A Misty Memory.. @thewardlily - Tumblr Blog

Oh Who Is She...

Once upon a time was a woman who could never be. She wasn't allowed, and by the time she realized what she was the world had already taken all her strength. Alone in the forest, she sunk to her knees. She had no energy to continue, but her eyes still tensed as she looked up, looked forward. Even as life dripped from her in buckets, she never lost the will to cling to it. Lucky for her, the forest never lets anything go to waste if things go its way. When flesh rotted away and the bones fell beneath the earth. When the only thing in her marrow was will itself. Overgrowth overtakes her. A beautiful flower is born. Though she is no longer human and her form is wholly new, for the first time in both her lives, Lily can finally breathe. She uses this second chance to.. laze around, mostly. To spend her days cloaked in nothing but the sun, tending to the flora and fauna of her little patch of the world.

Those who have encountered the Ward Lily have described her as carefree and welcoming to good company- some would use the word 'hippie-like', depending on the time period they are from. The one thing that reliably sours her mood, however, is to disrespect or trample upon her domain without care. Do this intentionally or often enough, and you may end up recycled as she was, with far less of yourself remaining.

{I use curly brackets for ooc talk for now, might switch to something else later?}

{Anyways. Im here to roleplay smut!! I was convinced to make this blog by the presence of a very beautiful maid, but tbh if Im here I might as well get my fill and have fun with just about any girl under the sun~

I may also dip into rp that isn't just intense, hip-plapping smut. Lily is a reflection of myself in a lot of ways, as seen from the intro above she has more to herself than naked sunbathing. More technical info under the cut-}

#bone-rattle #leaflet

bugpervert

you'd have to be some kind of sisterkisser to reblog this

vullen

future archaeologists will know you were (not) a boy

vullen

future archaeologists are not immune to getting stretched

himejoshikomaru

i love lactation.. there's literally nothing cuter than a girl so happy and comfortable that she starts swelling up and leaking milk from her tits.. it's a good sign..

himejoshikomaru

i love lactation.. there's literally nothing cuter than a girl so happy and comfortable that she starts swelling up and leaking milk from her tits.. it's a good sign..

himejoshikomaru

i love lactation.. there's literally nothing cuter than a girl so happy and comfortable that she starts swelling up and leaking milk from her tits.. it's a good sign..

lady-of-vitreous-sight

everyone deserves support for their princess headmate.

queercoded-disney-villain

Aw, what a good girl. That’s right, kitten. You’re going to come back to my house and. Wgat was that.

yay-bunnies-zone

i love dolly fallover. picking her up and hugging her.

verygoodprincesshelper

It's national angelgirl lust day

feralharpygirl

Ever since they recognized it as a public holiday cases of angel abuse have increased by an average of 16% every year, and 63% of angels now report feeling Very Unsafe in public.

That's good policy in action!

verygoodprincesshelper

Let's gets those numbers UP!

pokeballvictimized

Look its a very efficient system. Retired heroes get shrunk and turned into girls to be the companion fairy for the next hero. I'm not sure what you're confused about. No you can't put the legendary sword down

thewardlily

Easy Prey

How much time does it take to spend inside your home before it acts, functionally, as your prison? It isn't when you stop thinking about leaving, or when you make accommodations to ensure you have everything you need from within its walls. Its not even when the days start to bleed together and the tallies on the cell become one unending line.

Its when you stop thinking about what the world outside your shell is like, and Lillian Deline has tried very hard to think of anything but that very concept. Even after she was struck by an angel and wounded beyond what she alone could heal. A minor act of witchcraft merely stemmed the flow and consultation from a witchling could only continue that same hourglass-reset.

