#Patent Boots Red

[torschildrenswear]

Sharon Patent Boots Red - The Most Comfortable Shoes For Your Girl

When shopping for shoes for your child, prioritize their comfort. In addition to making them seem cute, this can make them happy. The classic Sharon patent boots red » are an enduring favorite because they are fashionable, comfortable, and crafted from high-quality leather. They come with a beautiful stitched bow at the front and a scalloped edge that runs down the sides and around the ankle. The Sharon boot is perfect for little girls due to its breathable leather upper and interior. Get these boots for a fantastic deal at Tor's.

[suburbanswirl]

Vinyl leggings by Skinzwear, vinyl and faux leather Ace of Spades top by Lip Service, and chrome heel Heat boots by Pleaser.

[buumbaby]

edward teach x pedro pascal @ the met gala

[forcedfemme-me]

Teri

[ghw-archive]

blumarine pre-fall 2022

[shinycelebs]

[cronicasdeunafashionista]

[bootbuck]

[8nightsperweek]

[torschildrenswear]

Patent Boots Red

When shopping for shoes for your child, prioritize their comfort. In addition to making them seem cute, this can make them happy. The classic Sharon patent boots red are an enduring favorite because they are fashionable, comfortable, and crafted from high-quality leather. They come with a beautiful stitched bow at the front and a scalloped edge that runs down the sides and around the ankle. The Sharon boot is perfect for little girls due to its breathable leather upper and interior. Get these boots for a fantastic deal at Tor's.

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Backstage at RAW, Nattie wore the Kaela Silver Buckle Mini Skirt from Jessica Bara (sold in set with bodysuit for $139) and the Condora Patent Red Sole Over-The-Knee Boots from Christian Louboutin (sold out)

[aunt-bridget]

Night In With Aunt Bridget

It was a pleasant evening with Aunt Bridget. A few drinks with her favourite nephew and an opportunity to relax for the weekend. They laughed and joked and she sat, crossing those long, booted legs…..something that her nephew was paying close attention to.

The nephew adored his Aunt. She was the younger and glamorous sister of his frumpy, strict mother. Her dress sense was sexy and very appealing to a young man. He stirred uneasily as Aunt Bridget once again crossed her legs. She noticed his discomfort as she sipped her wine…..he in turn took a massive gulp of his drink as she asked him what the matter was.

He blurted it all out. The sissy fantasy he harboured since being a teen. The desire to wear lovely clothes, be made up and to shamefully be forced into sissy bondage and whoring. Too much drink had loosened the boy’s tongue and Aunt Bridget nodded sympathetically. You see, she knew all about his little habits. Many previous visits resulted in her panty drawer being disturbed, her shoe collection had also been touched. Her special dress up box was left open, with her range of wigs obviously taken out. Aunt Bridget loved to play all manner of games with her gentlemen friends and her wardrobe reflected those fancies.

With the nephew looking slightly dazed at how he confessed so readily, Aunt Bridget rested a perfectly manicured hand on his knee and told him to come upstairs with her. They entered her bedroom and she flung the wardrobe door open along with her panty and nylon drawer. She commanded him to pick an outfit, some underwear, heels and a wig of choice. With a trembling hand, he selected a mustard yellow sweater, short black skirt, patent heels and dark shiny nylons. She ordered him to pull on the nylons first as she knew the feeling against him would be heaven, and she was right as he then put on the pink panties he knew so well, with the strawberry blonde wig finally placed on his head.

Aunt Bridget smiled and with some help, he had an impressive rack stuffed under the sweater to go along with the rest of the ensemble. The makeup was applied and little sissy nephew was seated in front of the dressing table mirror hypnotised by his reflection.

But things weren’t going to end there were they? The bondage fantasy was now the true elephant in the room…..and dearest Aunty revealed the box hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe. Nephew had always been very curious, but the container was always locked. Aunt Bridget went to her jewellery box and found the key, slipping it into the lock and lifting the lid. The box was a haven of bondage equipment….gags, cuffs, rope, bandage wrap and tape. There were other things in there that her innocent nephew wasn’t sure of, but they would be explained soon enough.

