TRAINED SILK WEDDING GOWN with LACE and ORANGE BLOSSOM TRIM, 1920s.
charmeuse pleated and wrapped bodice having gauze short sleeve and
bodice insert trimmed in needle lace with orange blossom corsage, open
skirt over gathered front panel of gauze on silk decorated at hem with a
wavy band of self ruffles, silk piping and orange blossoms, long square
A/N: *sharply inhales* HERE WE GO! This is the last part of Therapy. I thought of this idea, and I’m really nervous to post it because I’m not quite sure if it’s what people might expect. Keep in mind there is a huge plot twist, and it does get kind of dark in the end. Oh gosh, I am nervous to post this but I do hope you guys enjoy the chapter! It is intense, and full of angst. xx I am going to be catching up on fics within the next few days, but the next thing I’m posting is Chapter 21 of Why I Love :) I’ve got one more challenge piece, then I promise I’m pumping out requests.
Tags: SMUT - TW: attempted sexual assault, suicide, inappropriate doctor/patient relationship, blackmail, angst, stalking ** I am not promising a happy ending please don’t hate me for that lol
The grandfather clock marked off each passing second, its lonely sound echoing in the quiet foyer. The dim light that hovered above the entrance reflected off the glass panel and painted a soft yellow light on your arm.
This felt strange.
Stepping away from the front door, you were going to follow the path down the narrow hallway until you saw something out of the corner of your eye that caught your attention.
On the blank wall near the staircase was a single photo hanging all by itself. You shifted your footing towards the stairs, climbing up a few steps up until you found yourself facing the sweet portrait before you.
Enclosed around the black wooden frame, was a photograph of a younger Negan looking devilishly handsome in a tuxedo. He was clean shaven, sporting a head full of luscious, dark hair while resting his arm over the shoulder of a well-built, moustachioed man.
Standing next to that man was a woman in a gorgeous wedding dress. The train cascaded down like an avalanche of snow with its ends trailing along the grassy field that tainted the mesmerising white. Her exceptional beauty radiated straight from the photo and nearly knocked the wind out of you.
Summary: Where Bucky is the world’s
deadliest bridezilla, Steve gets a ‘close’ shave with a Cold Steel Recon knife,
Bucky gets sentimental about flowers, and the boys get married.
Characters: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers; Best Man
Sam Wilson, Best Woman Natasha Romanoff; Tony Stark gets a license
Warnings: Bad language words, lots of sassy Bucky, brief mention of knife play. So much fluff. A bit of SMUT, so please follow the rules and be 18+ to read (or at least skip the shaving scene).
A/N: Here’s my story for @hellomissmabel ‘s
birthday and 2k follower celebration, congrats again Annie! The idea was to include ‘yellow roses’ into a story, and in case you didn’t know, yellow
roses are all about new beginnings. That’s always an excellent theme with our favourite boys, right?
Steve Rogers is wrapped in a
warm, fluffy blanket burrito when the bedroom door slams open. It booms like
canon fire and he jerks awake with a shout, tumbles off the bed, and smashes
his head on the nightstand.
Scrambling to untangle from
the sheets, he scrubs the grit from his eyes and looks around in a panic.
Bucky Barnes stands in
the doorway, wearing nothing but electric blue boxers and a massive smile.
He’s holding his toothbrush in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
He is the only human being
on the planet who drinks coffee while
he brushes his teeth.
He’s fucking weird.
Steve loves him so fucking
“Wakey, wakey bitch! We’re
getting married today!” Bucky takes a huge slug of coffee, and pops his
toothbrush back in his mouth. He’s grinning at Steve while he brushes, flecks
of white foam dripping to the floor.
“You’re fucking weird.”
Steve mumbles, collapsing back to the floor.
