#bri-sonat

[bri-sonat]

the one handed wielding of a very heavy sword. 😮‍💨

[daydream-cement]

Laundry Service (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x Reader

Larissa helps you out.

Author's Note: Short smut (600 words). This was originally about one of my oc's, but I couldn't resist adding the Headmistress in instead.

You stretched down into the washing machine. You couldn’t believe how hard it was to get to the bottom. You always felt as if you were average height, but as your fingers barely reached the last few socks at the bottom. 

When Larissa passed by the laundry room, she had to do a double take at the sight of you bent over into the washing machine. You were in your lazy Sunday clothes - tight leggings that showed off every curve and an oversized sweater that shifted out of place to expose your midriff. Your feet dangled off the ground as you struggled to snatch up all of the little pieces of laundry alluding you at the bottom of the washer. 

Larissa couldn’t resist coming up behind you. Her hands slowly moved to grip your waist, giving your body a light squeeze.

At first you jolted in surprise, but you soon realized it was Larissa from the familiarity of her hands on your skin, “Oh, honey! Can you help me?”

“Happy too.” Larissa cooed, curling her fingers around the band of your leggings and underwear. 

The shapeshifter was often reserved in her sexual pursuits of you, but that reservation was nowhere to be seen as she dropped to her knees, pulling your pants down with her.

You gasped, hands gripping the edge of the washing machine. Your cheeks flushed red as you exclaimed, “Rissa!”

“I'm helping…” Larissa husked as her hands palmed your ass for a moment before shifting her hands to cup it gently. She used the leverage of her hand placement to spread your thighs to access your cunt. 

You sucked in a breath when you felt the shapeshifter plunge her tongue into your cunt. 

Larissa was eating you with a starving fervor that had you mewling and humming in response. The rim of the washing machine was digging into your abdomen, but that was feeling like far less of a priority at the moment. 

In the few moments Larissa would come up for air from your cunt, she was gasping phrases of adoration - ‘I love you’, ‘You’re perfect’, and ‘You taste incredible’ were repeated over and over.

You couldn’t last long. Between the setting, the dominance, and and the sensation, all of the elements combined in a way that had you gushing on Larissa’s chin.

When the shapeshifter took to sucking on your clit, you had no ability to hold back any longer. You came with a cry, but just because you came didn’t mean the shapeshifter was about to stop. 

Larissa lapped at your cum until she was sure she had cleaned you up enough. 

When Rissa was satisfied, she pushed herself to stand, pulling your pants back up with her. She wiped her face and with a strong arm around your middle, Larissa pulled you from the washing machine and manhandled you into a position where she could seat you on the dryer. 

Larissa then moved away from your dazed form, leaning into the washing machine and yanking out the remaining laundry with a single hand. The shapeshifter tossed the few socks into the nearby laundry basket you had been using before turning her attention back on you, “I hope that helped, darling.”

Larissa turned on her heels, leaving you wide eyed, “Wha- Rissa?”

“If you need anything else, let me know.” Larissa called from the hallway.

“Rissa-“ You called, jumping down from the dryer, cut off by tripping over the basket of damp laundry. You were scrambling as you picked up the laundry from the floor and shoved it in the dryer, continuing to call Larissa’s name as you turned on the dryer and chased your wife down the hall.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife , @smutuniversesblog , @opheliauniverse, @teashock , @enchantressb , @alex-nyx , @renravens , @whenyouhaveanobsession , @scream-queenlover , @shyladyfan, @lilfartbox1, @rubberduckiesbathing , @mcufanisme , @peanutbutterprincess, @larissaoftarthweems , @sicklygrlsicklygrl , @lvinhs , @myzzjolanda , @principal-weems09 , @xuukoo , @brienneswife , @dumbasslesbi , @oculusalien , @sweetderacine , @giogwensversion , @milciak , @gela123 , @thevillagegay , @katiemcgrathsbitch1 , @naomi-m3ndez , @mysaviorfalsegod , @h-doodles , @salems-spaghettios , @imgayforwoman69 , @bychrissi, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic, @kimiinou, @hiiamkatana, @mountain-bikingwitch, @willowshadenox, @aemilia19, @mommyslittlebaby, @agathaandgwenslesbian, @gay-frogs08

[alexusonfire]

Tolerance (but barely)

Larissa Weems x Captain Phasma

Smutember Prompt: Formal Wear

A/n: @daydream-cement and I are doing a mini Smutember! We will be posting fics every Saturday of this month, each with a different prompt and Gwen character (or two 😉). This fic was inspired by Daydream and @bri-sonat's Road Trip fic (who doesn't love a good hate fuck?), and dedicated to my dear sweet @yourlocaldisneyvillain for a fic swap 🧡 They/them pronouns for Phasma. Phasma is Mean™️, smut, strap, packing, Larissa receiving.

You can find Daydream's fic here!

