woven ribbons

Two Minutes (part 2)

Sooo - a recent discussion with @panickypaladin brought a level of this to my attention that I never would have thought of and frankly - it’s terrible.  Like, heartbreaking terrible.

So of course I had to swing my story to follow that route.  All the thanks to them for this next part.  And to @theprojectava for the original picture of Ryou that lit the fire under me to write anything at all about this in the first place.

part 1 if you need it


He wasn’t Takashi.

He would never be Takashi.

But if Takashi could pilot anything - Ryou was the one that could build it.

They walked around the ship once it was done, closer to it than Takashi had been up until this point.  Ryou though - Ryou had been living inside its guts for the past year and a half.  He’d never been so proud of himself, of something he’d had a hand in creating and Taka was glowing at him, that warm, deep, water-drowning glow that only Taka could glow.  Ryou felt like a helium balloon, floating along next to his twin, feet barely touching the ground, exhausted from far too many months without enough sleep and almost giddy at the same time.  He watched as Taka lifted his hand, laid just the pads of his fingertips against some of the paneling of the vessel, soft and reverent the way they both touched machines and he watched with satisfaction as his brother then stepped forward, laid his whole hand against that sun warmed ceramic, palm flat, soaking in the heat of the giant structure as if he could soak in its personality and essence, eyes closed, entire body going still.  Ryou felt like a proud father or… or a proud older brother as Taka admired the ship without words.

“What her name?” Taka asked finally, in that voice of his that was half dreaming, half awake excitement and Ryou grinned.  Because of course the ship had an official name - but  - Ryou always named his ships private names he never shared, a secret promise between just the two of them, an intimacy that only Taka was allowed into when he piloted one of them. 

“Little Magpie.”

Taka turned his head with a laugh, edges of his eyes wrinkling, and Ryou grinned back.

“Little Magpie,” his twin repeated softly after a moment, looking back at the ship with love.

The ship that would travel to the edge of the solar system, as far as mankind had ever dared reach and then come safely back home.  A bridge across the distance of space.  And the Shirogane brothers were going to make it there.  Together.

Ryou wasn’t the pilot his brother was.  No one was.  But Ryou had a way with machines that was as close to love as human hands could carve and when the twins had joined the Garrison, Taka’s path had gone up and Ryou’s had gone down.  Down into the depths of tangling wires and piping, down into circuits and motherboards and air tubes and compressors, down into the dark depths of ships where welding was a melody and the groan of plastic and ceramic and steel was a deep whale’s song of harmony or warning.  While Taka had been busy knocking every single flight simulation to ribbons because it couldn’t keep up with him, Ryou had been twisting and adjusting and simply creating things that the Garrison had never dreamed for its ships.  They’d both graduated with highest honors.  The averted Venus disaster they both wore woven into the ribbons on their dress uniform’s chest had been Taka’s impossible piloting to get them in and Ryou’s spit and bubble gum save of the giant gas drilling platform’s orbital decompressor.  And, while Ryou hadn’t been along for the Io Miracle, he’d been the one that had just recently installed the changes to the stabilizers in the ship that Taka had piloted in and saved the plunging research station workers with.  The Garrison, the conglomerates that ran the Garrison, knew when they had not one but two geniuses inhouse and, young or not, still untried in so many ways or not, there was no end to the possibilities they provided for the twins. Takashi Shirogane was a rising star - but he was binary, because Ryou rose just as fast on the opposite horizon.  Ryou even had his own team, the pride of a real, honest to God, own team, that answered to no one but him, that he was entirely responsible for, and more projects to chose from for the whole of them than he could ever hope to complete.  The private sector was hungry for him too but -

but Taka was with the Garrison - and Ryou couldn’t imagine leaving his brother behind and going elsewhere.

He couldn’t imagine creating ships his twin wouldn’t make dance like dragonflies on the surface of a stormy pond like love given physical form.

And now they were going to Kerberos.  Taka - and the ship Ryou had helped build just for him.  Just for this mission.  That he’d poured every advance he could think of, every safety feature, every gift of speed and grace and power and strength he could pour into every inch of it, down to the smallest torque of a bolt.  His team wasn’t the only team that had worked on the ship - but Ryou had gone over ever inch of it until he was satisfied.  The shuttle was his ship and his brother was going to take it into the pages of history. It was the greatest gift he could give his twin.  So far.  He had more plans -  but first, Kerberos.  Taka turned eyes that held stars in them already, on him and his smile said it all.  They were laughing when they hugged, twins about to punch their way right through the impossible into forever.