he met her
in a sunlit meadow
flowers seemed to bloom in her wake
trailing her skirts like a wedding train
as she ran
straight into his arms
they wrapped around her reflexively
where his skin touched
the flowers wilted
his chin brushed the stalk
of wheat behind her ear
his breath hitched
the fumes of the Underworld
caught behind his teeth
she burned against him
—this child of life
with birdsong rosy in her cheeks
wreathed in the perfume of growing things
the sun’s rays curled about her shoulders
like apollo had draped them there himself
he could feel the roots of the dead
twining around his ankles
stretching eager fingers
toward the maiden, and he
he presided over the dead
it was not his job to deliver
death to them
her fingers looked like
fragile plant stems
but they dug into his robes
like the strongest roots
when he yanked back
she tore away fistfuls
of black fabric
that pooled over her hands
as souls did
her eyes were
fountains brimming over
they fell to the black carpet
beneath his feet
she reached a hand to him—
and took his, “please, take me away”
(he’d heard thousands begging
thanatos not to take them,
but never someone asking him to)
“why?“ spilled over his lips
but she shook her head,
chestnut ringlets bouncing about her face
“the flowers have eyes,” she said
“take me where none will grow”
hades met persephone
when she was running
from her mother
he saw the fear in her eyes
but not for him this time
she took shelter where
her mother’s creation could not
she took up residence
on death row
when zeus condemned her
he offered the pomegranate
he tasted the juice on her lips
when she kissed him
whispering “you saved me”
against his mouth
he could still taste the sweetness
beneath the blood
when he lied to demeter
and she hit him for “tricking” her daughter
eventually she stopped
running from her mother
running toward him
Boned bodice with short puffed sleeve gathered into a wide band trimmed with ribbon and two rhinestone circles, open neck and back with rhinestone and bow details, full skirt with double scalloped hem, decorated with lace swags, medallions and floral sprays, lined in cream taffeta, back hook & eye closures
FRENCH TRAINED IVORY SILK BENGALINE WEDDING GOWN, 1860.
Open V-neck boned back lacing bodice with points, short sleeve with lace on net bell, trimmed in bands of satin ribbon, muslin lined. Bustle skirt with large train having applied hem band of Van Dyke points bound in satin, satin bow at waist and below bustle, hem stiffened and trimmed with pleated voile and lace, lined in glazed cotton.
As I was just explaining to @lepus-arcticus, it takes me so damn long to write these drabbles that I have no time for much anything else, including writing pithy intros. So, yeah, here it is. At least it’s not angst, right? Tagging @fictober and @today-in-fic
He followed her into the vacant lot. Her trenchcoat swept behind her like a mummer’s
wedding train, catching on the desiccated stubble. Everywhere was rust and the cold slap of
November. He felt gloriously alive.
“So what’cha thinking, Scully?”
She wheeled and her hair caught the breeze, briefly
colouring the listless sky. Blood sang
in his veins. To live in a world with
her in it.
“I’m thinking, Mulder, that you’ve done it again.”
“Impressed you with my sagacity? My mumbo jumbo derring-do?” It was a good thing Scully didn’t favour
pigtails, as he felt a passing urge to pull on one.
She collected herself, obviously alert to his mood.
“Mulder…” This tone,
almost coquettish, had a high degree of success when he was drifting skyward
like a helium balloon. Mulder had an
ambidextrous whim and a frightening capacity for charm, but he could not posit
and flirt at the same time. She needed
him to pick a suit and play it.
“As a scientist, Scully, I would think that you’d be
interested in Mr. Turnbull’s claims back there.
The ramifications for sufferers of Lou Gehrig’s disease, Guillain-Barre,
all manner of neuro-muscular syndromes …”
“Mulder, Mr. Turnbull’s claims are backed by a surprisingly
spry grandmother, a flair for the dramatic and a health elixir he concocted, by
his own admission I might add, one night when he was tweaking the formula for
his moonshine still. I’m hardly rushing
out for peer review.”
This was the way of their world. They were engaged in a game of intellectual
brinkmanship so heady that it passed for foreplay. It was
coup and countercoup, warp and weft, and it anchored him like fetters of down.
Pleated ivory chiffon over satin, the boned bodice having tulle front panel and short sleeve with serpentine vines and berries, satin trim and sash with streamers, very full skirt having three tulle panels at front and long rounded train.
'I Don't Need Your Help!'-Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader One Shot
Summary: Hvitserk and (Y/N) have recently been married, though not by their own accord. They try to accept this, knowing that they will play an important role in Kattegat’s future. However, (Y/N) finds herself belittled by her new husband (who does not realise this) and becomes frustrated. She does not want to live like this, finally releasing her anger.