Even then, Lily prepared for her journey past the threshold in abstract. A thought exercise. Fish out the gift of a hiking pack. Fill it with the basics of her craft, three unlabeled tomes, and some plants she could deploy in a pinch. She could even go as far as wearing honest-to-god clothes. A set of robes, dark brown and intentionally plain. These, too, were leftovers from a girl she tasted. That meant that they sat high up on her legs, but the simple fit ensured her wardrobe wouldn't be ill-fitting anywhere else. Sure, she hated wearing clothes, but the light flush to her cheeks was worth it not to have people gawk at her nudity in a place she didn't have control over.

She had done all this.. Lily packed her things, she put on an outfit, she marched right to an edge of her grove. A spot where the ground rose to its highest and the trees thinned to have cracks in the canopy above. On one line of the world was a garden in technicolor. The other was a suffocating stretch of reality. It was only then that the inexperienced little flower began to think of what she would find. Really consider a world new to her. "Hhhmm.. well. I brought all three books, right?" She muttered to herself. "..better check again. I really couldn't leave without them." A flit of nervous laughter plays as she sets her bag down and begins searching through for what she already knows to be there. Her nerves have left her back exposed to the sky, unaware of what dark cloud rolls in from above. @feralharpygirl

feralharpygirl

A curious harpy is a dangerous thing.

An interesting new smell has been wafting through MSOC, sweet and vegetal and musky. Maids, mice, even her own mate have the tinge of it about them. Sneaky whispers, sultry giggles. Something new. Something fun. Fang hates to miss out on fun.

It's not hard to find the source. Between clues she's picked up from the maids - half-heard mutterings, subconscious glances in this direction - and that easily trackable scent of fertility, it barely qualifies as a hunt. And of course it's hard to miss when you're above it, the vibrant life spilling up and out from the enchanted copse, its thick fecund aura like chewing on raw cabbage. Even finding the specific target proves almost disappointingly simple, practically offering herself, completely vulnerable to the sky.

Fang drops, almost lazily, almost vertically. She simply draws her wings close and lets herself tumble slowly about, enjoying the sensation of air tussling her feathers and whipping her hair, waiting until the last possible moment to fan her wings out once more.

Her landing is swift but almost silent, suddenly appearing with a little paff as her claws flatten the thick grass just outside the odd boundary, the sound swallowed by the faint rustling breeze. She tucks her wings back in, one after the other, and with a cocked head shamelessly considers the unusual figure's rather pleasing backside through her robes.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, without preamble, in a soft but stately voice.

thewardlily

For those that have a nose for the hunt, Lillian might as well be bleeding out under a spotlight of the full moon. You drop through the sky and pass through the shell of the grove like a crack in an egg. Normally the plant would've had a moment's notice at least, as every unknown entity that passes the barrier to the grove would be felt. Goosebumps for a body that didn't exist. But most people come in from beside, not as death from above. The shallow pocket of air that separated the mundane from the surreal was crossed in an instant. The result of your landing? Lillian jumped, catching herself on the tree the bag had rested on. She had the wherewithal not to make a noise as she clutched onto the bumpy bark, though all it really served was to keep her dignity in tact. The bird caught the awful she had searched for with as little as a glance to the south. Half bent against the tree, Lillian's ass pressed tight against the fabric fitted for thinner folk. What few creases in the cloth remained just highlighted the obscene curve of her heart-shaped, claw-bait ass. The sight was short lived as soon as the corpse regained her balance. She stood back upright, one hand still on the tree, as she turned to face the harpy. The part of her she never knew felt it in its gut. This was a predatory in more than just name, but Lillian had too much on her mind to come to the same conclusion. Her cheeks were flush as from faux-pas, as if she were the one who err'd here as the host. "Ah, wow, forgive me, I wasn't expecting company today." She tried giving Fang her warm, welcoming smile. It was strained by stress, but the attempt was there. She pulled the hood back and her hair spilled out, soothing scents of floral and spice and woody earth spilling out. The first hint of the perfume alone and Fang would feel some of the tension in her body eek away. "Your eyes don't deceive you. I am leaving the grove. Oh- n-not forever, of course, but what I need this forest cannot provide. Which.. means I'm sad to say I wont be able to give you the usual welcome my guests are owed."

feralharpygirl

Fang's almost dispassionate face melts into an indulgent smile as Lily turns, and she inclines her torso and flicks a leg in a faint curtsy. She's taken the measure of this strange being, at least to her satisfaction - and it's no great wonder half the castle reeks of her.