Five months later, Ryou was in the command center when the feed from Little Magpie went dead. 

The ship he’d sent his only brother into space in. 

The ship he’d built to keep their dreams alive. 

The ship he’d told his brother would never fail him.

The entire mission control crew waited a full forty-eight hours - hoping…

But Little Magpie never spoke again.

• Sack back.
Place of origin: France (textile, embroidered); France (sack back and petticoat, sewing); England (fancy dress, altered).
Date: 1775-1780 (embroidered); 1775 - 1780 (sewing); 1870 - 1910 (altered)
Medium: Silk, linen, silk thread, linen thread, metal, whalebone; hand-woven silk, ribbon and fringe, hand-sewn, hand-made bobbin lace.

anonymous asked:

A young Pepin shyly approaches Miss Gilrouis, a handful of bright ribbons cluched close to his chest. Blushing, he holds them out -- skillfully made (for a child) flowers woven from ribbons and lace. "Here, miss, I heard you lost the archery trial 'cos he forgot to give you his favour? So you can have this one for later, just in case." He pauses a moment before stammering out the rest. "If he forgets to wed you too, by the time I'm old enough, maybe you will still remember me, miss?"

Originally posted by andantegrazioso

The warmth of the greenhouse was a welcome change from the chilly, late spring of a still-frozen Ishgard, and Gwenneth thought she might take some of that warmth into her, bearing it out to the tournament grounds that she might keep her bones from turning to ice. She pauses in her steps when she’s suddenly addressed, however, turning at the sound of the voice to look down at the child who approached her.  

And, listening, her cheeks are colored by a flush of embarrassment at his suggestions, and surprise at the sight of his token.  “Oh, my dear Ser!” she exclaims, her expression one of honest delight. “What an honor it would be to accept something so lovely!  I won’t be any more in competition, I’m afraid, but I would be so happy to carry them in your name!”

With that, the young lady kneels down upon the greenhouse path, that she might be level with the Pepin boy. “Though surely Lord Rosaire didn’t forget, yes? He’s but busy with very important things,” Gwenneth explains, looking over her shoulder for a moment, as if in expectation, “and I assure you that my loss in the Mark was only the fault of my own lack of practice,” she laughs out when she goes on. “It was all for fun, besides!”

“And while I do hope that I’m not so…tragically forgotten,” – could it be that a trace of real worry creeps onto her face? – “I can promise that I shan’t ever forget such sweetness from you, good Ser.”

She reaches up a hand, then, to pluck out one of the apple-blossom clusters that were secured in the pinnings of her hair, and with the great “to-do” that one reads about in so many tales of knights and ladies, seeks to slip it into one of the boy’s button-holes.

“I pray I am so fortunate as to have you champion my name one day.”  And whether or not it would only be against Alexandroix in play, she certainly meant every word.

God!Ahkmenrah x Dancer!Reader:  Tribute

 I don’t own the picture, and I don’t own Night At The Museum.  Other than that, enjoy!

“Y/N!”  A voice called through the thin wooden door of your room.  “Are you ready yet?”  Quickly tying a sash around your waist, you walked over and opened the door. The village elder (and your grandmother) stood before you, leaning on a gnarled wooden cane.  “Are you ready, child?”  You nodded and followed your grandmother to the village center.  It had been a tradition that every year, one girl was chosen to dance before the Gods as tribute.  This year, you were chosen for the task, and you were equal parts excited and nervous.  It was a huge honour, but it also came with a lot of responsibility.  Your thoughts raced as you thought of all the possible outcomes.  What if you missed a step?  What if the Gods rejected your tribute?   With one small mistake, you could shame your village for eternity!  Seeming to sense your anxiety, your grandmother laid a reassuring hand on your forearm.  “You will do fine, Y/N,” she assured you. 

“Thank you, Grandmother,” You smiled as you approached the village center.  Waiting for you was a grey donkey with flowers and ribbons woven through its mane.  After helping you climb onto his back, your grandmother took a silver amulet from around her neck and looped it around the donkey’s.  The amulet began to float, catching the donkey’s eye.  It tugged gently on the donkey’s neck, which prompted it to start walking.  As you were carried from the village, you looked back over shoulder, wondering how long you would be gone. The donkey trotted along for what felt like ages until it suddenly stopped.  You looked around.  You heard a snapping noise, and you whirled around to see the amulet floating in the air above you.  It began to spin and glow, as you watched in awe.  As the glow got brighter, you had to shield your eyes with your hands.  The wind picked up suddenly, and the donkey spooked.  It reared up, throwing you from its back. You landed on the ground and curled into a ball, still covering your face with your hands.  Soon everything went silent.  Shakily, you looked up, gasping at the sight. Instead of being surrounded by trees, now a towering pair of stone doors sat in front of you.  Slowly standing up, you brushed off your outfit and nervously approached the doors.  Reaching out, you knocked on the door as firmly as you could.  The doors instantly creaked open.  Taking a deep breath in, you steeled your nerves and walked inside.  Behind the door was a courtyard filled with lush plants that you were certain you’d never seen before.  As you looked around, a young woman with brown hair approached you.

