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saxxxology · 5 years

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THE CURSED - Ch.1

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2000

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

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The Winchesters were known for their knowledge of the land. Expert trackers and hunters both, they could tell at a single glance which plants grew where and which ones could be eaten and whether it would rain, snow, or shine.

They were also known for their size: the older brother, Dean, stood just over six feet tall. Around his neck, he carried a portrait of his Omega, Joanna Beth, in a locket around his neck, and he dressed in the linen garments of a traveler, with a heavy leather jacket to keep out the cold, and a long, silver sword with a pearly white handle.

The younger of the two, Samuel, stood well over his elder brother, six-foot-five at least. He wore a long, heavy fur coat in the fall, winter, and spring that only added to his size, and as to the source of the garment, he was highly secretive. Nobody knew if he’d ever had an Omega, but nearing twenty-eight, he should have taken one years earlier.

Their horses were equal to their masters: Dean kept a tall, powerful black mare named Pala. She had a fire in her dark eyes and was often rambunctious and eager to move as fast as her long legs could carry her. Sam’s own horse, Shadow, was a large gray Clydesdale that could make the ground quake under her hooves at a full gallop.

Either way, next to the average person, both of them were giants and that rendered them intimidating even to the most well-trained soldier. Their sheer size combined with Alpha genetics made them a formidable duo that no roadside bandit would dare to attack or steal from—those who had tried had ended up dead.

A Lord and Lady from a kingdom in Western England had enlisted their aid to help their young daughter travel to the kingdom where she was to be married. They were warned, however, that the girl in question was an Omega, and that as Alphas, their charge was to get safely from the castle she’d lived in since birth to the place she would wed a Beta husband. They were offered generous compensation for their efforts, and with both of them sharing limited compensation for other, much smaller tasks, they couldn’t refuse.

The young Omega, Y/N, would be traveling disguised as a young chambermaid, and that is how Sam first saw her; in the white, linen shirt, dark blue skirt, and brown bodice instead of the royal dress they were both sure she would be wearing otherwise.

“Well, she’s much smaller than most,” Dean commented, taking a swig from his silver hip flask. “Your bow is taller than she is, Sam.”

Sam watched as the royals suspiciously eyed the weapon in his hands and slung it over the saddle of his mare. “Indeed. But be polite with them, brother. They’re paying us well.”

Upon meeting Y/N, they both kissed her hand and escorted her away from her tearful family towards the horses and slung her pack over Shadow’s saddle. Sam couldn’t help but notice that being separated from her family seemed to make her happy.

A few minutes later, they set off down the road and headed onto the main path out of town, Y/N perched on the Clydesdale at the insistence of the younger Ranger. They waited until they were safely alone on the forest trail before Sam began conversation.

“Are you prepared?” He asked. “It’ll be at least a week and a half, maybe two until we reach the other castle.”

Y/N grimaced. “The longer the journey, the better.”

Sam glanced up at her. “You don’t want to marry?”

“Not in the slightest,” she replied. “They’re only marrying me off to stop a feud that’s been an occurrence since I was a child. I’ve never even met him.”

“Have you seen a portrait?” Dean inquired.

Y/N shook her head. “Never, but from what I hear, he indulges in wine, toasted bread with cheese, and attends feasts and parties as frequently as he can…”

Sam made a sound of disgust. “Why are you betrothed to him, then? Why not someone better?”

“Because,” Y/N grimaced again, “he’s what they call a prince.”

“And what do you call him?”

She smiled. “I call him a hedonist.”

***

That night, they camped in a deserted cabin well away from the road. Once the horses were tied outside, they broke out rations (bread with dried deer meat and flasks of wine) and set up a fire in the hearth. The heat of the blaze filled the room, and they quickly laid out their bedrolls in front of the fire as it died down to embers.

“Tell me, Princess,” Dean commented, “have you ever slept out of a feather bed?”

Y/N soon grasped that he was mocking her royal upbringing and frowned. “I have not, but I am capable of learning to.”

Sam chuckled at her formal response—anybody else might have given Dean a smack on the cheek. “And of walking so far? What do you think of that?”

She looked at him, and he met her gaze for a split second. There was something in her eyes, a light he hadn’t seen since…

No, he told himself, don’t think about her, for God’s sake.

“It’s only walking,” she said, staring intently into his eyes, “putting one foot in front of the other until you’re too tired to go further. My feet might be sore tonight, but tomorrow they’ll feel better, and we will continue.”

Sam tore his gaze away and stared into the orange embers as they flickered and popped sparks onto the stone floor. He felt Y/N’s eyes on him and debated scolding her about staring, but he couldn’t anger her. He must have had several years on her in age, but she was still rather young, barely past adulthood. And she was nobility, whereas he and his brother were just roaming travelers with histories they would rather not share.

***

Two days later, they were all on very good terms, talking, joking, and laughing. Around midday, they passed a grove of cherry trees and spent a good hour harvesting the sweet fruit. A while later, they were able to sneak into a field of cows and fill their glass bottles with thick, rich milk. The sun beat down overhead, so they set up their camp early in a secluded area next to a creek and allowed Pala to wander in the shallow water. Dean set the bottles of milk in a circle of rocks and allowed the chilly water to wash over them.

That night, they enjoyed a bigger meal; two slabs of cured pork they’d purchased from a small market early that morning, fresh bread, cherries, and cool, sweet milk. Dean spewed even more bawdy jokes, and Sam spread his fur cape over the ground, allowing him and Y/N to sit comfortably on the cold forest floor. Somehow, she ended up leaning against him, laughing as Dean told her the answer to a joke that might have gotten him hung if he’d been in a royal court.

Her hand brushed against Sam’s, and he felt a jolt run through him, something he’d only felt once before.

No, not a chance in Hell. She couldn’t be…

“Sam,” Dean had seen him flinch and looked over to see if an ember had jumped from the fire and landed on him, “everything all right?”