"Not at all, it wasn't my intention to impose. I was only passing by, and I merely-"

She inhales deeply when that intoxicating scent brushes her nostrils, and her smile grows a little looser as it works its magic on her. A moment later her heart screams into motion, a silent panic behind her serene face, a defensive response to counteract the effects of the aromatic balm. She subtly shifts to breathing through her mouth instead, and makes a little sweep with a wing to cover the brief lapse.

"-merely saw you seemed... troubled. I've something of a knack for spotting it, and as you say, my eyes are rarely deceived."

Her brows raise inquiringly, and she spares a moment's glance towards the ground, following the delineation of fertility separating the scrabby yellow heath beneath her talons from the plush green carpet within the grove. Her gaze rolls back up to Lily's face, and she offers the tiniest sympathetic shrug: I'm here, but I can leave. I won't pry.

thewardlily

Fang's choice to drop on the outside of the grove, however intentional it was, pushed the scales of this exchange in her favor. Across the threshold Lily could see so much, feel with a hundred thousand silent green voices. Outside, it was.. muddled. She could still intuit a few things just outside it's borders, but it was like fumbling, feeling around in the dark.

So she didn't catch the subtle stumble as Fang regained control of her instincts and reeled in that panic response. Her shoulders pulled in with a wince at the harpy's observation. She sighed, embarrassment showing in the way her own smile seems to cut at her expression. Lily tilted her head. "So even from all the way up there you can see it.." Lillian wasn't blind to the dangers of a harpy. She'd never encountered one, but she'd heard enough and learned enough to know they were predators and the way they ran their principalities hasn't veered from their origins in pre-history.

Still, this was close enough to Chapter 1's walls that if a Harpy wasn't meant to be here, she wouldn't be. She picked up a strap of her bag and approached a few steps. Lily stopped just from arms reach, but not of Fang. That forward foot hesitated to keep her from the grasp of the world outside. "Truth is that this would be my first time leaving the grove. It's moved with me ever since I was reborn. So I guess you could say I'm.." She found within her a strained laugh at the analogy her mind jumped to. "I'm a little scared to hatch from my egg."

#tending gardens #worst bird

thewardlily

Life and Death

@tinker-tailor-soldier-maid

In the mailbox of the Fae Touched, a receptacle from an age that refuses to die sits inside a sliver of living history from an even older era of physical mail. It is a handwritten letter addressed to the Brothel Madam Shesta Dilandau, stamped with a wax seal.

The message inside is penned in fine calligraphy cursive, although a shake to some of the strokes suggests the author that penned it is rusty with the craft of writing a professional letter.

Dear Madam Shesta,

You are a busy woman, if half of what your reputation shares is true then I'd rather not insult you by wasting your time with formal niceties.

I am an undead being. When we meet, if we are to meet, it may not seem this way at first, but know my current form was was only made possible through necromancy, albeit in an.. unconventional manner. You are a priestess, yes, but it is my hope that your academic inclination will outweigh any superfluous religious bias you may have against my origin.

I propose to you a trade. I am currently in the process of developing a cure from a damnable angel's attack on me, one that normal castigation cannot heal. If you were to consult me on my theory and provide your own expertise in healing and angelic magic, I would be willing to submit to a study. Not only is my full knowledge on witchcraft available to you, but the magic that made my current form possible is unlike any specimen you have examined before, and i would bet my reputation on that. Please mail back any interest to the post office listed as the return address.

Whether you do or do not accept my offer, I would ask you the courtesy of keeping my name and letter to you a secret. Discretion is one of the core tenants of your business, isn't it?