“Are you this year’s tribute?”  Gulping nervously, you nodded.  She clapped her hands together and smiled.  “Wonderful!  If you could follow me, I’ll help you prepare.”

“Thank you…”  You trailed off, realizing you didn’t know her name.

“Oh!  My name’s Rebecca.”  She supplied.  You smiled.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” She looked at you expectantly, and you realized you forgot to tell her your name as well.  “I’m Y/N,” You quickly added.

“Nice to meet you,” She said, as she led you away to prepare for your performance.  After what felt like hours of polishing and stitching (you were a little banged up when you fell) you were led to another pair of large doors.  These ones were gold instead of stone and had intricate designs carved into them.  Before you could knock the doors smoothly glided open.  Rebecca nudged you from behind, and you slowly entered the room.  You thought the room was empty, until you looked up.  Sitting on a balcony that stretched around the perimeter of the room sat the Gods.  There was a man with a moustache, a woman with long black hair, a woman with curly red hair, a man with short brown hair and a boy who looked to be his son, an Asian man with long black hair, a man with cropped black hair, a man with blond hair, and a man with tan skin and brown-black hair who was watching you intently.  They all sat in the shadows so you couldn’t fully see their faces and therefore didn’t know which Gods you were about to perform in front of.  You immediately sunk into a low curtsy. 

“I come to offer tribute,” You said as confidently as you could.  You heard murmurs as the Gods debated whether or not to accept your tribute.  Finally, the room quieted.

“We accept.”  You nodded and stood up straight.  Almost immediately, music started playing.  You bent and twirled to the music, expertly performing the routine you had been practicing for months now.  As you danced, you felt a particular pair of eyes never leaving your form.  When you finished, the room was silent.  After a few moments, a lone pair of hands started clapping.  You looked up as the God who was clapping stood up and stepped forward into the light. You bit back a gasp as you realized which god was applauding you.  As Ahkmenrah, God of the Heavens applauded your performance, you curtsied again as Rebecca came in and led you out of the room.

You had changed into a pair of pyjamas hours ago and found a book that you had finished hours ago.  You lay on the massive four poster bed, bored out of your mind.  Eventually, you decided to go on a walk in the gardens.  You pulled on a pair of shoes and wrapped a robe around you before you left your chambers.  You wondered around the gardens for a good chunk of time, admiring the flowers and fountains that surrounded you.  Suddenly, you heard a twig snap behind you.  You whirled around and found yourself face to face with Ahkmenrah.  You gasped and immediately dipped into a low bow.  He chuckled.

“There’s no need to bow,” You stood up, nervously fidgeting with the belt on your robe.   He smiled.  “You don’t need to be nervous, Y/N.” He assured you.  You dropped your hands to your sides and mumbled an apology as you continued to stare at your feet.  “Hey, look at me,” You slowly raised your head to look at him.  When your eyes met, he smiled.  “You were wonderful today,” He praised you.  You blushed and smiled, causing his own grin to widen. 

“Thank you, my lord,”

“There’s no need to call me ‘lord’, Y/N.”


“No buts,” He stopped you.  “Just Ahkmenrah is fine.” You nodded.  “Would you care to join me?” He held his arm out.

“I’d love to, my—” He shot you a playful glare as you looped your arm through his. “I mean Ahkmenrah.”  He pulled your arm closer and laced his fingers through yours.

“Wonderful.”  For the next few hours, you both wandered through the grounds, talking about anything and everything.  When the time came for you to return home, you were surprised to find yourself reluctant to leave.  When you first found out that you were chosen to perform, you wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.  Now all you wanted was to stay longer.   Over the three days you had been there, you had befriended many of the Gods, but you were closest to Ahkmenrah.  So you were both sad and happy when he didn’t show up at the gates with everyone as they bid you good-bye.  You were sad because you wanted to see him one more time before you left, but you were also glad in a way.  You weren’t sure if you would’ve been able to handle saying good-bye to the God that had unknowingly stolen your heart in the span of a few days.  You wondered if what you felt was even real.  You had heard legends of the Gods being able to manipulate the emotions of mortals.  Before you could any more on the matter, you were snapped out of your trance by Rebecca, who was handing you a pouch of food for your journey home.  She pulled you into one last hug.