Sam nodded and rolled his shoulders. “Everything’s fine.”

Y/N had jumped at the sensation as well, and she was now clutching at the hem of her skirt, eyes squeezed shut. Out of pure instinct, Sam went to touch her again, but withdrew his hand when she opened her eyes and took a deep breath.

He smelled it on the next breeze that filtered through the trees. The sweet, apple-blossom scent of her. Dean obviously smelled it too, but it didn’t affect him as it affected his younger brother.

“If I may,” Sam cleared his throat. “Y/N—Princess… When are you due for your next…”

She swallowed and blushed furiously in the firelight. “I… I’m not entirely sure, I only just presented last year and they’re not completely regular yet, but I’d say any day? I’m taking herbs to suppress it, but I’ve never been allowed around Alphas…”

Sam grunted quietly and looked at the flickering flames. “You’ll be safe. We just need to be careful.”

“Careful?” Y/N looked between them.

“Alphas,” Dean supplied. “If they smell you, they’ll want to claim you. And they won’t listen to morals, if they have any.”

Y/N shivered with fear and looked at Sam. “But I’ll be safe, right?”

“Yes,” Sam glanced back at her. “I’ll keep you safe. That’s my job.”

“Our job,” Dean corrected him. “It’s our job to keep you safe.”

Sam nodded at the correction and stood. “I’m going to sleep. You should both do the same.”

Dean poured water on the flames, allowing only embers to light their campsite. They washed their faces, hands, and slid under their blankets, heads on their traveling packs.

Sam waited patiently until Y/N and his brother were fast asleep and then stepped away through the trees, making sure he was hidden by one of the taller pines before he rubbed his hand over the bulge in his trousers. He was hard as he’d ever been and hadn’t pleasured himself since the night before they’d reached her castle. The feeling and scent of Y/N had completely aroused him, and he licked his lips, imagining that she was lying in his bed, naked, legs parted to expose her wet, warm sex. If she was a pure Omega, she’d be bare, and he’d sink into her with nothing but her soft cunt lips caressing the hardened flesh of his manhood.

Tugging himself from his trousers, he began stroking his hand slowly back and forth, bracing himself against the tree as he closed his eyes. In his mind, Y/N was under him, hips arched up to meet his, legs spread wide for him as he entered her, the feeling of her around him warm and smooth and wet. She was small enough to be perfectly tight, he knew it, and he held back a needy groan as he felt drops of his own arousal slick his fingers.

“Y/N,” he allowed himself to mutter her name, quietly. He could almost feel her around him, hear her whimpers of pleasure and pain. To him, the sound of their sex was loud and brutal, almost borderline torture, but their bond prevented it from being anywhere close to that.

He let out a breathy swear as he felt himself begin to peak. Growling with pleasure, he dug his fingers against the rough bark of the tree as, in his mind, he pounded her into oblivion, pressing into her wet heat and spilling himself deep inside.

With a low growl, he gave himself two more long, desperate strokes and came hard. He was so receptive to her presence that his knot swelled in his hand, and hot, thick ropes of his seed landed on the dirt at his feet. He gave a shuddering breath and tipped his head back as his climax washed over him, legs trembling with the force of it.

Finally, when he was able to think clearly, he waited for his knot to recede and quickly tucked himself back in his pants. Retracing his steps to the campsite, he cleaned his hands using a cup of water from their washing bucket and slipped back into his makeshift bed.

Y/N was fast asleep, her blankets tucked down around her waist as the warm summer breeze washed over them. He watched the way her eyelids twitched in her sleep and the rise and fall of her chest under her dress, and he smiled to himself as her scent wafted towards him.

“Sleep tight, Princess,” he murmured, before sinking into sleep himself.

If you want to see chapter 2, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @artisticlunarmakeup @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @smallgirlbigpersonality @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @85natalie @81mysteriouslyme

#alpha!sam x omega!reader #the cursed series

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galadrieljones · 5 years

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A Funeral: Chapter 12 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. In their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another as well as to the future, and to the unchecked dangers of the natural world.

Thanks @bearly-tolerable for the lovely banner!! <3

For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog. ^_^

Chapter 12: A Good Place

“Where’d you learn to dance, Arthur?” said Mary Beth.

Arthur smiled, spun her some. He held her with soft hands. He was not remarkable, but he could pull it off. He was a very good, strong lead. “Miss Grimshaw,” he said.

Mary Beth felt herself laughing. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” he said. “I was about twenty or twenty-one. I was kind of a piece of work back then. She thought it would teach me some manners.”

“And did it work?”

He gave her a very knowing look. “I think so. It never fails to impress the ladies. Makes me seem softer than I am.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” said Mary Beth, responding to his touch with her own.

“I know,” he said.

They danced some more. The waltz was not upbeat, but it had a nice rhythm. The music made the whole cottage feel dreamy, like the colors had faded, or they were blurring together. It was like dancing through a painting. When the tempo slowed, so did Arthur. He was not an ostentatious sort of man. He just liked the music. He guided her waist with one hand, and her hand with the other. She moved close so she could rest her head, every lightly, against his chest and hear his beating heart against the sound of the song. The track had dipped into a ballad now, and it was more violins. More strings. Arthur sighed, his chest big. His chin about touched the top of her head. She felt covered by him and very happy. Their movements were slow, but they were still movements, to the quiet rhythm of the waltz.

“So few of the other men back at camp are willing to part with their pride for a dance,” she said. “Even Javier.”

“Javier is more bashful than he seems,” said Arthur. “He doesn’t perform but for behind that guitar.”

“I’m surprised you take to it so nicely. You got a lot up your sleeve, Arthur.”

He laughed a little, into her hair. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“I’ve seen Dutch dance,” she said, “with Molly. Not so much no more. But he knows what he’s doing. He’s pretty smooth.”