The Guardian of the Grove,

Vik Deline

tinker-tailor-soldier-maid

"I've no idea where all these MSOC folk are getting the idea Madam is my title. It's just my job," Shesta muttered to herself as she out down the letter.

The time was... well. She didn't even want to know what the time was. Late. Perhaps so late as to wrap all the way back around to early.

Sleep wasn't something that came easy when Safi was not at home; their bed always felt too big without her. All she knew was that it was dark, Bea was handling things downstairs, and she had correspondence to catch up on.

Shesta took a sip of her tea only to find it long gone cold. She promptly opened her mouth to let the tepid liquid dribble back into the cup. She pressed a button on the corner of her desk.

"Bea, could you put another pot on?"

"Ma's not back yet," came Bea's voice from the intercom.

"That's not what I asked, Bea." Shesta thought for a moment, then added, "And bring up another spool of silk please."

Beatrix didn't respond, but Shesta could imagine her daughter grumbling her way through the steps Safi had taught her before shoving the tray into the hands of the nearest girl. She picked up her pen.

"Dear Mx. Delvine,

Your letter has certainly piqued my interest, if only because not very many undead willingly seek me out. Doubly so one that ~~survived~~ successfully endured being wounded by an angel. If you would be willing to attend me at my workshop in Fae Touched, I would be more than happy to conduct a thorough investigation to your condition.

No such trade of services would be necessary, of course: As a priestess, it is my duty to provide healing to those in need. As a student of the extraordinary, it is my pleasure to look into unusual cases! However, any insight you can offer during our exam as to the nature of your condition would be useful, I hope it goes without saying.We look forward to meeting you!

All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,

Chaplain Shesta Dilandau."

thewardlily

When Shesta's letter was recieved, Vik's first instinct after its eyes scanned the bottom line was to write back. So long had it gone without a reason to put pen to paper that it had to catch this urge. "Come on now, you already have your invite. No need to act like penpals." It muttered to itself in the middle of a post office. Those already staring at the towering figure only found more confusion.

Vik made a quick stop back at its motel room then made straight for the courtyard that punctuated the entrance of the Fae Touched. It slowed its otherwise direct gait as it passed through the garden. It was.. pleasant. A brothel, no matter how well funded, didn't need the decorative path or well cared for plants that made the courtyard worth the space it took up in an otherwise cramped part of the street.

What it felt was a silent sliver of respect, earned before Vik even put its foot in the door. What the staff and waiting patron saw walk in was a motherly figure tall enough to need to bend under the frame to enter. It wore clothes that would point to an attempt to blend in- a muted, gray hoodie, plain pants that would be baggy on anyone half a foot shorter than it, and nothing more on her than a satchel against its flared hip. All things that would make a person unremarkable if it were anyone but the plant. It wasn't just the height or the exaggerated proportions, when Vik entered the lobby a scent followed it. Floral at first, warm as time went on with an earthy base through it all. It tried not to linger on its arrival and instead made for the front desk. "I have an appointment with a- the Chaplain. Is she in today?"

tinker-tailor-soldier-maid

The front lobby of Fae Touched was not a large space. Its only real purpose was to be a buffer zone, preventing unwelcome guests from barging in. It was, in fact, mostly just a small hallway dominated along one wall by a reception desk. The result was that the nonplussed 20-something behind the desk needed to crane her neck up to make eye contact with Vik.

The girl cocked one eyebrow at her new guest. Her face called to mind a peach, both in shape and pinkness. She panned her eyes, deep lake-blue under an ashen fringe of hair, up and down Vik's body, making no attempting to hide her scouring gaze. Then she said, "So, you're Mom's next guest? You don't look undead."

thewardlily

The warmth to her face was in stark contrast to her attitude. Vik's brows twitched at the remark. Never did it think it would go about blabbing about its unlife, nor did it think it wouldn't pass as one. It held its hand tight, a pulse of restraint in its wrist. Vik was tempted to just rip its own face off and be done with proof.. but that just felt like doubling down on a bad habit.