“Take care, Y/N,” She told you when she let you go. 

“Thank you for everything, Rebecca,” You answered as you were helped up onto the donkey you had ridden there on.  As you were settled on its back, the amulet around its neck began to guide your mount back home.  After hours of riding, you finally spotted your village in the distance.  Your donkey suddenly sped up, seeming equally eager to return home.  As you got closer, you could see the outline of your grandmother.  But standing next to her was the figure of someone you didn’t recognize, until you were close enough to see their facial features.  Your face scrunched up in confusion, which quickly melted into surprise and shock when you realized that it was Ahkmenrah.  You slid off the donkey’s back and was immediately engulfed in a hug by your grandmother.

“You did wonderful Y/N!”  She told you warmly.  You smiled and hugged her back.  She let you go and turned to Ahkmenrah, who was watching you both with a smile.  “Y/N, I’d like you to meet Ahk, he’s just moved to the village.”  You raised an eyebrow at Ahkmenrah, who was watching you with a gleam in his eye. 

“Oh really?”  You said coyly.  “And what attracted you to our humble homes, Ahk?”

“Not what, but rather who,” He told you. 

“I told him that you’d be happy to show him around,” Your grandma answered.  You could’ve sworn that she sounded smug.  

“I’d love to,” You said, looking up at him and offering your arm the same way he had offered his to you a few nights ago. You both found yourselves unable to look away.  You were both finally snapped out of your trances by your grandmother clearing her throat loudly, causing you both to jump.  She gave you a knowing look and mentioned something about “going to pray” as she walked off to her cottage, leaving the two of you alone.   As soon as she was out of sight, you whirled on Ahkmenrah.

“What are you doing here?”  You demanded.  He watched you with that same smile, before suddenly becoming serious.

“I couldn’t let a girl like you leave, Y/N.  I’ve lived for eons, and not once have I met anyone remotely like you.”  He answered.  Your breath caught in your throat.  Did that mean…?

“Ahk, what are you saying?”  You asked him cautiously.  He gently tugged you by your arm into his chest, wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m saying that I love you,” You could practically hear his smile.   You smiled and wrapped your arms around him.

“I love you too,” You mumbled into his chest.  His lips brushed against your forehead.  You both stood there in each other’s arms; too content to move.  But soon you remember your task.  You separated yourself from him and grabbed his hand.  He was watching you intently, grinning all the while.  “Now come on,” You smiled.  “It’s going to get dark soon, and it’s way harder to show someone around when you can’t see anything.”  He laughed and let you pull him around the village, happy that he had finally found someone to share his life with.

Thanks to the anon that requested this one!


ƁELTANE (Lá Bealtaine)

Beltane, one of four Gaelic seasonal festivals, is the Celtic May Day. Historically widely observed throughout Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man, Beltane used to mark the beginning of summer and was when cattle were driven out to the summer pastures.

Rituals were performed to protect the cattle, crops and people, and to encourage growth.

Special bonfireswere kindled, and their flames, smoke and ashes were deemed to have protective powers. The people and their cattle would walk around the bonfire, or between two bonfires, and sometimes leap over the flames or embers. All household fires would be doused and then re-lit from the Beltane bonfire. These gatherings would be accompanied by a feast, and some of the food and drink would be offered to the aos sí (spirits). Doors, windows, byres and the cattle themselves would be decorated with yellow May flowers, perhaps because they evoked fire.

In some parts of Ireland, people would make a May Bush: a thorn bush decorated with flowers, ribbons and bright shells. Holy wells were also visited, while Beltane dew was thought to bring beauty and maintain youthfulness.

Bonfires All hearth fires and candles would be doused before the bonfire was lit, generally on a mountain or hill.

In the 19th century, the ritual of driving cattle between two fires was still practised across most of Ireland and in parts of Scotland. Sometimes the cattle would be driven “around” a bonfire or be made to leap over flames or embers. The people themselves would do likewise. 

In the Isle of Man, people ensured that the smoke blew over them and their cattle.

When the bonfire had died down, people would daub themselves with its ashes and sprinkle it over their crops and livestock. Burning torches from the bonfire would be taken home, where they would be carried around the house or boundary of the farmstead and would be used to re-light the hearth.