“Perhaps Miss Grimshaw taught him as well.”

This amused her. “I always forget they was a thing.”

“It’s in the past,” said Arthur.

They got quieter. Her eyes were closed. Underneath the music was the crackling of the fire. She felt him move her hair off her back, push it all over one shoulder, in a practiced manner. His hands were big. He was disciplined in his touch. He traced one palm over her shoulder until she kind of shivered. He held her, not as friends. They had danced as friends, many times. This was not friends. This was something more. They were dancing very close.

He sighed, after a little while. His sighs were big, just like his hands. “Hmm,” he said, real low. Then he did it again, like he was thinking. Hmm. “Mary Beth,” he said finally.

“Yeah?”

He’d been saving up, maybe. He brought the back of her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles with his eyes closed. Her whole hand could fit inside of his. Then he spoke with true intention. “I ain’t ever gonna leave you,” he said, his voice all full of breath, all full of gravel, spilling down her back, into her hair.

She looked up at him. She was surprised by this—this outpouring. And yet she wasn’t. “I know,” she said.

He tucked the hair behind her ear, caressed both her cheeks, studying her. “I’m a fool.”

“You’re not a fool.”

“I deny. That’s what I do.”

“No it ain’t.”

“I ain’t gonna make you wait on me,” he said. “I want you. It’s all I want. Do you understand?”

She smiled, big, like melting into the earth. “Yeah, I do,” she said.

“You’re a good girl,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it was true, taking all the stray pieces of hair off her face. “If you want me, that’s gotta mean something.”

“I do,” she said.

They met eyes then, real brisk but hard, and then they sort of just, crashed into each other. Foreheads, then mouths. They kissed—this time deeper than the last, with a lot more meaning and forward motion, like they were fastening their souls and letting go of the bad. She held him by the wrists and he put his big hands in her curly hair. Then she sank into him and held him by his open collar, and he stood tall, signaling to her that he had cast off with his indecision. She had no indecision. At this point, words were meaningless. There had been so many words exchanged between them. Words were easy for them, and it was this, the action, that had needed its time to mature, but now it had as she felt her hands down his broad chest and tucked them against the tough leather of his belt, which holstered his heavy guns, and she thought that if he would let her take it off for him, that would be a symbol and she knew moments like this weren't meant to be symbols, like this was real life, but sometimes Mary Beth's mind couldn't help itself in this way.

It went like a rockslide. He did not stop her. He was consumed with the laces of her blouse and how they braided together, but for such big hands he had a careful precision to his touch, and it was trained and practiced and filled with subtlety. She was not so subtle. She fussed with the belt a little. It was big and cumbersome, but eventually she got it free, and this relieved him of the weight of his holsters—his revolver and his pistol. The movement, getting it off, had been kind of rough by accident, and she'd had to tug, and she could tell it kind of surprised him as he grunted deep in his chest. The guns were such heavy pieces, she thought. She could not believe how he carried them around on his body like this, day after day. She lowered the holsters to the floor, with one hand, slowly to where the guns and the leather all piled with a jingle and a heavy sound. She knew they were loaded. It would not have been safe to drop them.

Determined after that, she untucked his shirt because it had already sort of come untucked, but that was all he was gonna allow for the moment. He let her get that far, but a man of his chivalry, he scooped her into his arms and picked her up until her skirts and her legs all gathered around him. She was swept away in this. God it fucked her up and made her dizzy. He held her high up, with ease, so that she was nearly over him, chin down as they kissed, her hands covering his hair, and then he lowered them both to the bed, him sitting and her in his lap, and that was it—it all went out the window. His suspenders came down, her blouse came undone like a handkerchief, floating to the floor in a pile by the artillery. It was romantic down there, with the artillery. He seemed to know how to get a girl out of her skirt. He removed the ties and unhooked the grapple and then it, too, was on the floor. His shirt went with it. This all continued until she had him unbuttoned and out of his trousers, and then she was lowering herself, and he was inside of her. Just like that.

And with this, he put them at a full stop. He held her firmly by the shoulders. He stared at her until she was staring back, fixed with his focus, his careful blue eyes. They assessed—each other, the moment. He pushed the hair out of her face. She put his hair behind his ears. They both felt everything as she palmed his cheeks and rocked, slow against him. He nodded, his breath revealing itself now as vulnerable and ragged. It was good, he seemed to say. Slow was good. Don’t stop. He held her by the hips, felt behind until he could clamp her closer, harder, pushing into her, wrapping her into his wingspan until she seemed to diminish. She kissed him. He kissed her. This went on until he couldn’t take it anymore, picked her up, put her onto her back. He made good of her then, until she was but a puddle in the sheets. And he went with her, too. Sinking into the earth until he lost himself inside of her. The gramophone still turned. The music had stopped long ago, but it was determined to accompany them still. Deep. Gone. Till they finished.

Before Arthur, Mary Beth had only been with two boys in her whole life. That was years before. The last time had been a sweet-natured boy born to a farm, his hands always stained with dirt and clay, as he was a ranch hand for his daddy, breaking calves and breaking horses, plowing the earth. She had a soft spot for boys who worked with their hands. The gang had been camped somewhere in Colorado. It was the year John had disappeared. Arthur was pissed off constantly, all full of bluster. He was still far away from anything she ever could have envisioned taking for herself. Like a seething older brother, always brooding, mean—not to her, just to the world in general. Like he was gonna make it pay. But this boy, the rancher’s son, he’d taken to her at the saloon and brought her a bouquet of daffodils. It was early spring. They spent many days together in the valleys close to town. She told no one but Abigail, who she had sort of counted as a big sister in the beginning. He always pulled out, so she didn’t get pregnant. It ended when the gang had to leave. Somebody got pinched, a jailbreak—Bill maybe. It was always Bill. This got them into longterm trouble with the locals. It was time to move on.

