrible monstrosity Lalna had planned for him. The was filled with …

Several adorable stuffed animal crocodiles with little saddles on their backs. There was also a pool decked out to look like a swamp and filled with several bright green, motorized, inflatable crocodiles.

Rythian sighed, shaking his head. 

“What, don’t like that one?” Lalna asked, “Oh! I have a better idea Shall we … Destroy the world?!”

Another garage door rumbled open, revealing a large paper mache globe that was on fire.

“Oh wait, you’re sensitive to that kind of thing, whoops haha, I’ll just uh …” There was the sound of frantic typing and the garage door slowly shuttered shut.

“Heh uhm,” Lalna stuttered nervously, “I thought I deleted that one.” Lalna went quiet while Rythian stood not saying anything. He refused to give Lalna any kind of a reaction. He would not give Lalna what he wanted. “Oh I have a great Idea!” Lalna exclaimed, vigor renewed. “Today! you are going to become a …

Rythian remained stoic. He was a rock. He was unmovable. He was a-

"A PRETTY LITTLE PRINCESS!”

“I’m sorry!?” Rythian sputtered in shock, “A what?!”

“A pretty little princess!” Lalna repeated gleefully, “You are going to look great!” “So the first step to being a princess is, uh, oh! You’ll need a dress!”

“NO!” Rythian exclaimed, but it was too late. The ceiling was opening up and a small army of mechanical arms descended down, reaching for him. Rythian yelped in terror and scrambled around the cell, dodging the arms as best he could. The arms quickly grabbed hold of his cuffs and lifted him into the air. Rythian snarled, struggled, and swore at the arms before eventually going limp.

“Now was that so hard?”

“Fuck off.” Rythian spat.

Move arms came down and Rythian tensed as they eased off his tank top and his pants. However when they came for his mask, Rythian began struggling again. 

“Rythian, it’s gonna come off whether you want to or not.” Lalna said, the teasing shockingly absent from his voice.

Rythian continued to struggle.

“You can have it back at the end of the day, I promise.” He sounded genuine.

Rythian paused, then fell still. The arms removed his mask and retracted into the ceiling with his clothes. He hid his face in his shoulder, not wanting to hear Lalna’s stupid remarks about his scars. He heard something lower from the ceiling and glanced up. It was a fucking pink frilly dress. 

“I’m not putting that on.” He growled.

“I know you won’t. Lalna cooed.

The arms returned, threading themselves up through the sleeves of the dress and down through the bottom. They reached up for Rythian’s arm and exchanged hold him with the ones that were holding him up. More arms came and pulled the dress over Rythian. 

Rythian glared down at himself. The skirt was a lighter pink than the body of the dress and the sleeves had those stupid puffs on the shoulders. There was also a bright blue gem at the base of his neck. He hated it.

Suddenly, he felt the dress cinch tightly around his waist. He cried out in shock. "Sorry Ryth, just gotta tight the corset.”

“THE WHA-” He was cut off as  it cinched again. He puffed and swore. Rythian was as lean as a skeleton, yet the dress kept on getting tighter and tighter. Finally the arms stopped. 

“Damnit Lalna! Take this off, or at least loosen it.” “No can do Rythian. That’s the only thing keeping you from taking it off. ” Lalna said. Rythian could hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Hmmm, you need one more thing, a crown.”

Rythian sighed. Two arms came down, carrying a crown in between them. It was golden and had a gem that mated the one on his dress.

“I dub thee, Princess Rythian!”

“I thought dubbing was for knights.” Rythian said snarky.

“Shutup.” Lalna replied playfully.

The crown was placed on his head and cinched tight around it. “Yeouch!”

Sorry,“ said Lalna, "That’s also to keep you from taking it off.” The arms finally placed him back on the ground.

Rythian immediately reach around to try and undo the laces of the corset, but the knot was too tight and too complicated for him to undo. He then tried to remove his crown. It would not come off. He pulled at his dress, but the fabric was to strong to be ripped despite being very light and airy. He gave up and sighed.