From these rituals, it is clear that the fire was seen as having protective powers. As a matter of fact bonfires were meant to mimic the Sun and to “ensure a needful supply of sunshine for men, animals, and plants”, but they were also meant to symbolically “burn up and destroy all harmful influences”.

Food was also cooked at the bonfire and there were rituals involving it. Everyone present would take an oatmeal cake, called the bannoch Bealltainn or “Beltane bannock”. A bit of it was offered to the spirits to protect their livestock (one bit to protect the horses, one bit to protect the sheep, and so forth) and a bit was offered to each of the animals that might harm their livestock (one to the fox, one to the eagle, and so forth). Afterwards, they would drink the caudle.

Maypole It is a tall erected wooden pole around which maypole dances take place.

The practice had become increasingly popular throughout the ensuing centuries, with the maypoles becoming “communal symbols” that brought the local community together: even poorer parishes would join up with neighbouring ones in order to obtain and erect one.

As revived, the dance consisted of pairs of boys and girls (or men and women) stand alternately around the base of the pole, each holding the end of a ribbon. They weave in and around each other, boys going one way and girls going the other and the ribbons are woven together around the pole until the merry-makers meet at the base. There are also more complex dances for set numbers of dancers, involving complicated weaves and unweaves.

In some regions, a somewhat different Maypole tradition existed: the carrying of highly decorated sticks. The sticks had hoops or cross-sticks or swags attached, covered with flowers, greenery or artificial materials such as crepe paper. Children would take these hand-held poles to school on May Day morning and prizes may be awarded for the most impressive. This tradition is known as garlanding, and was a central feature of May Day celebrations in central and southern England until the mid-19th century.

Family Drama

pineappleheadmarco​ (I love you so much for both of these prompts, but especially for the Mephishura one because that was perfect and ended up being far bigger than all the other prompts, ehehehe).

“I’m sorry that I got way too into playing house and accidentally kissed you passionately.”

Title: Family Drama
Pairing: Mephisto Pheles x Shura Kirigakure
Genre: Romance/ Humor
Rating: T
Word Count: 10,031 (I told you I really loved this one)

Disclaimer: I do not own Ao No Exorcist or the characters, they belong to Kazue Katō.

Keep reading

I just finished sewing the finished twisted braid tablet woven ribbon onto the dress and it looks so goooooood! I am so proud of me!

pictures hopefully tomorrow, because tomorrow is Ekenäs Riddarspel, which is by a castle with an honest to the gods actual MOAT, where we’ll be going <3

Chance Wedding

For heavenlytheshield, who is so wonderfully supplying me with prompts. Fair warning, I ADORE weddings. (As for that gif right there, I couldn’t resist!) Enjoy!

October 15th

We chose the date because there was simply no other date we would have considered. It was the day we’d met, the day we’d gotten engaged. We were engaged for two years, because I found that a year just wasn’t enough time to plan my wedding since I was in school.

Two years turned out to be just perfect.

The weather on our wedding day was just as gorgeous as the day we’d gotten engaged. The sky was clear and blue, and the trees were in the height of their beauty, a fiery mix of reds, yellows, and oranges. It would be an outdoor ceremony, with a small crowd; only the people that mattered.

By six o’ clock, we were all ready. My three maids of honor stood beside me, because I simply couldn’t have chosen between them. Spencer, having faced the same dilemma, had ended up with three best men as well. Of course, we had two ring bearers; Jack and Henry. The wedding was to start at 6:10, and everything was right on schedule. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My dress was long and flowy, covered in white eyelet lace, complete with lace sleeves. It had a sweetheart neckline, but the lace overlay covered up to my shoulders before dipping down, exposing my back before flowing into a small train behind me. The hem, embroidered with tiny blue flowers, barely brushed the ground in the front, and my white ballet flats peeked out from beneath. My long hair was curled, and a veil, trimmed in lace, framed my face. Little white flowers were formed into a headband that my veil was attached to. My makeup was minimal and neutral, but even I had to admit that I looked radiant. It had to be a result of the sheer joy I felt at the realization that, within the hour, I would be married to my Spencer.

I smiled at JJ. She, Emily, and Penelope all looked beautiful in their red dresses with white lace sashes and cap sleeves. They each had a little bit of their own flare to the dresses. Penelope’s was short, and she wore it with orange tights and a yellow rose in her hair, with black Mary Jane’s-the picture of fall. JJ’s dress was long, with a little bit of a full skirt due to a layer of tulle underneath. She wore her long blonde hair up, the curls twisted with a strand of orange chrysanthemums. Emily had a long dress as well, but hers was an A-line skirt with an empire waist, and her dark hair was braided over her shoulder, yellow ribbon woven into the braid. They all carried small bouquets made up of mums, miniature sunflowers, and wild roses, all in fall colors. I smiled at them.