Her first time had been all the way back in Kansas City, before she’d ever even met Arthur, or Dutch, or any of the boys. She was seventeen, and it was a boy she knew from the church downtown. She liked to go to church because it made her feel pure amidst her self-perceived sins as an urchin girl and a pickpocket, and though she had never been religious, not once in her life, she would talk to her mama, and her daddy, and her brother up in what she knew had to be heaven, while she sat idly in the pews, explaining all about her life now, and how she was sad, but she knew it would be okay. She met this boy, and he was poetic, as he liked to read William Wordsworth from a book he had stolen for her from the penny store. He was from the wrong side of the tracks. They always was. The two of them made love one time, on a soft blanket, on the bank of the Mississippi, but he had recently joined the Navy, and the very next day, he left Kansas City forever. She never saw or heard from him again. It was sad, but it was real.

That was girlhood, she knew now. That was dreams. These past few years she had grown up in quiet ways that changed her, tempered her down, gave her some grit. She’d seen things now, been places, lived in both safety and in fear, made friends—very close friends who no matter what became of her and them and their dying way of life, she would count as pieces of her heart forever. After her brother died, she knew she was never gonna be anything graceful in this world. Anything fancy. But she didn’t care. She had her books and her paper and her pens and her people. And she was good at her work, pickpocketing in the cities, and she was holding a good man in her good embrace, and he was holding her back, and it felt like everything bad and good she had ever experienced in her life so far was leading her straight into him. She was not trying to be romantic. She was not trying to be dreamy and whimsical, like she knew so many people thought her to be. She was just existing. And he had never once underestimated her, and that was the whole point.

When Arthur finished, he came inside her. It was not what he intended to do, but she urged him forth with her regular sense of promise and love, and it was what he wanted, and what she wanted, too. Giving themselves had been a conscious choice. There was nothing simple or short-lived about what they had undertaken that night. They lie in the sheets now, curled into one another. She was tracing his big scar with her fingers. He was just absorbing her sensations, his eyes closed. His heart still. He wanted to turn her around, finish her with his hands or his mouth—something, anything, but he was dead beat now, and so he would save it for next time, his giving. He pulled his fingers through a few strands of her hair. He touched every part of her body. The freckles went everywhere. It was not just her cheeks, or her shoulders or her knees. He thought of nothing but the present. She continued to pet him, like he were hers. Something bad inside of him disappeared.

She said she had to pee. This amused him, but he got up with her. She wrapped herself in a blanket. He walked her to the door, and waited, naked as an animal, in the doorway. The air was cold, but it was refreshing. She ran to the little outhouse, and she was back in a flash. She came back into the cottage, and he locked the door, and then she went back into the bed, and then he stoked the fire, picked up the needle off the record in the gramophone, so that all they could hear was the crackling flame and nature noises outside. Then he got back in the bed with her, where they lie beneath a linen cover in their quiet extinction, entangled with their messy skin and messy hair, and exhausted in the sheets. Arthur dimmed the lamp at the bedside table. The fire kept the room glowing and warm and feeling alive. They slept as if nothing had every happened.

The shadows from the flames threw across their naked bodies and into the walls. Her skirts and her blouse and his shirt and his pants, all their clothes and Arthur’s guns still lay quiet in their poetic shambles on the wooden floor. The dishes were stacked clean and washed in the basin, far away in the background. Outside, there were bears and ghosts and whispers of broken dreams and dead people, and the sky was just a wool blanket pressed to the light, full of pin pricks that looked and seemed like stars. Arthur dreamed of nothing. Or, he dreamed of falling, but never landing. He never hit. He never died. He had never been so tired in all his life. That's what he was dreaming. It was like he was resting, really resting, for the first time in a hundred years.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #arthur x mary beth #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #a funeral

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Sunshine, and Glory Too (Trixya) - Chapter 3 - fannyatrollop

A/N: Violet’s ball gown is supposed to resemble her S8 crowning gown. I kinda thought of Lady Sybil in her harem pants, but in red for Katya’s outfit.

Previously On: Chapter One | Chapter Two

Katya said that she spent a lot of her childhood up in Snow Country, where Lady Sasha’s family ruled. It was difficult for an outsider to piece her past together after so many retellings and inconsistent facts, but it was possible that Katya’s ancestry could be traced back to the North. Trixie vaguely remembered mention of a grandparent they would visit when she was small, whose passing heralded much fewer visits. It was more sensible for them to chase warmth, perhaps, what with their profession, so the presence of a relative would explain things to a more satisfactory degree if true.

Trixie had first heard of this the night of the salon, when Lady Sasha approached them and subsequently engaged in what was probably hours of conversation. Trixie couldn’t be certain about how long they spoke, as she was quite tired by then and likely dozed off against Katya’s side, with fingers stroking her hair softly as their owner began chattering brightly to a brand new friend.

While she was still conscious, Trixie listened as the two bonded over a place they both held as precious in their hearts, with its strange red flowers that bloomed right through sheets of snow. Legend had it that they had been conjured to please an ancient fae queen, who had long since moved to the separate realm the fae now called home. The greater part of their numbers may have left, but ancient magic would remain always if it had the chance to lay down roots.

As a special case, Katya had resided at the Academy some years more than the royal ladies. She could no longer be disappointed by the fact that there was no hope of seeing all that snow in the wintertime, not as long as she remained where she was. At the very least, she was able to use her special glass to take a visual tour of those Northern lands she remembered so fondly.

Katya had never tried using her glass to see anything other than what her parents and the rest of the company were doing, she said she cared more about easing her loneliness than testing the limits of Ginger’s gift to her. She was properly amazed when she attempted it and was able to show Trixie the famous red flowers, so stark against the pure white backdrop.