“Ok Rythian, now that you look like a princess,” said Lalna, pointed ignoring Rythian’s actions, “You have to dance like a princess.”

“NO! No more dancing. I put on your stupid dress, I put on your stupid crown, but I will not dance!”

“But Rythian,” Lalna whined, “You only did those things because I made you do them, and besides, you only did one dance session.”

“One too many.” Rythian retorted.

“Ugh, fine. You can do it later.”

“No.”

“Yes. Now let’s move on shall we. So since we’re skipping such a vitally important step, we’ll go on and give you something even more important, a castle.”

“A castle?” Rythian repeated, trying to hide his curiosity.

“A castle.” Lalna confirmed, “Look!”

Another garage door cranked open. Light washed into the chamber. Rythian squinted against the light to see a  … little kids play castle.

“Oh,” Rythian said in disappointment. 

Some of the iron bars sunk into the ground, creating a exit. Rythian walked out to investigate. The castle was white with pink trim and had little turrets on each corner. There were a few dying bushes scattered around for decoration. The castle was very, very small.  Rythian had to duck his head when he walked through the doorway. and the ceiling was barely tall enough to fit him. “Go sit on the throne, Rythian,” Lalna urged.

Rythian complied and sat on a sloppily painted wooden throne.

“What do you think?” Lalna asked eagerly.

Rythian looked around at the poorly constructed castle.

“It’s shit.” he said bluntly.

Lalna was silent and Rythian began to wonder if he should have lied, when Lalna said, “Yeah, you’re right. This is the rough draft. You want to see the final product?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Fantastic! This one is way better: lots of fields and forests, huge gardens, a village I’m planning on populating (don’t worry Ryth, they’ll be robots not real people; don’t look so jealous, I’m only keeping you!), and a grand castle! Go look!”

The last garage door opened and Rythian got up to go see. He hurried over to the door and gaped in shock. In front of him, there was a vast green meadow, peppered with wild flowers. Forests and mountains lined the world, giving it the appearance of a fairy tale valley. In the distance a grand white castle with pink trim surrounded by emerald gardens sat on a hill above a small village. Rythian was speechless.

“I knew you’d like it! Go on and explore, It’s yours Rythian.”

“Fuck me,” Rythian murmured as he stepped out into the meadow, unsure of what awaited him.

————————————————Author’s Note—————-

Let me know if you see any errors!  💋

I decided to stop early because it’s well past my bedtime.✨🌙✨

[russellthornton]

Feminazi Alert: 50 Signs You’re a Radical Feminist & Don’t Know It

Feminism freed women and gave them options they never had before. A feminazi seeks to take away women’s freedom to be women.

Okay, I am going to say something that may offend a great number of women and possibly an entire political movement in one fell swoop. Whenever you combine the word “Nazi” with any other word, it is meant to be offensive though. So, remember, don’t shoot the messenger. A feminazi is not a feminist.

The difference is a feminist is someone who believes a woman should have the same rights and privileges as a man in society. That, I agree with.

A feminazi has a view of the world that I don’t agree with. She is angry and upset about almost all things gender, believes women and men are completely and utterly equal in all ways, and gives no allowance for the fact that men and women are created differently.

50 signs you might be a feminazi

Born out of the feminist movement, feminazis take it several steps too far, are uncomfortable to be around, and, well, sometimes make you question their idea of gender roles altogether. Not allowing anyone to have their own opinion, they constantly try to tell the women around them that if they don’t subscribe to their military-like view of gender annihilation, then they simply don’t get it.

If you have a tendency to become a little too incensed about freeing the nipple, growing armpit hair, or don’t like a guy opening the door for you, that is on you. Not all of us have to feel that way, however. So, for the rest of our sakes, maybe you can just take it down a notch?

#1 You think that a bra is “the man’s” way of keeping you chained down. Bras are way too confining for your girls. [Read: The alpha female: 15 alpha qualities you need to unleash it!]

#2 You think cooking dinner is offensive since it is traditionally “woman’s work.” It isn’t that you can’t, you just don’t want to be held down.

#3 You haven’t been touched by a razor. Legs and armpits are made with hair for a reason.