Instead, the tall plant breathed out deep, slow, and looked down to the daughter, unamused. "I'm sure it would go great if every lich, vampire, and revenant walked into town square squaking about how much they love their stolen life."

It ran its hand through its hair and pushed the bouncy locks out of its face. "The name is Deline, the same one as in the letter. That's proof enough, isn't it?"

#tending gardens #Holy Oddity #Omelas Chuuni

thewardlily

Life and Death

@tinker-tailor-soldier-maid

In the mailbox of the Fae Touched, a receptacle from an age that refuses to die sits inside a sliver of living history from an even older era of physical mail. It is a handwritten letter addressed to the Brothel Madam Shesta Dilandau, stamped with a wax seal.

The message inside is penned in fine calligraphy cursive, although a shake to some of the strokes suggests the author that penned it is rusty with the craft of writing a professional letter.

Dear Madam Shesta,

You are a busy woman, if half of what your reputation shares is true then I'd rather not insult you by wasting your time with formal niceties.

I am an undead being. When we meet, if we are to meet, it may not seem this way at first, but know my current form was was only made possible through necromancy, albeit in an.. unconventional manner. You are a priestess, yes, but it is my hope that your academic inclination will outweigh any superfluous religious bias you may have against my origin.

I propose to you a trade. I am currently in the process of developing a cure from a damnable angel's attack on me, one that normal castigation cannot heal. If you were to consult me on my theory and provide your own expertise in healing and angelic magic, I would be willing to submit to a study. Not only is my full knowledge on witchcraft available to you, but the magic that made my current form possible is unlike any specimen you have examined before, and i would bet my reputation on that. Please mail back any interest to the post office listed as the return address.

Whether you do or do not accept my offer, I would ask you the courtesy of keeping my name and letter to you a secret. Discretion is one of the core tenants of your business, isn't it?

The Guardian of the Grove,

Vik Deline

tinker-tailor-soldier-maid

"I've no idea where all these MSOC folk are getting the idea Madam is my title. It's just my job," Shesta muttered to herself as she out down the letter.

The time was... well. She didn't even want to know what the time was. Late. Perhaps so late as to wrap all the way back around to early.

Sleep wasn't something that came easy when Safi was not at home; their bed always felt too big without her. All she knew was that it was dark, Bea was handling things downstairs, and she had correspondence to catch up on.

Shesta took a sip of her tea only to find it long gone cold. She promptly opened her mouth to let the tepid liquid dribble back into the cup. She pressed a button on the corner of her desk.

"Bea, could you put another pot on?"

"Ma's not back yet," came Bea's voice from the intercom.

"That's not what I asked, Bea." Shesta thought for a moment, then added, "And bring up another spool of silk please."

Beatrix didn't respond, but Shesta could imagine her daughter grumbling her way through the steps Safi had taught her before shoving the tray into the hands of the nearest girl. She picked up her pen.

"Dear Mx. Delvine,

Your letter has certainly piqued my interest, if only because not very many undead willingly seek me out. Doubly so one that ~~survived~~ successfully endured being wounded by an angel. If you would be willing to attend me at my workshop in Fae Touched, I would be more than happy to conduct a thorough investigation to your condition.

No such trade of services would be necessary, of course: As a priestess, it is my duty to provide healing to those in need. As a student of the extraordinary, it is my pleasure to look into unusual cases! However, any insight you can offer during our exam as to the nature of your condition would be useful, I hope it goes without saying.We look forward to meeting you!

All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well,

Chaplain Shesta Dilandau."

thewardlily

When Shesta's letter was recieved, Vik's first instinct after its eyes scanned the bottom line was to write back. So long had it gone without a reason to put pen to paper that it had to catch this urge. "Come on now, you already have your invite. No need to act like penpals." It muttered to itself in the middle of a post office. Those already staring at the towering figure only found more confusion.