Katya offered to let Trixie see what her father might be doing, knowing the state of affairs between her and her mother. Trixie declined, not wanting to watch as her father sired bastards and wasted their meagre income at some tavern. She did ask for a look at what Kim was up to, and found that she was in transit to an unknown destination, using a bundle as a cushion so she could sleep. Trixie hoped she would return soon. She longed to see her, though without the urgency she had felt when she did not have Katya in her life.

By the time the first fleeting snowfall of winter came upon them, memories of a time when she did not have Katya by her side had become less present in Trixie’s mind. She didn’t want to think of the day when they would have to part ways, though she once quipped that when it happened, Katya would be able to look upon her through her glass. Rather than amuse her, as her comments usually did, Katya fell into a sulk that only dissipated once Trixie had held her for some time.

***

The Winter Ball was held on the cusp of spring, but winter wasn’t much more than a sprinkling of snow here and there at the Academy anyhow, so it was fair enough to use that name. More importantly, the princes who would be coming for the Ball were just as likely to have seasonal events at their courts, events that would supersede travelling miles to take a gander at the marriage market. Any lady aged one-and-twenty was gently encouraged to attend, though attendance was strictly required of the special cases.

Kim had returned with bundles upon bundles of fine fabric. She only had time to give Trixie a quick hug before she was shuffled into a room with Violet, to help her decide on the concept for their gowns. It was more than a month before the Ball, but Trixie wouldn’t scoff at the early start to the work when it would give Kim much needed time to construct a masterpiece for Violet, as well as her two ladies.

Before their journey, Trixie and Pearl had been provided with gowns that complemented Violet’s style, to create a visual harmony between them all at the Academy. Trixie’s dresses had needed to be altered to the reality of her figure, and she often struck a discordant note to Violet and Pearl’s better matched ensembles if they all happened to be in the same space. It couldn’t be helped when the two of them dressed together, as they did most things, and Trixie was not able to coordinate with choices she was not privy to. Since the Ball was a one night event, and gowns were being made with the purpose of making a good showing there, they would finally look how they were supposed to: the princess dressed in splendour, flanked by two well-appointed ladies in, if not identical, semi-matching gowns that relate in concept to her own.

For Violet, that was the whole purpose of the evening. She had no reason to be excited about the princes’ arrival, not since she’d already made up her mind about her future husband and was engaged in convincing him to agree.

“She’s just about done wearing him down,” Pearl told her, without pausing her needlework.

“How do you think they’ll manage?” Trixie asked, tactless out of genuine curiosity. “Everyone knows he’s the only child in his family. I thought Violet would go for a younger son, she’s better off not leaving her kingdom, isn’t she?”

“Well, genius, if you had paid attention and had any knowledge of geography you’d know his lands are right next to ours,” replied Pearl. “They’ll travel to see each other from time to time, but mostly handle their kingdoms’ affairs separately. The heir will get both, and all of our descendants will then live in a country with a coastline.”

Trixie nodded. “And this is what she wants?”

Pearl sighed. “I don’t know, Trix. She has to marry someone. She talks about it like it’s a game of strategy.”

Pearl stuck her needle into her work. Trixie could see her hand trembling.

“What will become of you?”

“She says there will always be a place for me by her side and that I shouldn’t worry about being sent away with nowhere to go, like kings often do with their mistresses. You know she’d never hear of being questioned for her actions,” Pearl sighed. “I’ll always be taken care of, as long as she lives, and she will do her best to provide for me if I have to carry on after she goes. That’s all I can ask for, really. For her to love me as best as she can. She… has to be the queen.”

Tired of conversation, Pearl went back to her work. Trixie moved closer, so she could let her siphon off some of her warmth.

***

Kim forbade Trixie from helping her with the preparations for the Ball, and was so deeply engrossed in the project that she only had hope of seeing her if she needed to take measurements. It was too important an endeavor to double as a chance to socialize, and she had been provided with more qualified assistants. Trixie was decent with a needle, but she was no master. So, she continued to keep Katya company and mind her affairs as usual.

Katya was determined to ignore the Ball for as long as possible. Ginger had begun a campaign of trying to cajole her into placing some importance in the event, as it would mark her debut as a viable candidate for a royal marriage. Her heart wasn’t entirely in it, but she expressed that those above her in authority had a vested interest in Katya’s progress as a future queen consort. She had, after all, been separated from her family and friends for four long years, and this was her opportunity to reap the rewards.

Katya laughed, replying that she considered meeting Ginger and Trixie plenty rewarding.

Ginger glanced in the direction of the heavens, perhaps for guidance. As none was forthcoming, she sighed and went back to playing the mother to Katya’s recalcitrant child.

“Katya, I’m being serious with you. Your progress has been lacking, or so I’ve been told. You must show that you learned something from being here. I’m sure there will be a prince, somewhere, who will look past the hopeless mess that you insist in being and realize what a treasure you are nonetheless. But it would make me so very happy if you would make an effort for me.”

Pausing for gravity, Ginger braced herself for further opposition.

“And we need to make you a new dress.”

Katya wrinkled her nose, with all the distaste of a lady who liked to spend as much time as she could in trousers. Being so athletically-inclined lady, fashionable dresses hardly suited her. Sometimes, to help with her daily exercises, she would fashion her skirts into something like a pair of trousers, leading Ginger to crow about how it was quite useless to waste time mending that which Katya would only ruin again at her earliest opportunity.

“How stiff will it be?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” said Ginger, with a sympathetic smile. “I can make allowances for comfort, if that will make you more amenable.”

Katya, nevertheless, continued to ignore the situation to the best of her ability, preferring to take Trixie on a walk in the light snow than to linger in that conversation for much longer than she had to. The temperature was such that the snowflakes vanished on impact with the ground. Still, they held each other close out of their own preference.

After that, they relaxed by the fire with hot apple cider, and drifted off to bed when it got too late.

“I’m getting a new dress made, too,” said Trixie, with Katya safe in her arms.

“For the Ball? You’ll be there?”