The rope was expertly applied around his torso and legs. To nephew’s shame, his cock was bulging through the pink panties and Aunty hitched the skirt up to confirm her suspicions. She felt the offending lump and he had leaked a little through the nylons and panties. She tutted as she pulled her own panties off and balled them up. He opened his mouth without any prompting and she placed her warm, moist underwear behind his slutty red lips. The red bandage was wrapped tightly to seal the gag in place and he moaned softly, struggling against the ropes and trying to dry hump Aunty’s booted legs. Another tut was his reward as Aunt Bridget sat down on the bed and retrieved her phone.

She snapped a few pics of sissy nephew and told him that his fantasy would be a reality tonight. Aunty knew some friends who loved their games too….a charming couple who were very open minded. She made nephew watch as she sent the photos to her friends and the resulting replies. He whined at the thought of being seen like this and who knows what else. He stared down at his stiffening cock, betrayed by the thought of being a used sissy.

Aunty gently kissed his gagged mouth and produced a gleaming steel chastity cage. It seems she was more than used to dealing with these situations and she shushed the wretched slut as she called her sister. Apparently, sweet nephew will be staying over tonight.

So don’t wait up, Mother.

[ghw-archive]

trussardi

[shinycelebs]

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight prt. 2

Disclaimer: not my work. My sister is just a legend pulling a second part to this fic out of the bag, but she doesn't have tumblr. Please give her all the love so she writes more parts :)

Description: In which the knight defends his lady from an unexpected foe.

Warnings: female reader, swearing, westeros typical misogyny, Kieran Burton fancast.

Over the course of the following weeks, the Bracken lady and her lately sworn knight continued to meet at the base of the golden Bracken tree. The golden flourish of the leaves above them mirrored the incipient, fragile feeling, which had begun to bloom in both hearts, reaching out to meet the other like a golden, invisible string. Ostensibly heedless of the danger posed by their precarious proximity to the border of their feudal lands, Benjicot continued to place himself in harms way by crossing the border into Bracken lands.

Each day, Benjicot would appear at the base of the tree, his back turned and held in tension until the light tread of footsteps approaching from behind would have him turning with a grin to meet the gaze of the lady who had won his fealty and was quickly stealing his heart. They would sit together, shoulder to shoulder, hands nearly touching, as she told him of the stories of knights and dragons she read about in her books, as well as her dreams for the future. His gaze would hold hers throughout her tales, in understanding and quiet admiration, betraying a latent adoration.

Regaling her with his own feats of bravery defending the Blackwood lands, he would embellish them for her amusement and perhaps, if he was being entirely truthful, to impress her. If her head happened to fall onto his shoulder when the light of the day began to fade, heralding the approach of twilight, he would gently tilt his shoulder down towards her to accommodate a more comfortable position for her head to rest against. A satisfied smile would illuminate his features as he looked down, careful not to wake her, his heart buoyed up by the trust and comfort she appeared to invest him with...hopeful that one day his own tender feelings for her may be reciprocated. At the very least, she would allow him to serve her, protect her and adore her, even if only in silence.

Living far from the daily skirmishes of the Riverlands, ensconced for years in the Red Keep, the lady Bracken had a heedlessness towards the topographical demarcation of ancient feudal border disputes that would have been alarming, had she not been accompanied on her walks past the Bracken tree by her self-appointed knight. Patently aware of these feudal and geographical lines himself, even more so now that they reminded him of those he would have to cross to win his lady's heart to him, he would subtly move a border stone with the heel of his boot, if they drew too close.

Rolling the stones further into Blackwood lands, allowing Brackenlands to encroach on his own. As he did so, he would school his features into a look of innocent complacency if Y/N turned to him with a look of curiosity. Only after he had walked his lady, for she was so, if only in his mind, back to the safety of her own lands would he return the boundary stones to their correct placement. Wondering, as he did so, if the day would come, when she would cross into Blackwood lands to reside in his own ancestral halls, as she already did in his heart. Y/N would return to her own ancestral halls, little knowing of the daily sacrifices of his land's holding Benjicot continued to make to ensure her safety from accusations of trespassing from potential Blackwood assailants. Although he'd like to see them try in his presence.

