#sircnss

[stevienicksrps]

@sircnss​

“I’m pretty sure one of your mom’s friends pinched my butt when I was dressed like Santa,” Zack said, grabbing punch off the table. “Want one?”

[pretendsweetly]

“I haven’t seen you in so long! Get over here and give me a hug.” bre to harriet

Harriet’s decision to come to the party had been impulsive at best–she’d worked an eleven-hour shift, and she wasn’t feeling particularly festive, but a Facebook notification and a lack of anything better to do that guaranteed her some free alcohol landed her here, in her scrubs, with a headband of reindeer antlers and an amiable smile to all her old friends.

Except Breanah, that is. 

It’d been long enough that the two of them immediately screamed upon seeing one another, which, while a total cliche, was a good one when it meant you were in the company  of someone you genuinely liked–and, even better, someone you knew, and who knew you. It was, Harriet would argue, the reason for the season: the chance to be around people and feel this type of warmth.

She rushed over, coat still on her arm, to give Bre a tight squeeze, and the two of them giggled as they embraced, Bre holding a drink up carefully so as not to spill it. 

“Let’s get you a drink,” Bre insisted as they pulled away. “Or something to eat. Did you just come from work?”

When Harriet nodded, Bre, who had always delighted in making herself feel useful, nodded back. “I’m gonna get you a plate and a drink. Don’t go anywhere.”

Harriet, feeling like the night was finally turning around, acquiesced, planted in her spot with a grin on her face. 

[weirdgirlfiction]

“This is really corny…but you’re already a gift to me.”

Aidan smiled at Breanah, caught off guard by her frank cheesiness. He smiled because, just for a moment, he was at loss of words. He never expected to get this far with her, not when she was so guarded and competitive and a complete oddball. He never expected it to get serious, in truth, because he never had the best relationship models. Still, here they are, two dorks with one shared passion, many fun and vaguely messy nights later.

“Bre,” his voice was soft when he said her name and he let out a nervous laugh, “open your gift.” Aidan motioned to the box already in her hands, encouraging her to go ahead. 

Breanah unwrapped it carefully only to breath out a surprised gasp when the black velvet box was revealed. “Aidan,” she said in a tone that he couldn’t quite decipher. 

Shocked? Scared? Delighted? He was afraid to find out.

Her hands were trembling when she opened the box. The white gold and pink diamond ring sat humbly in the cushion. Breanah looked between it and Aidan, her lips were parted, but no words were coming out of them and it was making him really, really nervous.

“It can be just a pretty, obscenely expensive ring,” he hurried to explain, “but it — it could be more too — if you wanted.” Ainda smiled, and it was only nervous because he didn’t know what she would say, but he was sure. “It could mean I’m your gift every year.”

[stevienicksrps]

“Is what I’m wearing okay?” - from Ayla ok

crissmiss starters

“Are you kidding?”

She had to be kidding. Owen almost choked on his own spit at the vision of Ayla all dressed up for Christmas dinner. He hadn’t dressed nearly as fancy, but then he also didn’t look nearly as good in a dress. 

“You look great, Ayla,” he said, sincerely. “I guarantee my mom will tell you the same thing, about ten times probably. She’s kind of .... a lot with complimenting people.” He had been thinking of the word ‘effusive,’ but it hadn’t come easily to him, sitting on the tip of his tongue until he decided to phrase it differently. 

He cleared his throat and stood up, in his joggers and polo shirt, and walked over to where Ayla was standing to meet her. “You look really nice,” he said. “I hope you enjoy American Christmas with us.” 

[stevienicksrps]

💬

Send 💬 + a rumor and my muse will react to it.

“Jocelyn’s bar is haunted. If you go into the bathroom and spin around chanting ‘reveal yourself’ three times, a flapper ghost shows up and insults your outfit.”

[stevienicksrps]

Aşermek, for zack and bre or Logan and este whoever you're feeling

aşermek: the experience of craving certain foods while pregnant

This is an old story.

There is a man. A husband. There is always a husband, one who has always wanted a family of his own, one whose kind heart has made his blind to the deceit of others. Under the guise of obtaining his heart’s desire, there is precious little he wouldn’t do. 