Vik made a quick stop back at its motel room then made straight for the courtyard that punctuated the entrance of the Fae Touched. It slowed its otherwise direct gait as it passed through the garden. It was.. pleasant. A brothel, no matter how well funded, didn't need the decorative path or well cared for plants that made the courtyard worth the space it took up in an otherwise cramped part of the street.

What it felt was a silent sliver of respect, earned before Vik even put its foot in the door. What the staff and waiting patron saw walk in was a motherly figure tall enough to need to bend under the frame to enter. It wore clothes that would point to an attempt to blend in- a muted, gray hoodie, plain pants that would be baggy on anyone half a foot shorter than it, and nothing more on her than a satchel against its flared hip. All things that would make a person unremarkable if it were anyone but the plant. It wasn't just the height or the exaggerated proportions, when Vik entered the lobby a scent followed it. Floral at first, warm as time went on with an earthy base through it all. It tried not to linger on its arrival and instead made for the front desk. "I have an appointment with a- the Chaplain. Is she in today?"

#tending gardens #Holy Oddity

thewardlily

The Curious Mouse (2)

{Continuation of this thread}

All Lillian had given you was a little nudge. A gentle suggestion paired with healthy helping of attention and you were all hers. You had no room for anything else, no space between your ears that wasn't filled with thoughts of your principal. She hadn't even gotten to the curse.. but when she does, it'll be hard to rid yourself of it.

She was riding her own high, too. Every squeak you made, the happy horny eager humping into her hand, that adorable look on your face with your tongue out like a dog in heat. All of it had her drunk off your presence. If you weren't so service-bound right now she might just make you cum your brains out with nothing but her hands.

But there's that need in your voice. It claws at her heart and was sweet enough to make that ache disappear entirely. How could she not indulge? You feel the soft pillows on either side of your head warm as Lillian's blush runs far enough down to reach her tits. She strokes inside you a few more times before you feel empty inside and without her warmth on your dick. She looks down at you, wordlessly, then brings you into a kiss. It's a sudden, long exchange where you get to taste her tongue as she takes claim of yours. The angle she came in at meant it'd be hard for you to move until she broke it off.. eventually. As your breath fed hers and she gifted you the same, an animal huffing the exhales of one greedy plant.

After minutes of her lips locked with yours she finally let you go, though neither of you were no more in need of air than when you started. "Anything I wish?" She asked with all the avarice she could claim.

A smile tugged at the edge of her lips. She pulled herself away so you could sit and watch as Lillian laid back on the soft grass. Her tits rolled and bounced into place, almost hiding her chin from you at the angle she was at. She raised her legs up, knees bent and hovering somewhere above her waist. Her crotch was on full display, from leafy green folds soaked to a saturated fuchsia nub that was her clit all the way down to a dark asshole that winced in anticipation. "I haven't had someone give my prostate some tender loving care in so long.. won't you help your princess unwind?"

verygoodprincesshelper

Years ago she applied to a CKU gig thinking it'd be decent union work that came with fancy lodging. She had no idea how much wearing the uniform and feeling that.... Devotion, fill every organ, every ounce of blood and every cell in her body, would change her. From a lost and lonely soul to someone with hope and confidence and a good reason to get up in the morning.

Private Lenora Claire Beaumont is a maid before all else. Sometimes a perverted maid, or a maid with a gentle heart, or whatever a situation calls for, but underneath it, she wouldn't be here if she couldn't lovr her Principal.

As out of it as a few scents and sounds has maid the maid, this much remains clear in the affectionate gaze she gives Lady Lillian as she's kissed. The taste of her Principal's tongue and mouth become another part of this symphony of her senses, drawing her in. Eagerly returning the kiss, her inelegant whorish moans muffled into it contrast nicely with that look, like she would risk life and limb for someone she met so recently.