Walking out towards their tree on this day, the lady Bracken was disappointed to find it desolate. Determining to wait for her knight to appear, for she called him so in her mind and when she addressed him, her heart warming at his willingness to go along with her fancies, she settled by the trunk of the tree. Opening a new volume on the heraldry and history of the Blackwoods, time wore on and dark clouds began to mass overhead. Rising with a dejected sigh, she rose to continue her walk past the Bracken tree before resolving to return to the dark confines of Stone Hedge. As she continued across the uneven copse and fern, she paid little heed to the stones she passed along her way, until she heard a rough shout from behind her.

Whipping around, her face paled as she saw a group of four Blackwood bannermen striding towards her. Before she could depart, they were upon her.

"Bracken! What do you think you're doing on our lands!"

"My apologies, I didn't realise. Forgive me for the intrusion, I will depart forthwith."

As she turned hurriedly to leave, a rough hand grabbed her elbow and spun her harshly around.

"What do you think the fucking boundary stones are for?"

He shouted in her face.

Becoming increasingly desperate and holding back the tears which threatened to fall from her eyes, she stuttered another apology.

"Bracken wench, I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget." He shouted, raising his arm to strike her.

Closing her eyes in anticipation of the blow, Y/N turned her head, but the impact never came.

Opening her now watery eyes, she saw her assailant's arm, poised to strike, arrested by the firm grip of Benjicot Blackwood. He threw his arm down with a fury she had not seen from him, his eyes ablaze with anger, pushing the bannerman to the ground. He cast one more look of contempt at him before taking a step toward her, softening his gaze and reaching out gently to take both of her hands in his.

"Are you alright, my Lady?"

"What kind of fucking cowards are you to attack a lady!"

Unable to answer him verbally, for fear that her voice would break with the effort, she nodded almost imperceptibly, tilting her head downward in embarrassment at the situation he had found her in. A gentle hand tilted her chin upwards, redirecting her gaze back up to his concerned eyes, as the thumb of his other hand brushed away a stray tear that glistened down her cheek. His eyes darkening, he turned once again to address his bannermen, angling himself so that he was placed firmly between her and them.

Stepping forward, not without trepidation, one of the men retorted, "she's a Bracken, trespassing on Blackwood land."

"I don't care if she walked right up to the fucking entrance of my ancestral halls, you don't attack a lady on my land."

"But the assize..." another volleyed before Benjicot harshly interrupted.

"Fuck the assize, and fuck you" He returned in a low voice, casting a glance behind him at his stricken lady who reflexively gripped the back of his cloak with one trembling hand and the crook of his arm with the other. Fuelled with further anger at seeing her so frightened, and at himself for having not first prevented it, he withdrew his sword, pointing it towards his own men.

"Fuck off back to where you crawled out off and don't let me catch you terrorising any other ladies on Blackwood lands or I'll show you where to stick the pointy end."

Casting nervous glances at one another, they nodded in obeisance to the heir of their liege Lord before departing.

Waiting until they had completely withdrawn, Benjicot bent down to examine his lady's face, once again taking her hands gently in his.

"Are you well, my Lady?"

Y/N nodded quickly but not before her lip wobbled and tears began to spill from her eyes. Stricken by her discomfort, he gently cupped her head with his hand, moving it slowly to rest against his chest, where his heart beat. To his surprise, her hands rose to grip either side of his tunic, as she pressed her face further against him. They stood like that, holding each other in silence for a few moments, before he planted a feather-light kiss on top of her head. Whispering soft assurances to her and taking her hand in his, he wrapped it around his arm, placing the other hand onto hers as he began to guide her back to safety of Brackenlands, determing that he would never let anyone make her cry again.

[peaches2217]

There’s a door on the right wall of Peach and Mario’s bedroom, just a few meters from the entryway. It’s an entirely unremarkable door, really; it matches the doors to both the private chambers and the restroom, white with gold trimmings and a polished brass doorknob. Such a door normally wouldn’t give Peach any pause whatsoever.

There is, however, one strange thing about this door in particular: it wasn’t there this morning.