“You guys all look stunning,” I told them.

“Oh, we are nothing compared to you, my love,” Penelope objected. I laughed, just as a knock sounded on the door of the small cabin we’d been getting ready in. We all turned to see Morgan and Rossi, dressed up in tuxedos with red and orange bow-ties, respectively, and with boutonnieres made of a yellow rose and a red mum. Morgan whistled, looking me up and down.

“Look at you,” he said appreciatively. “Who is this beautiful stranger?”

“Are you saying that I don’t look beautiful every day, Derek Morgan?” I teased. He just laughed and hugged me.

“You know better,” he replied.

“Are you guys ready?” Rossi asked. “Reid is going insane and we’re all set up.”

I nodded, feeling so excited. My new life was about to begin.

The ceremony was set up near the apple trees and the pumpkin patch where Spencer had proposed. There were several rows of chairs on each side of the aisle, accommodating our small guest list of about 20 people. The aisle was lined with flowers, and there was an arch at the end, covered with English Ivy and ribbons, all red, orange, and yellow. Candles were lit to compensate the slowly fading light of the evening. I could see Spencer standing at the end, looking so excited. His hair was as much a mess as always, and he looked unbearably handsome. Soft music played as the procession began. Our best men and maids of honor made their way down the aisle in pairs. JJ and Hotch, Derek and Penelope, and Rossi and Emily, all followed by our ring bearers. Then, finally, it was my turn, and I heard the music change to a traditional bridal march, but I barely noticed anything. I kept my eyes on Spencer, who was smiling so brightly that I was certain we could blow out all the candles and the sun could set and we would still be able to see just fine.

When I made it to the end of the aisle, Spencer took my hand in his and leaned close to whisper to me.

“You look beautiful, (Y/N).” I smiled at him as we took our places facing each other. We’d written our own vows, and Spencer went first.

“(Y/N), I honestly still feel like this is all just a dream,” he began. “Since the night we met, I’ve felt like my whole life was a dream. Too wonderful to be true. The idea that you and I are real amazes me. I’ve loved you every day of the past three years, and I’m so grateful to be able to spend every day for the rest of my life with you. I used to not really believe in luck, but it’s different with you. With you, there’s no other explanation. I’m just really lucky. I love you, (Y/N). I love you more than I know how to say, and I promise to do my best to take care of you and to be the man you need me to be. I promise I’ll read to you when you ask, and I promise that when you’re sick, I’ll take care of you. I promise to stand beside you no matter what, to never doubt you, and to always be there when you need me. I promise to do whatever I can to make sure we both come home safe every night. I promise to love you, for the rest of my life.”

I smiled at him through my tears.

“Well, if I can speak without crying,” I began, and the crowd laughed before I continued. “Spencer, I love you. The night I met you, I left my house not expecting anything good to come of it. I thought I would go home that night and regret going out. But then you walked up to me. You changed my life. You turned it around and made it better. You became my best friend. You still are. You’re the best think that has ever happened to me, and I’m lucky, too. The past three years have been the best of my life, and I can’t wait to see where our journey takes us. I promise to be there for you. I promise to listen to your rants and your statistics, to cuddle with you and comfort you. I promise to take care of you and be your partner in everything. To trust you with my life and my heart. To always believe in you. and I promise to love you, Spencer, for the rest of my life.”

A stray tear made its way down his cheek, and I laughed lightly, reaching up with one hand to caress his cheek, brushing my thumb lightly against his skin to swipe away the tear.

The presiding minister turned to Henry, who gave me Spencer’s ring, which I took from him with a smile.

“Spencer, do you take (Y/N), to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, from this day forward?” he asked, and Spencer nodded furiously.

“I do,” he replied, and I slid the ring onto his finger. The minister repeated the question to me.

“I do,” I answered, and Spencer, having taken my ring from Jack, slid it onto my finger with a bright smile.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Spencer, you may kiss your bride.” A cheer rose up from the crowd as Spencer pulled me to him and kissed me, his lips warm and familiar and passionate. As we pulled away and joined hands to walk down the aisle together, bubbles blown by our guests drifting over us, I heard Derek’s voice as he took the microphone from the minister.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you,” he announced, “Pretty Boy and his Pretty Girl, Mr. and Mrs. Spencer Reid!”

I laughed, and I wondered if it was possible to be happier than I was right then.

I decided probably not, but with Spencer Reid beside me, anything was possible.