The Lady of this small estate issues her orders for the day. It's good to hear it's a job this maid has experience with.

Somewhere in a little jail cell in the back of her mind there's a bit of her usual self, mumbling annoying quips about how fucking hot this scenario is. But those are far from the forefront of her mind

"At once, princess."

Maid takes a step back and begins removing her clothes, her tattered uniform, her matching floral bra and panties. Maid folds them neatly as she often sees her friend Tutail doing. Her revolver is removed and set on top of them. Finally the other important resource strapped to her leg is taken in hand.

She bows, totally naked. She's throbbing at the sight in front of her. And that fucking spoiled tone of voice.

"I can only hope my service will be up to your standards, your highness."

Serene, calm, but neither cold nor robotic. She meant every word.

And just as serenely she approaches through the grass on her hands and knees looking like a hungry animal.

As she lubes her finger and leans into the princess' spread leg, she speaks softer.

"Thank you for the honor, princess."

A few warm up kisses up the inner thigh while her finger teases the asshole of the true and rightful ruler of the grove, before sinking in and with a practiced exploring curl motion, find what she's looking for.

As the kisses get closer and closer to wet folds, the Lenora that's left in the maid is enough to have her fucking huffing like the smell of royalty could get her high.

thewardlily

Lillian had recognized that you were in a trance. It wasn't the first girl she's lulled into one, but your movements made clear that, whether by instinct or prior training you came with an altered state before the plant even laid eyes on you.

She rewarded your preprogrammed elegance with a deep smile and a sigh of satisfaction, two valuable gestures to received from royalty. She wanted to play the part for you, after all, even if your behavior made it feel like her chest was on fire from adoration. The plant lets herself have a few indulgences, though. She shudders at the sight of you crawling on all fours with your loving smile and that held breath melts into a soft groan as you prep your princess with warm marks of your lips as they draw in towards her crotch. You move your fingers in as an instrument tuned to perfection. Every stroke a perfect circular pluck of her strings and it only takes three before she's singing sweet music for you. Her ass clenches around your digits as she 'haah's and 'hhoo-god's for you repeatedly, and though the words changed that floaty pitch keeps its melody true. For your part you drank deep of her desire. The air moved through you slowly as if weight heavy by her scent. It was different than the relaxing bouquet from her hair. Thick with a syrupy sweetness like honey that still made room for the notes of woody warmth. It was strong enough to make the world blur before your eyes. The source of it was clear and plentiful, flowing from her wet folds with a visible stream every time you rubbed up against that magic spot. "You're so well tra-ah-ained for this, aren't you dear?" Lillian pants, her eyes locked on yours. "But I know you're prepared for more, my mouse. Why don't you pin those hands on my legs and shove yourself deep inside like a good maid?"

#tending gardens #field mouse

thewardlily

Easy Prey

How much time does it take to spend inside your home before it acts, functionally, as your prison? It isn't when you stop thinking about leaving, or when you make accommodations to ensure you have everything you need from within its walls. Its not even when the days start to bleed together and the tallies on the cell become one unending line.

Its when you stop thinking about what the world outside your shell is like, and Lillian Deline has tried very hard to think of anything but that very concept. Even after she was struck by an angel and wounded beyond what she alone could heal. A minor act of witchcraft merely stemmed the flow and consultation from a witchling could only continue that same hourglass-reset.

Even then, Lily prepared for her journey past the threshold in abstract. A thought exercise. Fish out the gift of a hiking pack. Fill it with the basics of her craft, three unlabeled tomes, and some plants she could deploy in a pinch. She could even go as far as wearing honest-to-god clothes. A set of robes, dark brown and intentionally plain. These, too, were leftovers from a girl she tasted. That meant that they sat high up on her legs, but the simple fit ensured her wardrobe wouldn't be ill-fitting anywhere else. Sure, she hated wearing clothes, but the light flush to her cheeks was worth it not to have people gawk at her nudity in a place she didn't have control over.