#4 You think that girls have no obligation to smell good. No one is going to tell you how you can smell.

#5 Curves are something that your clothes should hide, not accentuate. Clothes aren’t for showing off your assets, they are utilitarian.

#6 You think conditioner was an invention a man made to rip you off. Let your hair be frizzy, that is your prerogative as a woman.

#7 You won’t be in a skirt anytime sooner than the guy next door. Skirts are just breezy pants to make women suffer.

#8 Pink. To a feminazi, it is like nails on a chalkboard.

#9 You think flirting is a useless tool that demeans women. Flirting is a waste of your time. A guy should like you for what’s on your mind, not in your pants.

#10 When you have a baby shower you make it unisex, even if you know the sex. Let’s not be labeling genders.

#11 You hate Barbie. She couldn’t even be real if she wanted to.

#12 You think it is totally okay for boys to play with dolls, but you don’t want to. Dolls are too frilly and cliche. [Read: Girly stuff stereotypes: 15 typical things not all girls like]

#13 Purses make you mad, especially the kind that cost a lot. What a waste of baggage.

#14 You can go on for hours about how mad you are that dry cleaners charge more for women’s shirts than men’s *although I do find that one offensive*. Okay, I will give you that one.

#15 High heels were an invention created to hurt a woman’s back and to make her look cheapened in the workplace. Until you see your male colleagues sporting stilettos, it ain’t gonna happen for you.

#16 You get all giddy when a gender protest might happen. You are always ready with a sign.

#17 Right to life issues makes smoke come out your ears. You always feel like anti-abortion men are coming to take your rights away. Relax… please.

#18 The word slut just sends you into a tizzy. Sluts are just women enjoying sex too. [Read: Slutty girls: 12 positive lessons we can all learn from them]

#19 You can swear like a sailor, or be one, and no one is going to tell you, you can’t. Lady manners are oppressive.

#20 If a guy gets promoted before you, you scream gender pay inequality. It can’t possibly be that he is more qualified or has a better personality.

#21 You get upset when a guy pulls out your chair, opens your door, or orders your meal. Those are all signs of disrespect for your gender. I can take care of myself, dammit!

#22 You think different starting times at marathons or separating winning times according to gender is angering. We are all equal, stop treating us differently.

#23 You believe that a woman can do ANYTHING that a man can do. I can even have a baby without men thanks to science.

#24 Calling someone sweetheart is tantamount to sexual assault in your book. What did you say to me?

#25 You were going to vote for Hillary or any other female candidate just because they were female… period. Politicians should all be women to make peace not war… right?

#26 Makeup, hair dye, and perfume were all created by men to keep women down and objectified.

#27 You know what the objectification of women means. You won’t let anyone make you an object of desire!

#28 The thought of a stripper makes you so mad you can’t speak.

#29 Lace is a four-letter word. If men don’t wear it, why should you?

#30 To you blow jobs are just another way that men debase women. Enough said. [Read: Top 8 reason why she refuses to give a blow job]

#31 Porno is just a symptom of the abuse that men perpetrate on women in society. The internet drives you crazy!

#32 Modification to make things easier for women is disrespectful to the female gender. You can do the same all the way around.

#33 If there is something to be moved you’ll be damned if some guy is going to do it for you. Move over, I got it!

#34 Flowers were meant for funerals, not to make women swoon. A waste of money, you’d rather go to the movies.

#35 You think that someone who wants to stay home and raise children is giving up her dreams. As a feminazi, you think that women who stay home deprive themselves of a real life. [Read: Stay at home wives and all the reasons so many women envy her]

#36 You don’t believe that a kid needs a mom and a dad because gender makes no difference. Don’t be limiting anyone’s gender!

#37 You would rather have a dirty house than clean it, that isn’t a woman’s job.

#38 You think that all men want is sex and are all on the prowl no matter what they say. Guys only want one thing! [Read: What to look for in a guy: 20 things that matter beyond looks]

#39 Letting your hair air dry is the only way to go. No one is going to tell you how to prepare for your day.

#40 You can bench as much as any man and aren’t afraid to spend hours pumping iron.