This husband was a woodsman, away from his wife for stretches of time, felling trees and occasionally slaying beasts. It was after one such stretch that he returned home to a wife with a swollen belly, joyously announcing the arrival of a child -- their firstborn, the gift the woodsman had been awaiting for so long. Consumed with longing for the family he’d always dreamed of, the woodsman did not pay mind to his wife’s cycle, or the furtive glances she frequently gave the merchant who passed through their village. 

There is a witch. There is always a witch, for there is always a woman who refuses to abide by the expectations of those around her. This witch lives alone, on the outskirts of town, very near to the woodsman. She tended to her garden and she baked loaves of bread and other sweet treats that she’d gladly give to the village children, if only they would overcome their fear and ask. 

And this witch had the most incredible garden. Her greens were brighter, her flowers more fragrant, and her fruits more vibrant than any other garden in the countryside. Her baked goods were her pride and joy, but her garden was what drew the most attention. 

The woodsman would do anything for his wife, and for their child, and the wife knew this. As her belly grew rounder, her requests grew stranger. First it was chocolate, hard to come by. Then, it was quail eggs, cooked in their skillet, at all hours of the day. Finally, it was rapunzel. Rapunzel from the witch’s garden. She’d stared through the window at her neighbor’s plot long enough, and the craving for rapunzel was driving her mad.

“Please, Zachary” she begged the woodsman, placing his large hand on her belly. “I can’t explain. I just -- I need it.” 

And her doe eyes were so big and round that any protestation the woodsman could vocalize died in his throat. 

--

And so, in the dead of night, the woodsman climbed over the witch’s garden wall, tiptoeing quietly through the various plants, and located the rapunzel, grabbing a few fistfuls of the vegetable. He rose, ready to pocket the rapunzel and turn back to his own cottage, when he locked eyes with the woman who called this place her home. He was frozen, taking in the sight of the witch he’d only ever heard of secondhand.

“You don’t look like a witch,” he said, the words coming out louder in the quiet night, filling the space between them. She raised an eyebrow.

“And you don’t look like a thief,” she answered. “Yet here you are, with rapunzel that you didn’t earn.”

The woodsman flushed, and cleared his throat. “My wife is nearly sick with want for rapunzel. This is the only place -- not that that makes it acceptable but -- I would do anything for her.”

The witch gave him a sidelong glance, as if making an important decision that he was not privy to. 

“We will work something out. It’ll cost you,” she warned. 

“Anything,” he promised.

“You don’t want to promise that,” she said, “you don’t know what it is I’m going to ask.”

“Then why are you letting me go?” he asked, baffled.

“Because,” she said, turning back with a twirl of her cloak, “I know you’ll be back.”

-

The rapunzel satisfied his wife for all of a week before she begged for more. The woodsman was wary, remembering the look in her eye as the witch cautioned him, telling him there was a price, but the earnest, open look of longing on his wife’s face persuaded him to climb over the garden wall again. 

As before, the woodsman encountered the witch, who was waiting for him with a basket of rapunzel, no quick, furtive labor necessary. As before, she warned him that there would be a price that had yet to be named. There will be a third time, she said as she bid him adieu, and he shivered on the short walk home to his wife’s waiting arms. 

-

His wife labored before the third time occurred. For hours, nearly days, she struggled, but before the rooster crowed she had brought a boy into the world, a boy who looked nothing like the woodsman but well-loved by him nonetheless. When the merchant came to visit his wife and their son, the woodsman told himself it was because he was being a good neighbor. 

For almost a month after they had a quiet, contemplative existence, serving their son and taking comfort in each other. 

But the merchant kept calling, seemingly disappointed when Zachary was still in their cottage. His wife would look at the merchant through her lashes while she fed the baby, and the woodsman felt a twinge in his chest. 

One afternoon she begged the woodsman for rapunzel, one last time, as she’d taken a liking to it, she claimed. If the woodsman saw the merchant’s carriage on his walk over, he thought nothing or it. 

The witch was waiting for him again, as if on cue, rapunzel gathered into a basket again, a ribbon tied neatly around it. She wore a bemused expression and in daylight, the woodsman took note of her light brown hair and the blue of her eyes. She looked even younger than the first time he’d seen her.

“I knew you’d come back,” she stated simply, and the woodsman walked toward her, his body moving of its own accord. “I’m ready to collect my price.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” he asked, feeling strangely breathless. It hadn’t been a difficult walk over, so there was no reason for his heart to be in his throat. 