She repeatedly looks from the door to her husband, who’s casually unlacing his boots by the dresser. The door to her husband, who’s rummaging through the third drawer down. The door back to her husband, who’s unhooking his overalls and kicking them onto the plush carpet floor. If he’s aware of this anomaly in an otherwise familiar setting, he’s not showing it.

“Mario.”

Mario hums lazily, not even looking at her as he pulls on his softest, most worn nightshirt, its red cotton faded and fraying. Peach is almost certain she’s dreaming right now. She was so certain she had been awake just minutes ago, laughing with friends and family over dinner, cheerfully accompanying her husband to bed after a long and eventful day of baby shopping with her best friend (though it's still a bit early to be buying any clothes, she’d tried saying a few times, statements that Daisy had immediately brushed off). But everything suddenly feels far too… off.

“What is that?” she finally chances, gesturing to the alien door. Mario finishes peeling off his socks and gloves before looking to where she’s gesturing, regarding it with all the mundanity he might regard any other door.

“It’s a door,” he answers easily, giving her a patented I have no clue what you’re getting at but I love you and cherish the words that come from your mouth anyway grin.

Peach sucks in an uneasy breath. Maybe this is that Pregnancy Brain thing she’s read about? Perhaps her memories are being rearranged, her senses tricked? Toadessa did warn her that she might become increasingly forgetful as the months progressed. It’s a more logical explanation than any other she can conjure up. If something were truly amiss, then surely Mario would notice too. Right?

“I… don’t remember it being there this morning,” she confesses, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She remembers, or at least thinks she remembers, that there was once a small storage unit just behind that door, filled with old broken halberds and spears and other assorted equipment that was too valuable to trash but too broken to repair. Yes, she remembers it now with greater confidence; she had been terrified of that dark, cluttered room, unable to sleep for fear of whatever monsters might be lurking within, and so Toadsworth had ordered it sealed when she was age seven or so.

Or maybe he hadn’t?

Mario chuckles, and though the corners of his eyes crease in good humor and his smile is filled with warmth, her face burns hotter still. “Fog’s already setting in, huh?” He taps a finger to his temple to hammer home what he’s implying, and though Peach knows his words hold no malice, the teasing still fans an unpleasant flame in her chest; she can’t help but cross arms in front of her and huff, half in hopes of exhaling that flame, half to make her displeasure known.

Suddenly Mario’s face reads a bit less amused and a bit more ashamed, and that just makes her feel even worse.

“No,” he croons, approaching her with his hands loosely extended, “tesoro mio, I’m so sorry. That was mean.” His tone doesn’t quite match his words. He’s clearly sorry to have provoked such a reaction, Peach doesn’t doubt his sincerity there, but there’s nevertheless a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, like there’s still something terribly amusing about her predicament.

So this is the thanks I get for carrying your child, she considers pouting, but something in Mario’s eyes sparkles so brightly that she feels her annoyance melting away, like an icicle brought into the sunlight. Damn him. She sighs and unfolds her arms to take his hands; for her silent pardon, he brings her knuckles to his lips and kisses them one by one, and suddenly she’s overcome with the urge to giggle like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

She resists, if only to spite him one last time, then she lets the grudge slide from her shoulders.

“You know,” Mario says once he’s done with his ministrations, his thumbs rubbing little circles into the backs of her hands, “I don’t have any right to poke fun. I don’t even remember what’s behind that door, either.”

Peach blinks. No, okay, now she knows she’s dreaming. This entire scenario is making less and less sense by the moment.

But before she can pinch herself awake, Mario’s guiding her towards the unfamiliar door, letting go of her hands and drifting behind her. Almost like he’s pushing her forward, she feels.

“Maybe we should check it out,” he suggests all too innocently, and if not for the way he lingers behind her, she might not find the suggestion too strange. But Mario always insists on taking the lead any time there’s unfamiliar terrain to be trekked. He would never let her be the first in the line of fire, no matter how mundane said terrain might appear on the surface, especially not in her present condition.

Unless, of course, he knows what she's stepping into.

Staring at the white and gold door, reason begins to resettle in Peach’s head. How had he known she was referring specifically to the door itself? If she were to gesture to the bathroom door and say "What is that?", he wouldn’t say “That’s a door,” he would say “That’s the bathroom.” 