#41 You think that past generations of women have been brainwashed into feeling feminine. Your mom was just too dumb to know she missed out on so many options.

#42 You believe gender identity is taught not inherent. To a feminazi, stereotypes and society determine gender, not genetics.

#43 Manicures and pedicures are ridiculous and a waste of money to you.

#44 You try to convince young girls that they shouldn’t settle for careers that you deem too “womanly” like teaching and nursing. You seek out girls to mentor, so they don’t fall prey to womanistic ideas.

#45 Gloria Stein is your hero and the only woman who “gets it.” The feminazi of all time is your role model.

#46 Your wardrobe looks no different from your best guy friend.

#47 Most girls just don’t get it and need you to explain to them how they are being taken advantage of. It is your personal job to let every woman know how much they are being oppressed.

#48 You think that gender-specific toys are the downfall of society and keep people chained in stereotypes.

#49 You want to play football, baseball, and hockey, forget the girlie sports, they belittle women. You can compete on a “man’s” field all day long. [Read: Dating feminine men: Is it a boom or bust?]

#50 There is no way that you are ever going to use your gender to get ahead, not for all the tea in China. Not even if it will get you to the top.

[Read: The opposite of feminist: A new generation of women?]

A feminazi works very hard to omit what women can and can’t do by trying not to equalize genders, but to erase them and take away the things that make women, women.

The post Feminazi Alert: 50 Signs You’re a Radical Feminist & Don’t Know It is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

[mediocrewritingsofacrazycanadian]

Sylla Itrasium

Full Name: Sylla Nemita Xalenor Anvira Galatea Iridian Itrasium (Sil-ah Nem-eat-a Zall-e-nore Gala-taya Itr-as-e-yum)

Nick name(s): Sylla, My Lady, Princess Sylla, Goddesses Revenge 

Age: 20

Race: Demigod/ Sprite 

Height: 5′2″

Eye Color: Sparkling pink

Hair: Pale green, shoulder length, curly (like big perfect curls. Like a mix between Claudia in Interview With The Vampire and Shirley Temple) 

Abilities/Powers: Healing magic (somewhat limited: She can heal say a gash in your abdomen but she can’t put your arm back on if it’s cut off. She can fix a broken bone but not if it’s pulverized into dust.), expert in healing herbs and medicine, mild levitation (can’t fly but she can hover a couple feet off the ground and glide around like that)

Weapons:Throwing weapons (knives, daggers, throwing stars, hand axes, forks, if she can throw it she’ll probably use it), her own hand-to-hand skills

Job: Healer/Herbalist/Apothecary 

Personality: She’s a giggly and kinda goofy person, really hyper most of the time, kinda flighty and often forgets things, loves to fight, loves money and jewels and basically anything shiny, she is a truly terrifying force when in battle and is rarely defeated (having a goddess of war and battle for a mother will do that to ya), is insanely fun to party with and always brings the fun, fully embraces her femininity and will fight anyone who suggests that you can’t be feminine and a badass (will kick your ass wearing a frilly dress and pink armor), loves to dance (she dances places way more often then walks), is really easily annoyed by those she dislikes or considers to be fake or liars or just general boring douchebags, hates being treated like she is a delicate breakable flower made of glass or something (”I may have been born in satin and pearls motherfucker but I have no qualms going out in blood and armor, or better yet taking you out in blood and armor if you don’t back the fuck off.” for instance is something she yelled at a guy in  bar who said something like “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a dangerous place like this sweet heart? Come here, I’ll protect you.” before grabbing her around the waist, she also pulled a knife on him while she threatened him.), gets really lonely sometimes and misses her family and home even though she ran away and hated most of her life there, loves and hates her mom at the same time for many reasons (ditto for her father), if she cares about you she’ll do anything to protect you and keep you safe and happy, when she’s sad it’s awful and all-consuming and often it means she’ll just lay on her floor and cry alone for a while, loves to make people smile, obsessively polishes her bladed weapons until they shine because she says they look better that way, fidgets a lot (like constantly), eats so much food for such a tiny person (”Food is my one true love and nobody will ever keep us apart.”), really doesn’t care about religion in any way (”I’m half goddess guys...I’ve met gods and goddesses...honestly they’re just like normal people but somehow more annoying and petty. At this point I can never see gods as almighty badasses...not after the stupidity I’ve seen.”) but will respect yours as long as you don’t try to force it on her. 