“Of course. I am of age, and I cannot allow my princess to go unaccompanied. Not for such a special occasion.”

Katya suddenly became more alert.

“Are you going to be married too?”

Trixie snorted.

“No, not yet,” she said. “No sensible prince would cast their eye on a lady in waiting, not for marriage at least.”

Katya hummed, settled back down to rest her head against Trixie’s chest.

“No sensible prince would ever look at me either,” she muttered. “I’m too loony, even by royal standards.”

She then mumbled something about Trixie being the softest pillow she could have, and promptly fell asleep.

***

As expected of anything Kim got her hands on, Violet’s gown was a work of fine art. It was a deep blue, with floral embroidery and a wide skirt. She could use the neck as a cowl, and when she pulled it up over her dark curls she looked positively regal.

Trixie and Pearl were pillars of white and gold; their gowns had more narrow skirts, and were pale cream in colour with golden embroidery. Their hair was done up similar to Violet’s, with little ornamental stars woven in. Trixie had never felt so elegant in her life. She had to be gently pried away from the looking glass before she wound up forever staring at her reflection in shock.

The evening of Violet’s selection had been stately, but it was nothing like the Winter Ball at the Academy in splendour. For the first time, however, Trixie did not feel underdressed. Sharp eyes would notice she was dressed just like another lady, and a small thing like that was enough to betray her place in the social hierarchy. A princess’ ladies were not at the Academy for their own advantage, for all that they could enjoy their stay just as well. It was better for Trixie, though, since she could enjoy being beautiful for an evening without the pressure of making herself agreeable to a potential suitor.

Adore had been indecisive about attending. Like many of the non-human ladies, she had no real need or interest in making a marriage alliance, and too many of the attendees would be focusing on that to be satisfying companions. She deigned to bless them with her presence in the end, because she loved a good party. She had little shells woven into her hair by some art, and wore a loose, shimmery green gown. Trixie talked with her for a good portion of the night, and found a space with which to dance a little. Adore lacked grace on land, all the while swearing she was an excellent dancer in the water, but as always her good humour made up for her shortcomings as a partner.

Ginger and Katya had reached a compromise in terms of her evening attire. In order to allow her full freedom of movement, Ginger concocted silk trousers made presentable with a delicate bodice, and a diadem for her hair. It was all done up in shades of red, Katya’s favouritecolour. Ginger’s supervision of her charge had lapsed in regards to actually dressing her hair. It sprouted, loose and wild, around the ornament she would fiddle with if her hands were free.

Katya had explained that she had agreed to focus on dancing with the princes, or at least talking with them, until around half past eleven, at which point she could quit the ballroom if she wished. She often called upon Ginger to conjure up the time for her, sometimes while a bemused prince looked on. Trixie once caught her showing another how she could coax her leg over her shoulder.

They would often catch each other’s eye, as Trixie found it far too easy to track Katya’s movements, and Katya would pause to find her in the crowd if she was no longer where she had last seen her. Dancing and talking with Adore, or holding Pearl’s hand when Violet allowed a few lucky princes the privilege of dancing with her, prevented her from staring too much.

Adore had whispered to her about how her lover was approaching as they spoke, so Trixie only smiled when a pair of hands covered her eyes from behind. She felt like as long as it was that pair of hands, she would never be startled.

“Are you quite tired of dancing?” Trixie said, as Katya granted her use of her eyes once again.

“I’m tired of all the fun I’m having,” Katya replied, spinning her so that they were facing each other. Trixie studied her face carefully, looking for and finding signs of stress. There was a tightness about her smile, radiant as it was despite itself, and her eyes were stretched a touch too wide.

“Why don’t we run away for a bit?”

Trixie was glad to see a sliver of the tension melt away from Katya’s face as she nodded with a grin.

***

Katya’s grip on Trixie’s hand was tight as she let herself be pulled outside. The night was clear, and they had both been covered in a warming charm from having run into Ginger on their way out. Trixie loved the stars at the Academy; the sky was not dotted with stars so much as the stars were dotted with small patches of sky. They walked into the gardens, close enough to the hall that they could still hear the music, much softened by distance. They found a patch of grass they could both lie down on if they pleased. Katya didn’t care about any harm that might come to her clothing from plopping herself on the ground. Even though Trixie did care a little bit, as her dress was very fine and had been made by a dear friend, she let herself drop as well, kicking off her slippers, and letting them lay at her side.

Trixie watched as Katya slowly settled into a relaxed state, her smile melting away as a consequence, her features softening.

“I’m trying to think of a word to describe how you look tonight,” said Katya, barely above a whisper.

“Are you?”

Katya hummed an affirmative.

“I’m torn between heavenly and… Oh, I can’t remember the other one.”

Trixie giggled. “I’ll take heavenly.”

Katya rolled onto her side, reached out to touch one of the stars in Trixie’s hair. Trixie focused her mind on the faint music still seeping from inside. She thought of how she’d watched princes attempt to lead Katya in dance after dance. She hummed along to the tune. Katya’s fingers traced down from her hairline to her jaw.

Trixie touched the corner of one of Katya’s eyes with her thumb. They were both lying on their side, facing each other. Trixie loved the colour of Katya’s eyes. She was reminded of Adore singing a love song to the sea so many nights before as she looked at them.

“Would you dance with me?”

Trixie didn’t know why Katya said it so softly, and she’d never seen her so still unless she’d been lulled her into that state. But Trixie nodded, raised herself back to her feet, and turned to pull Katya up as well.

They couldn’t quite figure out who would do the leading, but they could follow each other’s steps well enough. Trixie had never had a dance partner that was as short as Katya was compared to her, and Katya was not wholly proficient with the ballroom style of dancing. Trixie didn’t care about any of that, only that the music was sweet, and that they slowly came together into an embrace.

“My lady,” whispered Katya, and Trixie’s heart spilled the secret it had been hiding rather poorly from her consciousness.