She had done all this.. Lily packed her things, she put on an outfit, she marched right to an edge of her grove. A spot where the ground rose to its highest and the trees thinned to have cracks in the canopy above. On one line of the world was a garden in technicolor. The other was a suffocating stretch of reality. It was only then that the inexperienced little flower began to think of what she would find. Really consider a world new to her. "Hhhmm.. well. I brought all three books, right?" She muttered to herself. "..better check again. I really couldn't leave without them." A flit of nervous laughter plays as she sets her bag down and begins searching through for what she already knows to be there. Her nerves have left her back exposed to the sky, unaware of what dark cloud rolls in from above. @feralharpygirl

feralharpygirl

A curious harpy is a dangerous thing.

An interesting new smell has been wafting through MSOC, sweet and vegetal and musky. Maids, mice, even her own mate have the tinge of it about them. Sneaky whispers, sultry giggles. Something new. Something fun. Fang hates to miss out on fun.

It's not hard to find the source. Between clues she's picked up from the maids - half-heard mutterings, subconscious glances in this direction - and that easily trackable scent of fertility, it barely qualifies as a hunt. And of course it's hard to miss when you're above it, the vibrant life spilling up and out from the enchanted copse, its thick fecund aura like chewing on raw cabbage. Even finding the specific target proves almost disappointingly simple, practically offering herself, completely vulnerable to the sky.

Fang drops, almost lazily, almost vertically. She simply draws her wings close and lets herself tumble slowly about, enjoying the sensation of air tussling her feathers and whipping her hair, waiting until the last possible moment to fan her wings out once more.

Her landing is swift but almost silent, suddenly appearing with a little paff as her claws flatten the thick grass just outside the odd boundary, the sound swallowed by the faint rustling breeze. She tucks her wings back in, one after the other, and with a cocked head shamelessly considers the unusual figure's rather pleasing backside through her robes.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, without preamble, in a soft but stately voice.

thewardlily

For those that have a nose for the hunt, Lillian might as well be bleeding out under a spotlight of the full moon. You drop through the sky and pass through the shell of the grove like a crack in an egg. Normally the plant would've had a moment's notice at least, as every unknown entity that passes the barrier to the grove would be felt. Goosebumps for a body that didn't exist. But most people come in from beside, not as death from above. The shallow pocket of air that separated the mundane from the surreal was crossed in an instant. The result of your landing? Lillian jumped, catching herself on the tree the bag had rested on. She had the wherewithal not to make a noise as she clutched onto the bumpy bark, though all it really served was to keep her dignity in tact. The bird caught the awful she had searched for with as little as a glance to the south. Half bent against the tree, Lillian's ass pressed tight against the fabric fitted for thinner folk. What few creases in the cloth remained just highlighted the obscene curve of her heart-shaped, claw-bait ass. The sight was short lived as soon as the corpse regained her balance. She stood back upright, one hand still on the tree, as she turned to face the harpy. The part of her she never knew felt it in its gut. This was a predatory in more than just name, but Lillian had too much on her mind to come to the same conclusion. Her cheeks were flush as from faux-pas, as if she were the one who err'd here as the host. "Ah, wow, forgive me, I wasn't expecting company today." She tried giving Fang her warm, welcoming smile. It was strained by stress, but the attempt was there. She pulled the hood back and her hair spilled out, soothing scents of floral and spice and woody earth spilling out. The first hint of the perfume alone and Fang would feel some of the tension in her body eek away. "Your eyes don't deceive you. I am leaving the grove. Oh- n-not forever, of course, but what I need this forest cannot provide. Which.. means I'm sad to say I wont be able to give you the usual welcome my guests are owed."

#tending gardens #Worst Bird

nekomimidusteon

honyastly it's super rude to be calling what she did "luridly flashing the castle". all the catgirl princess did is choose the most efficient way pawsible to infurm the residents that her breasts had grown..,.

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