Silk dress, ca. 1858 by KSU Museum
Via Flickr:
Blue silk taffeta evening dress with two-tier skirt. Antedates Virginia Shields Vaden’s marriage to William Vaden in 1858. The bodice is low cut and the sleeves are very long and full. All hems are finished with a border of silver floral jacquard ribbon and fringe. American, ca. 1855 Silk taffeta, jacquard woven ribbon, silk fringe Gift of Ann Jenkins Farmer in memory of our mother Dorothy Longbrake Jenkins Roberts, KSUM 2005.6.4 a-d

The Goddess of Spring becomes Queen of the Dead

Prompt: Legendary Lovers
Paring: Levi/Mikasa
Setting: Fantasy/Mythological AU
Rating: T

A/N: This is long long LONG overdue like many of my other fics. Read part one [HERE] if you haven’t. Well, what else can I say? This story needed a part two. Characters feel a little ooc because I wrote it all in fairytale-speak. So here it is. Enjoy <3

The Goddess of Spring becomes Queen of the Dead

Death has fallen in love. In search for a bride, he became captivated by the maiden of Spring. His dead heart beating for the first time. He took it upon himself to capture her as his bride. And so, opening the earth, he unveiled his Hell, dragging the maiden against her will into the haunting darkness of the underworld he owned…

Keep reading


Rating: M (yay smut!)
Word Count: 2800
Author’s Note: Just wanted to stretch my writing fingers a bit… this was in my head.  Thank you @zengoalie for the beta and encouragement!


Belatedly, it all makes sense.

The long, restless nights.

His inability to garner more than two hours’ of sleep at a time, if that.

Racing thoughts, rapid heartbeat, everything and anything able to set him off, make his jaw clench in barely restrained anger.

He had simply chalked it up to the stress of the situation, losing his love, losing his undeserved chance at happiness.

Yet, now… he knows the truth.

Another Dark One. The words curl as evilly in his mind as they do on that damned blade.

Killian has no desire to dissipate himself in a swirling cloud of dust, so he chooses to angrily stomp from Swan’s domestic abode to his ship in the wee hours of the morning. The town slumbers peacefully as he walks, unaware of the revelations that have shaken him to his very foundation.  

As he reaches the docks, Killian thinks he hears a high-pitched “tee-hee-hee” from somewhere.

He slows his pace, eyes narrowed as he looks around to see only darkness and the sound of the waves lapping at the shore.  Killian ultimately decides that he has no desire to trot down the Rumpelstiltskin themed rabbit hole and silences the imp in his head with a succinct, “Fuck off, you scaly-faced bastard.”

The giggling abruptly ceases.

Keep reading

A Winmills Christmas- Day 6

Welcome to A Very Merry Winmills Christmas!

This is a challenge hosted by @waywardlullabies! I was given 12 prompts, one for each of the 12 days of Christmas. I have taken the prompts and turned them into a fluffy, smutty, feels-y love story about Sam Winchester and Jody Mills, and I hope you love them as much as I do! (Also, shout out to my loves @unadulteratedstorycollector and @littlegreenplasticsoldier for their general wonderfulness.)

Read Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5

Day 6 prompt: Decorating + sweaters

Warnings:  light smut

Word Count: 2000ish

A/N: Feedback is greatly appreciated on this one, guys! I hope you enjoy this Christmas gift from me to you! XOXO

Sam blasts the Christmas music as loud as Jody’s ancient stereo system will let him, and then he waits.

It only takes a couple of minutes for Jody to stagger down the steps, wearing only Sam’s undershirt from the day before.

“What the hell?” she groans, wiping at her eyes.

Keep reading

“Something is coming.”

You hear it in passing conversations shared among strangers in the street, whispered from beneath the concrete, shouted from the clanging pothole lids, and uttered under the breath of your bartender at Peacock Alley - the Waldorf-Astoria’s famed and gorgeously adorned barroom - as he straightens his handlebar mustache and tightens his tie ( which, you swear, flashes scarlet the moment he adjusts it ). Your pick of poison this afternoon is a Negroni, and perhaps you sipped it a tad too fast, for the walls are now painted with the shadows of people who aren’t there, and at the Waldorf, something is afoot.

You see, the lobby crowd is filled with much more than just musky perfume and variations of Chanel, the faces are stranger than old money, every step you take seems to quake the floor, and the floor itself? Its heart beats in response. You follow a trail of confetti and Swarovski glitter to the veiled door behind the gold and iron concierge desk, an unassuming entryway guarded by a bookcase playing home to leather volumes ( which, you are sure, contain not a single word ) and an elderly man.