Trixie’s very first kiss took place under moonlight, as did her second and third. Katya soon held her hand and led her back to her chambers.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixya #pearlet #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #pearl liaison #violet chachki #valentina #miss fame #fairytale au #fantasy #princess au #fannyatrollop #submission #sagt #royalty au #lesbian au #historical au

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footershub-blog · 4 years

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FASHION SNEAKERS

Choose the Fashion Sneaker First Then the Outfit:

If you are anything like me then you would know that choosing an outfit is quite difficult. I could stand before the wardrobe for a long time before I make my choice. Then I decided that possibly. Firstly, I should choose my fashion sneakers so that the rest could follow. After I made this realization, everything simply fell into place. Let’s face it, everyone wants to wear every shoe in his wardrobe but never gets the opportunity to. I’ll tell you why that is so. If you select your outfit first which means your choice of shoes is dictated by what you’re wearing.

The problem that arises when you choose your outfit first:

For example, the other day my friend allowed my outfit to direct my shoe choice and this is how it went. She wanted to be comfortable so picked a set of blue denim paired with a lovely spring halter neck top. The top was a light pink shade which only gave her the option of wearing my light pink sneakers only and not her red fashion sneakers. Do you see what happened there? The choice of wearing those red attractive sneakers had no other option. Also, those shoes would have been comfortable too, because she has a great job and not having to walk around much is one of the benefits. So the next day, she decided to wear her red hot attractive fashion shoes and this is how her morning went. For this reason, she developed a plan for preparing her outfit.

How to Make a Plan to Choose Your Desire Shoes:

The plan is in this order: shoes, top or outfit, trousers/pants or skirt, accessories, and hair. She took her red attractive fashion sneakers out of the wardrobe and looked at them for a moment. She chose the attractive red chiffon top that elegantly flows against her body. Next, she chose her black trousers or pants over which she allowed her red chiffon top flow. Then she went for silver jewelry in the sense of accessories and a bracelet. She chose against a necklace as the chiffon top had enough personality of its own.

Finally, She changed on the first item on her list that was her attractive red fashion sneakers. Then she took a step towards the mirror and was fabulously surprised at how wonderful she looked. She has found out that it’s much better to choose the fashion shoes first then the outfit. This will make her content and confident for the rest of the day. It also means that she will wear all the shoes in her wardrobe, from the running shoes and summer shoes for the evening shoes and winter boots. Here are the top 4 best fashion sneakers Brands we include:

1. Nike

Nike built its rep off the seamless fusion of form and performance. This hotly-anticipated sneaker is actually the simplest of both worlds. The NikeLab VaporMax may be a testament to the tasteful design and innovative footwear technology. In other words: They’ll feel nearly as good as they appear.

2. Gucci

Gucci makes versatile sneakers with fashionable and classy for your collection. they create high-quality material with durable also because of the comfortable fit. it’s also street-wear flexible. they need classic round toes, lace-up closures, stripe side panels, contrasting back tabs. also as thick flat soles for excellent style, quality, and luxury. they will work as finishing touches to your sweatshirt and slim jeans getup.

3. Reebok

The Vetements Reebok Instapump saw limited releases round the world. also because the South Korea pop-up shop saw droves of fashion heads lining up for an opportunity to cop a pair. Set for a wider release soon, these shoes will probably be gone shortly after they are finally dropped, you’ll see it first here.

4. Adidas

The Adidas NMD was one of the foremost definitive sneakers of 2017, and it’s getting to stick around in 2018. There’s also a protective fusing round the toe box to make sure these are more heavy-duty than the typical NMD.

Getting Up so far Information on Celebrity Fashion:

Fashion is usually changing, almost sort of a living and breathing thing. While some things will never be out of favor or out of date, fashion trends are always changing and if you would like to remain up so far and really have a thought of what’s happening within the fashion world, one among the simplest places you’ll look is Bollywood. Celebrities are always within the limelight, then they’re always doing their best to seem up so far. If you would like to seem up so far, watching what they are doing may be a great root. within the past, if you wanted to seem at what your favorite celebrities were doing you’d need to await a once a month magazine to hit the shelves, otherwise, you would need to await an award show to return on so you’ll get a glimpse of what everyone was wearing.

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midlifechic · 6 years

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Ok, so in the second of my new season direction posts, I want to talk about colour trends Autumn – Winter 18. There’s a temptation at this time of year to leave bright colours behind with summer and slide into a wardrobe of neutrals – blacks, greys and navys. I think it’s partly because we often subconsciously associate September with the start of school term and so there’s that whole uniform reference in our minds but also because it’s just easier to fade to grey. As soon as you start having to factor multiple pieces worn in various layers into an outfit, neutrals are just simpler. The problem for midlifers is that unless you have a strong natural skintone, as your own colouring starts to fade (in terms of complexion and hair), neutrals can just look and feel drab.

To back-check this theory I spent some time analysing both my own and other over-40 Instagram accounts. It’s noticeable that the posts featuring outfits in bold colours that suit the wearer get far more likes and engagement than neutrals, even if the neutral outfits work well. Colour just gives you a boost.

Now of course there’s a whole industry dedicated to colour analysis and I’m not an expert although I know some of you are. However over the years I’ve learned what suits me largely by making mistakes along the way. Long term readers will remember that when I was invited to ‘have my colours done,’ the autumnal palette that I was given just didn’t work for me, even though I agreed with it as we were going through the process. It was only when my sister went to see a different consultant and was defined as a ‘Blue Spring’ that I had a eureka moment.

If you feel unsure about your own best colours, there are a number of ways that you can uncover them

See a colour consultant

Think about the colours that you know you look good in and then go to the colour charts on the Kettlewell Colours website to find your grouping (go to the shop by colour section)

Have a look at Imogen Lamport’s blog which is completely dedicated not only to understanding your colour palette, but also to defining things like the level of contrast that will suit you. It explains why the classic colour consultant solution of two strong colours and a scarf in a third really doesn’t work for everyone.