Characters: Hvitserk Ragnarsson x Reader
Meanings: (Y/N)= Your name
Warnings: fighting, shouting and angst
I winced as I flexed my hands. They were blistered from sparring with my friend. It had been a while since I last trained, the wedding planning having taken over everything. Not that I wanted any part in that. Being betrothed always meant that your future was already planned out for you, how you grew up revolved around that. Hvitserk was a good husband, I could not deny that, but I didn’t want to marry him in the first place. Now I was stuck here, always under constant watch, seeing if I would turn out to be a fit princess for Kattegat. Queen Aslaug may have agreed to the arrangement on her son’s behalf, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to suspicious about me.
Resting in a chair, I say by the fireplace, all of my armour removed as well as my boots. I really needed to get back into training if I was to ever go on a raid again. Well, if my husband would even let me. Rolling my eyes at the thought, I relaxed a little more, feeling how tense my muscles were. Only moments later, the door opened, Hvitserk strolling in. He greeted me with a gentle kiss to my head; he always tried to be affectionate, something I was a little glad about.
He gasped slightly.“(Y/N), your hands!” He picked it up gingerly, inspecting the sounds.
I snatched it back.“I am fine. They’re just blisters. I haven’t had to hold a shield in a while and it rubbed on my skin.”
“You’re training again?”
“Well yes, what else do you expect me to do? I need to make sure I am at my best when fighting.”
“I am proud of you for doing that. It is good for a woman to show that she can defend herself.”
We smiled at each other. Yes, we argued quite a bit, though sometimes we could be nice to each other. However, the lovely moment came to an abrupt end when he opened his mouth again.
“But I do not understand why You are so hard on yourself?”
I stood up.“I need to be prepared for the next raid. We don’t know what could come our way.”
“(Y/N), you can’t come on the raids.”
My mouth dropped open. For a moment, I was too shocked for words.
“Why not? You know I’m a skilled fighter!” I raised my voice.
“Yes but raids are very different from just training.”
“You speak as if I have never been on one!”
“You’re not going!”
I raised my voice.“Who are you to tell me what not to do?!”
He got louder than me.“I AM YOUR HUSBAND! YOU DO AS I SAY!”
“NO! I WON’T DO AS YOU SAY! I AM GOING!”
“It’s too dangerous!”
“Hvitserk, I can handle it.” I started to walk away from him.
“I am trying to protect you.”
Leaning against the wall, I sighed into my hands.“I didn’t ask you to do that. I didn’t ask you to marry me, or be nice to me. Sometimes I wished that you would be an awful husband just so I always had a reason to shout at you.”
His breathing was slightly heavy, I could see him trying to hold back words. Quickly turning on his heel, Hvitserk stormed out of the house, slamming the door harshly. Letting out a frustrated scream, My fingers clutched onto my hair, stamping my feet as if I were a toddler having a tantrum. Who knew when he would be back? I wasn’t going to wait around for him.
After taking a little time to calm myself down, I decided that I should start preparing some food. A part of me thought that I should make something for my husband. He was always eating. No! No, I wasn’t going to do that. He saw me as his little wife, I wasn’t going to act like one.
Luckily we had scraps of meat left over from dinner the night before. It would be enough for me in a stew. My hands started to throb from just fetching the ingredients. Looking down at them, I could see the redness flaring, it felt as if I was holding them over a fire. Ignoring the pain, I started to make the meal, working quickly to avoid irritating the blisters any further.
Realising that I had to fetch water from outside, I let out a groan, internally debating whether I could go a night without food. My body replied with a loud grumble of my stomach. Fetching my cloak, I grabbed a bucket, heading into the fresh spring night. Thank the gods that winter was over.
It was getting harder to grip onto the bucket as I approached the well. Placing the bucket down, I shook my hands, desperately thinking about something else. I had to get this water quickly; the faster, the better. Lowering it in, I peered down to watch it fill with water. As I started to heave it back out, I let out a quiet whimper, the rope burning the skin. Before I could take another moment of this torture, the rope was taken out of my hands.
“Hvitserk, I can do this.” I protested, trying to take back the rope.
He easily kept me away.“You’re in pain. You should put something on it.” within seconds, the bucket was out. He picked it up, heading back home.
“Give it back.” I demanded, reaching for it.
“Would you just-”
I trailed behind him. Why was he doing this to me? I wasn’t some fragile woman who would cry over getting mud on her dress. I wasn’t a woman who didn’t know her way around a sword. I wasn’t weak. He just couldn’t see that.
He set the bucket down by the fire, a cauldron hanging above it. Quickly taking the chance, I attempted to pick it up, spilling some as I poured the water in. Hvitserk rubbed a hand over his face, clearly frustrated by my stubbornness.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me. Stop putting yourself through this.” it almost sounded like begging.