Physical Description: Small with chubby little legs and big hips and a round face with a cute nose but not chubby tummy or arms, freckles everywhere, super long dark lashes and eyes that shine and twinkle and just make you happy to look into them (unless she’s mad at you or in battle in which case her eyes look like they’re full of fire and death and looking into them will strike fear into your heart), full lips usually painted pink and smiling, bouncy curly hair that she wears in two pony tails (or one high pony) when she needs to get things done or when she’s working or fighting but leaves down whenever she’s just chilling out or having fun (Her bedhead is the stuff of legends it’s so wild and crazy and she hates brushing through it so she usually gets another crew member to do it for her) and she usually has ribbons twisted and twined with the curls (pretty sure she keeps them in with some kind of magic), likes flowy frilly and feminine clothes in pastel colors usually (really likes pastel blue and purple a lot) and is also fond of short skirts and pants with pretty embroidery (especially of flowers or stars) all over them, wears a lot of capes and coats that flare out or sway and swirl when she moves,  has a whole flower garden in bright colors tattooed on her right arm (it’s an entire sleeve from shoulder blade to hand, it ends in big pale blue Gerber daisy in bloom on her palm. It’s full of weird and beautiful flowers and leaves and vines and it’s enchanted so certain flowers only open at certain times. The night-blooming flowers which are usually silver and gold and white are enchanted to glow faintly. There’s bees and lady bugs and one little butterfly that move and fly around the flowers.), has her armor all enchanted to be pretty colors (Nix is exhausted with weaving color magic into all her armor but she likes it when Sylla smiles and laughs and gets all joyful about it so she keeps doing it for her), always wears at least a thigh sheath with 4-6 throwing knives on her person (yes even when she sleeps), some of her weapons are even enchanted to be pretty colors (again Nix does it because it makes Sylla happy), paints her toenails and fingernails sparkly gold and silver most of the time, has scars on her thighs (she used to self-harm but she’s four years clean thanks to the help and support and love of the crew), dainty hands and feet, likes lace-up boots with little heels, likes corsets a lot, wear so much jewelry everywhere (fingers, toes, wrists, ankles, neck, ears, nose, lip, tongue, navel) and it’s a mix of silver and gold and gems and changes all the time (healing magic means she can pierce and heal over and over again and leave no scars)

Backstory: 