He tips his bowler hat to you as you pass, eyes lighting up from behind a web of wrinkles, like he left his heart in the last century.

“Nice weather out today, eh?”

You frown. Outside, it is storming.

“I’d like room on the thirteenth floor,” you whisper to him, toying with the seam of the red ribbon woven into your sleeve, “with no view.”

He nods like he’s heard this one thousand times before, like he’ll never tire of hearing it. “Comme tout le monde.” Doesn’t everyone?

CIRQUE EMPIRE is an original roleplay based on a devious, decadent, elite circus pumping confetti and blood beneath Manhattan. Open for spectators applications on Halloween weekend. 



⭐️Kaylor & Golden Stars, Chokers⭐️

I have seen people mentioning a lot of things about Kaylor wearing star symbols (and other things) recently. So I investigated a bit and found some interesting things you might like to hear:

The Star Symbol: Originally, the stars were used by sailors to help guide their way as they sailed through the night. They relied upon the stars to protect them and bring them home safely. Many soldiers get nautical stars for the same reason: protection. So stars symbolise protection, guidance, loyalty and honor. They can also symbolize prestige.

Back then, when being gay was not so accepted, gay women would get the tattoo of a star on the inside of their wrists as a sign which they could cover up with a watch or bracelets during the day and at night they could take it off so other lesbians would see the sign and know the wearer’s attraction.

Star tattoos are very commonly used among queer people to denote homosexuality. They are often placed in a location that can be easily concealed. For instance, one could have the star tattooed on their wrists, sides, arms or other similar places, allowing them to hide it (with accessories or long-sleeved shirts) by day, and reveal it at night at the bars and clubs.

In conclusion, there are two meanings for “star” worn on concealable parts of the body:

  •  the protection and guidance 
  • being affiliated with the gay community

There is another interesting thing to mention: the chokers. Both girls have been seen wearing it, it caught my attention.

The chokers:  The history of the choker dates back thousands of years, to the world’s earliest civilizations. According to all the sites and information on its origin I’ve found, women wore chokers to protect them and give them power. They were said to be protective and amuletic. Obviously, if one is part of the gay community, members seek for acceptance and protection, even nowadays.

Historically, it was associated with high fashion, but could take on different meanings under different circumstances. However, at that same time, a plain, thin, red or black ribbon choker had ties to prostitution in the late 19th century. While a plain black woven choker or ribbon could signify secret lesbianism in the Depression era.

Here you find a post where they wear chokers.

And we get the same meaning again:

  • signification of secret lesbianism
  • protection and power

Taylor seems like she’s wearing a choker with golden stars hmm… Interesting.


Golden stars have a lovely meaning in LGBT community. Being called Gold Star queer means it is a person who has only had sex with the same gender and not with the opposite gender. Basically, a lesbian who has never slept with a man.

Hope this was useful. 💅

Ohohoh You Asked For It Buddy. I’m Not Holding Back On The Length Of This Starter.


It was around mid December. It was cold and the air was filled with Christmas cheer. It was only two more weeks until Christmas. Stores were crowded with shoppers, there were lights and decorations everywhere, and just about every house had the smell of a Christmas tree, and peppermint. Everyone was happy and excited for the holidays.

Sarah was out in the woods near her house. She was taking a break from working on the gifts she was making to talk a walk and enjoy the cold air. Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold. Her sister had forced her into getting her hair braided and red ribbons woven into it. Her hands were sore and red from the constant work she had been doing with her gifts this year. She always made gifts for her family. As a particularly cold gust of wind blew, Sarah wished she had worn a thicker jacked. She shivered lightly at the cold.

She looked up at the cloudy grey sky. Snow flakes had started to float down, melting on contact with her body. It was going to be a white Christmas this year. She continued walking through the forest, the snowflakes dotting her hair, fitting into the Christmas colors of red and green perfectly. Other than the cold, Sarah was content to be here in these woods. A small smile graced her face as she wandered aimlessly through the trees.

The Comtesse d’Egmont Pignatelli in Spanish Costume (1763). Alexander Roslin (Swedish, 1718–98). Oil on canvas. Minneapolis Institute of Arts.

The countess’s glowing gown of white satin has sleeves slashed and woven through with ribbons and pearls, in the Spanish style, a reference to her husband’s ancestry. A talented musician, the countess played the guitar for her Spanish guests. She spent her days studying history and literature and conversing with artists and poets. The book she is holding may be a work by the philosopher and writer Jean-Jacques Rousseau.