She’s not dreaming, nor is she going crazy. There is definitely something going on. Some sort of conspiracy that he’s in on and she’s not.

Unaccustomed to being left in the dark by her own husband, she grasps the doorknob, takes a breath, opens the door… and gasps.

The room behind the door is, in fact, the room she remembers, or is at least roughly the same size. But where she remembers dingy stone, there’s now carpet, luxuriously plush like the carpet in the bedroom. The sterile gray walls that once spooked her are now a soft and lovely blue, decorated with empty floating shelves and cheerful paintings of Biddybuds and Fire Flowers and scenes from familiar mushroom forests.

There's no trace of the broken weapons that once littered the room. There's instead a dresser flush to the wall, and a tall table of some sort, and a small chest in the opposite corner... and in the center of the room, on a round and ornate rug, are two pieces of furniture on smooth, curved rockers. One is a chair, adult human-sized; the other is much smaller, a horizontal hollow contained within smooth, round bars. A cradle.

“Oh yeah,” Mario chimes in somewhere behind her, “now I remember! I knew there was a reason I asked Daisy to keep you out of the castle today.”

His words slowly sink in as Peach approaches the rocking chair, reaching out to brush her fingers over the dark red wood. Cedar. The whole room is filled with the dry and resinous aroma of fresh cedar, a scent she typically associates with the workshop in the castle's western wing. The workshop where Mario tinkers with metal and wood whenever he tires of royal monotony and needs to keep his hands occupied.

The workshop that's been suspiciously locked every time she's approached it the past couple of months, even when she could hear saws cutting through raw materials and the tap-tap-tap of chisels in experienced hands within.

All pretense is gone. When she turns back to Mario, she finds him bristling with pride, that teasing smile wider than before.

"You did this?" She looks back to the chair, fastened with fluffy pink silk cushions, and the cradle, a matching cushion tied to its bars and emblazoned with the royal mushroom emblem on its headboard, an emblem that's been carved into the chest a few steps away as well. Something in her throat feels impossibly tight. "All of this?"

Mario finally leaves the doorway, his hand brushing against her back as he steps past her. "Well, not all of it, no. Just the furniture." He taps his right foot a few times against the statement rug beneath their feet. "Weeg handled the layout and the decorations and the swatches and all that fancy stuff. He's got a better eye for that sorta thing! Then he helped me get everything moved in and set up and the door re-installed while you and Daisy were out shopping. Of course Toadsworth's the one who told me about this little room in the first place, so he helped us get it unsealed, and Daisy—" He laughs now, scratching the back of his neck. “Actually, she wasn’t even part of it originally! She just barged in one day — I had the door locked, Peachy, but she just waltzed right on in! I don’t know if she had a key or if she just forced it open with her bare hands — and she said the only way she’d keep quiet was if she got to be involved and take credit for her part in the whole ordeal, so that’s how that happened, and—”

His face grows darker as he prattles on, until at last he’s forced to take in a sharp gasp, his color returning to normal as oxygen once more fills his lungs. “But! The rest of it! Yeah, that was all me! Looky here—” His fingers curl around the bars of the cradle, giving it a few demonstrative rocks. “Remember that night you called me into the bathroom and I thought you were hurt and I panicked but actually you were just excited because you could finally see a little baby bump in the mirror? I couldn’t sleep at all that night because suddenly it all felt so real, so I spent the whole next day making this! 

“And then I thought, ‘Well, we’ve got a place for them to sleep, but where are we gonna change their diapers? And where are we gonna put all the diapers and wipes and all that good stuff anyway?’ And that’s how I got started on that one!” He darts now to the table against the wall, gesticulating around it with the enthusiasm of a used kart salesman. “Perfect little platform, plenty of storage space, I’ve been thinking about making a mobile to put over it too in case she gets fussy, because the last thing we need is a dirty diaper and a fussy baby, right? And then—”

And this continues on for a good few minutes, Mario darting around the room to show off each hand-crafted piece of their new nursery. The dresser to store non-diapers, things like blankets and onesies and a few changes of clothes for both of them because babies are messy and ruined clothes are inevitable, and the chest to store everything else, like toys — he throws the lid open and shows Peach a few delicately carved wooden blocks and dolls, because what's a toy chest without any toys?