Sylla was born to King Aymon Arakian Itrasium of Silkhill and the goddess Mytia (Sprite Goddess of War, Wealth, Royalty, Healing, and Battle. She’s a force to be reckoned with and has very few children, god or demigod, due to her very high standards and dislike of my most people/gods. The children she does have are usually fierce warriors with excellent healing abilities, both in the medicinal/herbal/practical knowledge kind of way and the magical kind of way. Her children are also fond of shiny objects like gems or precious metals due to her being a goddess of wealth. Though she is a goddess of royalty her children are not always royal and she bears no favoritism to royals over non-royals in those she chooses as consorts or in general really. Her children are also born with sparkling eyes in strange colors which mirror her ever-changing gem-toned eyes.) How in the hell the King managed to seduce her nobody knows, he won’t speak of it and obviously nobody is asking the war goddess how the king got her into bed out of fear of her killing them. The King has quite a few children, about 13 in fact and Sylla was the eldest of them all and the only one to be born from a goddess, her siblings (four sets of twins, one set of triplets, and one single birth) were all born to the current Queen Vasica Klaimin-Itrasium of Puresummit whom the King married when Sylla was 4. Queen Vasica was not overly fond of Sylla, mainly because she wanted a child born of her to be the first in line for the throne, but unfortunately for her it’s a really bad idea to be rude or abusive to the child of a notoriously temperamental war goddess so the Queen was forced to be at least polite to Sylla or face the wrath of a pissed off Mytia. The Queen’s children on the other hand were not so smart nor so fearful and had no problem fucking with Sylla and making every day hell for her because they decided that they hated her for some unknown reason (it’s speculated that the Queen encouraged her children to torment Sylla in hopes of driving her mad or some other such problem but nobody can prove it). Though Sylla was a strong and resilient person and fought back often it’s rather hard to win against so many people attacking you at once, especially when every time she stood up for herself or fought back when they physically attacked her they would run and tell their parents that she had started it and so Sylla would be punished and reprimanded constantly. Her father didn’t believe her when she told him what her half-sibling were doing to her because honestly Sylla was pretty sure he hated her in a way because she reminded him of the fact that her mother ignored him and never visited with him after Sylla was born, and the fact that Mytia still visited Sylla didn’t help either. Of course Mytia was unable to help her daughter because she was bound by the rules set in place by the entire sprite god pantheon saying that a god cannot directly help their demigod children with their lives, they can provide advice or lessons or even gifts to help them along the way but they cannot directly influence their lives. So Mytia taught Sylla to fight, to use her healing magic, she taught her how to use herbs and the like to heal, she taught her how to be resilient, she taught her battle strategy and ways to sway almost every fight in her favor, she reminded her daughter that strength comes in many forms and that nobody was fit to judge her worth based on how she looked or who she was born to, and she bestowed many weapons upon Sylla and taught her how to use each one in the hopes of helping her daughter to be strong and happy. Even with her mothers support though Sylla fell into a dark depression and eventually began hurting herself and having panic attacks and not sleeping because her horrid siblings had even attacked her in her sleep on occasion. Sylla loved her father for the man he’d been before he’d met Vasica when he’d been supportive and affectionate, and she loved her mother for trying to help her when nobody else would, but she also hated them both for not being there for her as much as they should have been and for not protecting her as parents are supposed to. Sylla, though hated by her half-siblings and stepmother, was loved by her people and was hailed as the perfect Princess in many ways. Sylla was an expert in all thing etiquette and refined by the time she was 10, she was the perfect example of a highborn lady and she hated every second of it, she hated being trotted around like a prize pony for everyone to gawk at and judge as if she meant nothing beyond how pretty she looked in a dress, it’s not that she hated the fancy dresses and such (she actually quite liked frilly dresses), it was that she hated being judged solely on her appearance and not on her intelligence and strenght. So in her free time Sylla trained in fighting and she trained with her healing magic and she read and researched and trained with her medicine making and she enjoyed any time she could spend alone in blessed silence without anyone bothering her. For years Sylla dreamed of escaping her life and running off to anywhere else and being anybody else, and then that dream turned into a plan and finally that plan became a reality. At 16 she escaped the palace with a bag full of gold and jewels and a change of clothes and her weapons and armor from her mother and headed for the docks where she bartered passage on a foreign vessel to anywhere but Silkhill. Unfortunately the vessel was attacked by the pirates of the Dragon Song and Sylla was taken aboard their vessel because when they saw how much wealth she was holding the figured they could hold her for ransom. While sitting tied to a chair in the captains quarters Sylla was asked who she was and why she had so much damn treasure with her and why her armor and weapons were so exquisite and Sylla defiantly told them that she was the crown princess of Silkhill and of all Sprites...and after that she begged them to not return her to her father, she ended up having a panic attack in Glory’s office at the idea of going back to her home and after she explained why she ran Glory couldn’t just send this abused young girl back to where she was treated so deplorably, and in fact she offered her a position on her crew and voila! Sylla joined the crew of the Dragon Song, became a pirate, began to learn to love herself and to trust others, picked up the name Goddesses Revenge after people learned that she was a demigod, and with the help and support of her newfound family found the strength to fight against the urge to hurt herself (and she knows when the urge flares up that she can always go to one of her friends and they’ll support her and help her through it), and eventually she found that she was a bubbly and happy person once she was free to be herself. Mytia still visits her sometimes and gives her new weapons and sometimes interesting jewelry or armor.