Autumn 2018 colour trends

The reason that I want to help you to define your own best colours is that there are some incredibly strong and powerful shades around this autumn. Some, such as the many shades of brown, will be completely new to some people because they haven’t been around for such a long time. If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you’re going to feel lost when you start shopping in this season’s sartorial paintbox.

Why is bright colour such a dominant trend at the moment? As so often with fashion it’s partly socio-political. Whenever there’s a lot of bad news and uncertainty, humans find a way to cheer themselves up and colour is a solace. Years of boom tend to be filled with cool, soft colours and years of bust turn warm and vibrant.

I’m being strict with myself this year because as soon as I see the first autumn leaves, I usually head for every shade of burgundy and although I love it, it really doesn’t suit me. Luckily there’s less of it around to tempt me this year. In fact Grazia has declared that AW18 is simply down to a choice between purple and brown:

… but when you look through the reality of the new collections on the high street, there are a lot of other strong colours coming through too. These are the most dominant that I’m seeing:

Postbox red

Cadbury’s purple

Cobalt blue

Saffron yellow

Paprika

Leaf green

Worked with a selection of these neutrals:

Chocolate

Tan

Warm grey

Warm white

Blush pink

Black

Of course it’s all well and good knowing what the colour trends are but then you need to work out how you’re going to wear them. There are three key ways.

1. Colour blocking

The really eye-catching outfits are the ones that contrast the strong palette to dramatic effect.

Left: funnel neck jumper; blouse; trousers; boots (coming soon)

Centre: Jumper; culottes; boots (coming soon); bag

Right: Jumper; trousers; boots (coming soon);

Left: coat; top; culottes (coming soon); boots (coming soon); bag

Centre: coat; top; culottes; boots (coming soon);

Left: coat; top; culottes; boots (coming soon); bag

2. Tonal

If that feels like too much, the other option is to go tonal. This year neutrals have moved on. Step away from black and grey and pull together the toffee colours that are out there. Add chocolate or grey to give them more depth but unless you have a strong skin-tone, avoid too much black.

While we’re on the subject of black, I’ve told you before about the uber-stylish, Sorbonne-educated style director that I worked with at Selfridges. I once asked her what she saw as the biggest mistake that British women in particular made when it came to style. She surprised me with her answer by saying “wearing colours with black. Black is best kept as part of a monochrome scheme – with grey, ivory or you can stretch it to tan. Of course it doesn’t apply to every British woman but the classic English rose doesn’t have the depth in her colouring that is required to carry off the contrast of schemes such as red and black or bright blue and black. She needs to pair a bright colour with another bright or something softer such as camel, grey, navy or brown.”

Left: coat; jumper (coming soon); skirt

Right: coat; jacket; top; gloves; bag

Jumper (coming soon); satin wrap skirt; sock boots

3. Neutral with a contrast

The final option is to go this way and contrast one of the brights with a warm neutral

Jumper; skirt; coat; maxi scarf; boots

Outfit details

Dress; Bag; Boots

Jumper; Tweed skirt; Boots; Bag

Scarf; checked coat; jumper; wide cropped jeans (coming soon); shoes; bag

Coat; jacket (coming soon); jumper; shirt; trousers; shoes

You can always take baby steps…

I have two posts coming up where I’m setting myself the challenge of putting this winter’s brights together to see how easy it is. In the meantime, your homework is to try to identify a new colour to try this season because it will really update your wardrobe. Even if you decide to take baby steps and begin with an accessory – yellow boots or a scarlet bag – you can’t go wrong with a scarlet bag and… I have some beautiful new bags coming to the Midlifechic Boutique at the end of September.

Outfit details

A big thank you to Dove

Before I go I just want to say a big thank you to Dove for supporting these trend posts. They approached me in the summer to work with them on the launch of Dove Invisible Care, the new deodorant that has been specifically developed for people who love bright clothes. It leaves no white marks on over 100 colours. I discussed this colour trend post with them and they felt it was the perfect fit.

Although it may appear to be a simple post to write, it actually takes ages because rather than just searching online for whatever Pantone have declared to be the colour of the season, I analyse all of the pictures that I take at press days to find the commonalities. This way I can tell you what you’re really going to find on the high street. However it requires a lot of time and our very efficient accounts chap is keeping a beady eye on the hours I take away from my day job and reporting them back to me. So, Dove’s support on this has enabled me to justify it to him!

A deodorant created specifically for people who love wearing colour

Invisible Care is new, I’ve been testing it for the last few weeks and it’s true – even when you roll on the tightest, brightest top there are none of those white stripes down your side. Other great things are that it doesn’t contain any alcohol thus helping your underarm skin to recover from any irritation caused by shaving and it lasts for 48 hours so you’ll even be fragrant when you wake up in the morning.

I’ve always used Dove deodorant and the middle son borrowed it one morning when we were in transit this summer. He said it smelt like safety and rather lyrically explained that it was the fragrance of being picked up and held when he was little. So if he ever makes it as a famous actor and is interviewed by The Times, when he’s asked what reminds him of his mother it won’t be Chanel No 5 – it’ll be Dove!

So, I hope you’ll join me in boosting your autumn wardrobe with some colour. If ever there was a year to do it, it’s this one. I’ll be back on Friday with my first colour filled session where I’ll be playing around with the blues, oranges and yellows that are to be found in the new collection from John Lewis & Partners.

Disclosure: ‘Colour trends Autumn – Winter 18’ was underpinned by Dove Invisible Care whose support enabled me to spend time defining the colours of the season away from the beady eyes of my accountant!

Colour trends Autumn – Winter 18 and how to work them Ok, so in the second of my new season direction posts, I want to talk about colour trends Autumn - Winter 18.

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