The party thrummed around Larissa, the clinking of glasses and jumbled murmur of several conversations at once making her wince. She was never one for large gatherings, especially when she knew so few people; even her "date" for the evening had been so caught up in socializing she hadn't seen them in more than an hour.

"What a waste of a dress" she thought to herself, taking a moment to mourn the swishy silvery fabric draped across her curves. Turning back towards the bar, she placed down the empty wine glass (the third of the night), and made to order another when a smooth voice sounded behind her.

"They're getting rather lazy with the guest lists I see."

Larissa froze momentarily, instantly recognizing the arrogant tone and wishing she were anywhere but here.

"I don't have the energy for you this evening." Larissa said, her voice clipped and curt.

"Really? I would have thought a woman with your stamina-"

"Careful Captain," Larissa cut in, ever aware of prying ears around them; she turned to glare at the woman behind her, trying to ignore the swoop low in her belly when she met Phasma's piercing gaze, "that almost sounded like the start of compliment."

Phasma chuckled and clunked down their own glass, currently half-filled with a smooth amber liquid that would surely make Larissa's insides churn. Larissa gave them a quick once-over, ruefully noting that Phasma had actually managed to look well put together this evening; black dress pants, matching button up, and slicked back hair had the Captain looking rather... handsome, the only word Larissa could think of. Lost momemtarily in her thoughts, she hardly noticed Phasma moving to crowd her against the bar, effectively pinning her to it so they could whisper in her ear.

"Only you would find being able to fuck like a whore a compliment."

Larissa hated how the close proximity and low tone made her body feel, particularly the tingling in her lower abdomen. She shoved Phasma off her and sneered, the brief baring of her teeth only spurring them on. They chuckled again, the brief, arrogant sound making Larissa burn with rage.

"You're disgusting. Now if you'll excuse me I'd like to keep some civilized company."

Larissa huffed and stormed off, ignoring the chesire grin Phasma had plastered all over their face. She stomped outside, the dark alleyway an instant reprieve from the loud chatter and stuffy air. Peeking around to make sure she was alone, she slipped her hand into her small clutch and pulled out a single cigarette, lighting and inhaling in the same breath. It was a habit she'd picked up in college, and even then only in moments of stress. The clanging of the door behind her caused her to tense and clutch the cigarette tighter, and she nearly groaned out loud when she saw who it was.

"You're worse than a dog, Captain. Next time do I need to tell you to sit and stay?"

Something flashed in Phasma's eyes, and Larissa didn't miss the way their hands flexed in their pockets. They stopped just in front of her, watching her intently as she smothered the cigarette beneath her pointed shoe. There was a moment of silence, Phasma seeming to consider their words before speaking.

"The only dog in this alleyway is the bitch in heat standing in front of me."

The slap sounded off the pavement, and before Larissa could process what she'd done, she was pinned to the brick, Phasma growling in her ear.

"You really shouldn't have done that."

Larissa attempted to wiggle out, her breathing quickening when she realized she could barely move an inch.

"And what are you going to do about it?" she taunted, setting her shoulders back. Phasma didn't answer, but instead simply pulled back for a moment to spin Larissa to face the wall; after effectively pinning her once more, their fingers circled around her wrists, Phasma pushed their hips into Larissa's, the bulge between their legs making Larissa gasp and moan. Phasma smirked; she could be so... easy sometimes.

"What would you like me to do about it? I'm all ears princess."

Larissa hated that nickname, so snarky and condescending. Her fists clenched as she spat out her response, ignoring how her hips pushed back into Phasma's seemingly of their own accord.

"You can do what you do best and stick that fake little cock of yours in anything with a pulse."

For a brief moment, Phasma let go of one of Larissa's wrists and brought two fingers to her neck; Larissa didn't even have to look to know that fucking chesire grin was back on their face.

"With pleasure."

Phasma wasted no time in bringing their free hand down between Larissa's legs, delighted to find her sex bare and already soaked. Some comment lingered on the tip of their tongue, but the small, clamped up moan Larissa let out diverted their attention.

"Ah ah, you know the rules. I want to hear you. I want the whole fucking block to hear you."

Hate hate hate. Hated their stupid grin and arrogant attitude and ridiculous swagger they always put on, hated everything about them-

Especially how good their fingers felt at the moment. Hated it. Loathed it.

Craved it.

Larissa appeased them, too far gone at this point to object as they toyed with her cunt. Phasma took their sweet time, teasing around her clit and sliding their fingers in her painfully slow, barely hitting any of the sweet spots. Larissa grunt and shifted, her one leg pushed forward to grant more access.

"Didn't think you'd be all talk this evening Captain. Have we grown shy of our abilities?"