I went back to the ingredients, cutting up the last of the herbs.“Clearly I do it you won’t let me go on the raids.”
“Here we go again-”
I slammed the knife into the table.“I wouldn’t have to go on if you just saw me for who I really was!”
“And that is?”
I marched up to him.“A strong woman who knows her way around various weapons and who is good at fighting. I want this see the world as much as you do. It isn’t fair that I have to stay behind.”
“What if you get hurt? Or and up getting killed?!”
“Then I will heal or be welcomed into Valhalla where I shall be greeted by my ancestors.”
“Do you just not care? Is that it?”
“No. I just don’t care what you think.”
“How are we supposed to start a family if you are fighting beside me?”
Walking back to the foods, I started filling up the cauldron. I had shocked myself with that sentence. I really wanted a family, two or three children. But first I had to raid.
“I cannot believe how selfish you are being.”
I couldn’t deal with two things at once when I was this angry. Slamming the cutting board on the floor, I covered my face with my hands, unable to say anything.
“All my life I have been told what I must or must not do. I thought that I may have some sort of freedom in this marriage but it seems that I’m still trapped.”
“(Y/N), you need to start thinking like a princess-”
“No, I need to start thinking for myself!” out of the blue, tears sprang from my eyes.“I am not going to be caged up like an animal, waiting on your every needs or having your children.”
“I have made my decision.”
“Well so have I. And that desicion is that I am not staying here anymore.”
I grabbed my cloak and sword.“I will not spend another minute in this house.”
As I made my way to the door, he tried to reach out for me. I slapped his hands away.
“Don’t you dare touch me again! And don’t come looking for me either, I do not want to see your face.”
So, some of you may have seen my posts about how WestAllen strikes me as emotionally abusive. However, there is an element to this that I want to address. The Flash is just a TV show. It’s fiction, it’s not real. That being said, most of the time when there is drama in a relationship on TV, you can chalk it up to writers creating TV drama to keep their viewers entertained. It’s a writer’s job to keep the audience interested, and for whatever reason, we like watching/reading about drama. So, naturally, on TV shows with multiple seasons, no one gets happily ever after until it’s close to the end of the series, couples are constantly going through rough patches and breaking up and getting back together, it’s just chalk full of drama. In real life, you wouldn’t see things like that happening. And if they did, they would all be called unhealthy relationships. I don’t feel like any relationship on a TV show is ever truly “healthy” because TV shows are nothing but drama. In real life, you want to try to avoid drama as much as possible. However, that doesn’t stop WestAllen from being one of the most toxic relationships I have ever seen on a television screen. As a writer, it’s kind of my job to analyze characters and situations so I understand them. This makes me a better writer when I write my own stories, so I understand where all of my characters are coming from and why certain interactions lead to different situations and dynamics between characters. And while I don’t think the writers have done this intentionally, they have created an incredibly forced, toxic relationship between Barry and Iris. It’s all just TV show drama, but in real life, it’d be considered extremely unhealthy.
Much of Iris’s awful behavior can be chalked up to bad writing. In real life, (at least most of the time), no one would be that awful. People wouldn’t wait vindictively in the room for their significant other to wake up after being stabbed just to reveal they called off the engagement by slowly dragging their ringless fingers down his arm. People wouldn’t walk away without a word when asked by their significant other if he lost them or not. People wouldn’t leave a video message reciting wedding vows when they were going to die rather than tell the person they loved to be happy without them and move on. People wouldn’t smile creepily and claim to have “saved” someone they loved if they also murdered a future version of them. There would be more guilt, there would be a freak out. No one would be smiling happily after that, even if the person they killed was “evil”. People wouldn’t not try everything in their power to get the person they love back when they were lost and possibly hurt like Barry was in 4x01. They certainly wouldn’t call attempts to save them a waste of time. People wouldn’t be disgusted by the person they love if they were going through what Barry was in 4x01. People wouldn’t make it about themselves when the person they loved was hurting like Iris did in 4x01. They wouldn’t stupidly get themselves kidnapped in an effort to get their significant other back into action when they were going through what Barry was. They wouldn’t be oblivious to the feelings of the one they love and not notice when they don’t want to do something, like how Iris was so wrapped up in herself that she didn’t notice Barry didn’t want to go to couple’s therapy and wanted to be anywhere else. They wouldn’t accuse him of “leaving them standing there alone” when he he had no choice in the matter of leaving and was in isolation for ten thousand years in a place existing outside space in time, (impossible in reality, but if it wasn’t, most people wouldn’t be as self absorbed as Iris about the situation knowing what happened to Barry). They wouldn’t pull their significant other away from work, he wouldn’t stop hanging out with his friends once he started dating her… there are a lot of things about WestAllen that are done for TV drama, but have seemed to go past TV drama and into toxic, horrible, emotionally abusive relationship territory.