“I want …” she trailed off, and cocked her head as she looked at him. 

“I want your firstborn child.”

“You can’t,” he sad quickly. “He’s been born, he has a Christian name, you wouldn’t tear a babe from his mother’s arms --”

“Your firstborn,” she said pointedly, and kept her gaze fixed on him even as he realized the double meaning of her words. 

“No,” he said, voice cracking. The witch gave an imperceptible nod, one that the woodsman almost missed. 

“Return to me when you’re ready. I can wait,” she said gently, but it was no use. His pulse was throbbing in his ears and he stumbled out of her garden, running back to his cottage, only to find his wife in a passionate embrace with the merchant who had the same nose as his son. 

-

The woodsman spent days and nights wandering through the forest, taking comfort in solitude, relishing in the honest work of clearing trees and trapping rabbits and living off the land. He could only guess at how long he was in the deep woods, knowing only that the days grew shorter and the nights colder, and the birds had all but fled by the time he emerged, weak and trembling, and ended up at the witch’s door. 

She had bread in her hands this time, and her light brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders. 

“You’re ready, I presume,” she said as he gratefully took the food she offered. 

“If you’ll tell me your name,” he replied, and grimaced as he looked at the state of his clothing. “And perchance let me wash, first.”

In the woodsman’s village, the people talk. The countrymen talk of the weather, of the cows who miraculously give milk after a blue moon, of the merchant who had made a family with another man’s wife, and of the witch, who lives alone in her cottage. 

They talked when the woodsman visited the witch and never left. They talked when the witch would come to town, her belly rounder by the day, and rested a hand like she had a secret. 

The countrymen couldn’t have known that the woodsman had made good on his bargain, and that, after, while he lay trembling in the witch’s arms, she whispered her name into his ear, gave him the power to know her completely. 

They couldn’t have known how big her heart was, how at ease the woodsman felt in her presence, and how, during the hard nights of her pregnancy, all she craved was his body lying next to hers. 

The following summer a baby was born, a girl, with blue eyes like her mother and blonde hair like her father, and when he held her, Zachary would have paid the price ten times over. 

[stevienicksrps]

@sircnss

“Lizzie, let Rigel have the toy.” Logan admonished her daughter as she played with some legos. She was supposed to be sharing them, but it looked like her daughter was having trouble with the concept today. Lizzie looked at Logan and her features contorted into a sassy face before handing the toy reluctantly to Stella’s son.

Logan’s eyes widened and she looked at Stella in disbelief. “Did she -- did she just roll her eyes at me?” Stella said nothing but the look of amusement on her face was response enough. “Two going on twenty-two, am I -- oh.”

She brought a hand to her swollen abdomen, leaning forward the slightest bit. She waited for the pain to pass, to catch her breath again, but it was harder than expected and she hissed in pain as another pang shot through her. “Okay,” she said, trying to compose herself. “Let’s see if I can -- oh, no. No, I can’t.”

Logan looked up, at Stella’s concerned face, and admitted her suspicion. “Something is wrong. With the baby.”

[stevienicksrps]

!

the meme that pretends to be abt marriage but really is abt sex

Who was the one to propose: Christian, and it took FOREVER bc he overthought it. Who stressed more over wedding planning: Jocelyn, I think. Just because she didn't know how to tell Sam lol.Who decorated the house: Both of them! Who is more organized: Jocelyn probably is, bc Christian has a good eye for deadlines but Jocelyn is better with details.Who initiates bedroom stuff: Oh, this is like 99% Christian.Who's more dominant: .... Christian.Who suggested kids first: .... also Christian. Who's the cuddler: lmfao guess who .... Christian. He's just an effusive guy. What's their favorite non-sexual activity: I think they enjoy having people over for drinks and games and socializing. Who kills the spiders: Jocelyn, bc Christian legit has a phobia. Who falls asleep first: I think Christian does bc Jocelyn has more late nights.Who is louder: Christian.Who is more experimental: I feel like Jocelyn has some surprises up her sleeve on this one. Do they fuck or make love: Both. Who is more likely to be caught masturbating: Christian, no doubt about it. Who comes first: Christian makes sure it's Jocelyn the vast majority of the time. Who is better at oral and who prefers it: They're both pretty good but I think Christian prefers it. Who is more sensitive: I wanna say JocelynWho has the most patience: Jocelyn 10000%