The information comes at Peach too quickly to absorb any of it, because an excitable Mario is a Mario at full steam that won’t stop for anything or anyone, so she blindly follows him, brushing her fingers against each piece’s cool cedar, examining the smooth-gliding drawers, dragging her thumb nail over the ridges in each toy she’s handed.

“And then the bookshelf! I’m… still working on that one.” He scratches his neck again with a nervous chuckle. “But I couldn’t wait any longer! Gimme a few days and it’ll go in that corner right over there. Weegee’s already got a whole library lined up for her, so we should have enough books to last us a while at least. And then I was thinking we could put some flowers and vases on the shelves, maybe? So they look sad and empty now, but pretty soon they’ll…”

Peach dutifully admires one such shelf on the wall, right next to a painting of a Fire Flower field in full bloom. Yes, a live Fire Flower on the adjacent shelf to compliment the painting. It’s certainly a good idea. She’s so caught up in the automatic thought process that, as soon as it runs its course, she turns to take on whatever bit of information Mario throws at her next, effortless and thoughtless.

Only then does she realize he’s gone silent.

“...You okay, Peachy?” Suddenly there’s no bravado in his voice. It’s softer, gentler, quieter. He closes their distance and takes her hands in his, warm and strong. “Sorry, I… I know this is a lot. Of course, if there’s any part of it you don’t like, you can tell me! You know I won’t take it personally. Well, not too personally.” He couples this statement with a playful wink.

Another automatic thought crosses Peach’s mind: how could she ever criticize any of this? He’s made an entire nursery with his own two hands for their child. She could never…

And for the first time since she opened that strange new door, it hits Peach. Not in words, but in images: Mario in his workshop, wiping sweat and sawdust from his forehead as he consults his blueprints, making certain his vision is coming to life exactly as he’s planned. Mario crammed into a booth at Tayce T.’s with his brother, thick brows knit in confusion as Luigi gives him a crash course on color theory and interior design. Mario in a football-style huddle with Peach’s steward and brother-in-law and best friend, giving everyone their roles sometime late last night or early this morning while she still lay blissfully unaware in bed.

Mario kneeling beside the completed cradle, rocking it a few times with a peaceful smile, staring down at the plush pink cushion and imagining a little blonde or brunette bundle of blankets sleeping soundly within.

The stagnant tightness in Peach’s throat erupts in the form of a sob, a rush of raw hormones heightening her every emotion until it almost hurts, and once she starts, it’s impossible to stop.

“Ah— Peachy—!” She hears Mario offer a few uncertain words of comfort beneath her shrill breathing, and he starts to pull her in some equally uncertain direction (uncertain to her, anyway, because her tears are falling too hard and too fast to make out anything other than abstract shapes). She lets him guide her steps, until suddenly he hoists her into his arms and lowers both of them. He’s settled in the rocking chair, she realizes from the way they both jolt as he adjusts her in his lap.

Her belly is larger now than it was the night she called him into the bathroom, though not so large that she can’t wrap her arms around him and hold him tightly, burying her face into the crown of his head. Even his hair smells of cedar, a fine dust that tickles her nose, and laughter bubbles in her chest alongside the tears.

“You’re amazing,” she manages to choke out. Her Mario, her thoughtful Mario, her hard-working and mind-bendingly devoted Mario. He cradles her, his left hand against her outer thigh, his opposite arm supporting her back, his right hand stroking the side of her belly ever so gently.

“So,” he says into her chest, and she can feel him smile against her, “does this, uh, does this make up for the teasing earlier?”

Peach sniffles and laughs again, drawing him in closer. Even if she hasn’t forgiven him (which she has, she’d like to believe she’s not that petty), she supposes drenching his hair with tears and mucus is payback enough. Maybe they can shower together tonight. Maybe she can wash his hair, and he’ll press kisses to her sternum the whole time, like he always does.

Though for now, she’s equally content to remain right where she’s at, secure in his arms in this cozy little nursery, their baby nestled safely between their bodies. It’ll still be a few more months before this space is put to proper use, after all. What’s the rush?