Now, even with all of these horrible aspects of WestAllen, I could normally still chalk it up to being just really bad writing. To create drama, the writers have made Iris West unlikable. Great, I wish they killed her off. Normally, that would be how I would view WestAllen. But then they called them “the golden standard”. I’m sorry, no. This is a family friendly show. Kids watch it, teens watch it, young adults who’s synapsis haven’t connected yet watch it, (I actually fall into this category). People are very susceptible to what they see in the media, especially when younger. Watching WestAllen and hearing it get called the “golden standard” is going to make some young people think that this is the kind of relationship you want, that the way Iris treats Barry is okay. I’m sorry, but no TV show relationship should ever be considered the “golden standard” considering how much drama is in TV, and WestAllen certainly isn’t. With everything that’s happened both before and after they got together, this relationship is the epitome of toxic. Iris only wanted to be with Barry because of “destiny”. Yeah, that’s not a reason to date someone. Barry never stands up for himself when it comes to Iris. She is allowed to do and say whatever she wants. At least on Arrow, when Laurel was being a bitch to Oliver in season 2, he was able to tell her, “I’m done running after you.” He didn’t just stand there and take what she was saying to him. He was done. But Barry is never done. He seems like he justifies all of Iris’s actions, like he believes that she is always right. That’s not a good thing in a relationship. Iris doesn’t get to always be right when oftentimes, (pretty much all of the time from what I’ve seen), she is in the wrong. If Barry were to tell Iris when he was upset about how she treated him and why it upset him and if Iris were to make an effort to be better and treat him better, then maybe I wouldn’t hate WestAllen so much. But that’s not how their relationship is written. Instead, it seems like the writers have unwittingly made Iris West a narcissistic bitch and they have made Barry kind of seem like he is the victim of some emotional abuse when it comes to episodes like 3x15, 3x16, and 4x02. Again, it’s all supposed to be TV drama, but if you’re going to create a nasty pairing like that with all that drama and have one of the partners in this pairing treat the other the way Iris treats Barry, calling it the “golden standard” makes the writers seem like idiots who’ve never even had a relationship before. The couple’s therapy should have been used to improve the relationship, but instead, it was just another way for Iris to walk all over Barry. This should have been the time where Iris realized how she has been selfish and pretty awful to him at times. It should have been the time where Barry realized that the way she treated him is wrong and that he needs to stick up for himself more and tell Iris when she hurts his feelings. It should have been the time where their relationship improved, but instead, it seemed like it was nothing more than Iris complaining about Barry and how he doesn’t communicate well enough to her, even though she was the most dysfunctional uncommunicative bitch in 3x16 when he asked her a question about whether he lost her or not and she walked away without a word. And in 4x02 she scheduled them an appointment without his consent, talked him into it, and then told him that they had the appointment in thirty minutes, even though you could see it all over his face that he didn’t want to go. Iris is the one who has an actual problem with communication. That’s what they should have been in therapy for. The simple little things that Barry was doing that for some reason upset Iris so badly could have been worked out if they just talked it over together. They didn’t have to go to therapy for it. And Barry already apologized about that morning, which was a simple mistake on his part. He had been gone for six months. He didn’t know there was construction on that road. Give him a couple weeks and he wouldn’t make a mistake like that. But the wedding plans? The training? It’s a little extreme for Iris to drag him to couple’s therapy over that. Couple’s therapy itself is not a bad thing, when it actually helps you. But it didn’t help Barry and Iris. It just helped Iris. She got a new way to complain about him, make him feel bad about himself, and convince him that she’s right and he’s wrong, as always.
This relationship is NOT the golden standard. Calling it that is what made it escalate from stupid TV drama and an unlikable, toxic pairing to something alarming. People don’t need to be trying to mimic WestAllen in their relationships because they have it in their heads that it’s “the golden standard”.