It came out breathier than she would have liked, but she got the reaction she was looking for when Phasma snarled behind her and quickly unzipped their trousers. She'd barely been given a moments notice before they sheathed the strap fully inside her, only giving her a few seconds to adjust to the stretch before pounding into her. Her moans and cries echoed through the dark alley, the lazy circles Phasma was drawing around her clit making her reach her peak quicker than she would have liked.

"I'm- I'm going to-"

Phasma let go of Larissa's other wrist and brought it down to smack across her thigh, the sudden sting making her squeal in surprise.

"And what do you say, princess?" Phasma panted, their own voice betraying how close they were themselves. Larissa bared her teeth once more as she ground out a barely legible "please", and moments later came with a sharp cry. Phasma pumped into her a few more times before they shuddered, the pressure of the strap against their clit stimulating them just enough for their own release.

Larissa came two more times before Phasma let up, her thighs and calves cramping in her heels. Her knees wobbled dangerously as she straightened up, quickly righting her dress and hair as Phasma tucked the strap back into their trousers.

"You look a mess." Was all Phasma said before sauntering back inside, leaving Larissa to glower at them as they walked away. She waitied until the door was securely shut behind them before collapsing back against the wall, attempting to catch her breath and steady herself.

She cringed as she felt a little trickle down her inner thigh.

Hate.

Hate.

Hate.

--

@weemssapphic @h-doodles @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @renravens @ness029 @oddball21 @saturnnnnl

[na-shoba]

Obsessing over her voice.

@bri-sonat, this one's for you

Masterlist

[pastanest]

requested by: @bri-sonat - surpriiiiise!! 💗

Brienne of Tarth x she/her!reader

A Story To Be Told

Closing the door to her quarters as quietly as she can, Brienne of Tarth inhales a shaky breath, the façade of her strong and stoic expression only falling in the safety of her bedroom, when she is finally alone. Away from the teasing, prejudiced eyes of the young boys that snickered amongst themselves from the moment she had entered the hall, and are no doubt still picking her to pieces like the vultures they are, long after she has escaped their scrutiny. At least, she has escaped their physical reach, but their insults flew around her mind near constantly without their persistent reminders and reiterations. It has not long been her 12th name day, and Brienne knows she is already a beast more than she is a girl, but oh, how she wishes she could be just that. 

She stands at her window, looking out at the highborn ladies on the arms of their men as they leave the hall; all floating gowns, gracious smiles, sparkling eyes, small and dainty hands that cling to the arms of their protectors, the ones to lay their cloaks on the ground, save a lady dare get traces of dirt on the hem of her gown. Resting the side of her face against the wall beside the window, Brienne feels her chin wobble, as it has throughout the evening, but she does not fight it this time, she is too exhausted. Slow, steady and hot tears roll down her porcelain cheeks, wishing she was just a girl. If she was just slightly taller than the rest, slightly broader, slightly less feminine, she would be able to forgive herself, she believes that wholeheartedly. If she were anything less than the monstrous ogre she sees in every reflection, perhaps she could even wear a dress, she wonders. 

Looking up at the stars that twinkle above her, she feels they are taunting her. How dare such beautiful things be one of the only objects that she cannot physically reach to hold in her large hands, she scolds them. Taking a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Gods, I must ask you a question. Why would you make me a girl, to then withhold me from every experience that would reinforce the belief I am one? Why is it that every pretty thing is something I am not allowed to touch? Did I do something in a past life to make me undeserving of the wonders of feeling like a woman?” Brienne pleads, her words whispered but desperate for an answer, an inkling of an explanation. Opening her eyes, she looks to the stars again. “Do I have another purpose? And if that is so, what purpose can possibly be worth this constant ridicule? Must I exist like this?” Briene’s tears are faster now, more frantic as she hurries to wipe her eyes and shake her head. 

If the Gods are up there, they are as out of reach as everything that is to be a woman is to her. Why would they bother to listen to her, when mere mortals do not bother to wonder if she is even capable of feeling? 

Continuing to wipe her eyes, Brienne stumbles to her bed and falls into it, smother herself under her blankets and pillows, burying herself as deep as she can there and hoping she will simply disappear. What would they address her as at her wake, she wonders, the beast that dared to live?

The tears that soak through her pillow that night are ones she remembers all too well, having cried them countless times before and knowing she would continue to cry them for as long as she lives. That night, though, something is different. 

Brienne wakes to a voice that she has never heard before, a woman’s voice, calling out to her in a song, stirring her from a peaceful slumber. 

“Can you hear me say your name, forever?”

But when she opens her eyes, Brienne is not in her bed. Much to her complete disbelief, she is clad in shining silver armor, the limbs at her sides and hanging from the stool she sits on, longer than she remembers them being. She sits in a tavern that she does not recognise, and as she looks around, she sees countless men with indistinguishable sigils on their clothes, all of them faceless. Before she has time to consider such a frightening concept, her eyes are pulled to the centre of the room, straight ahead, by the voice of an angel.

“Can you see me longing for you, forever?”

The candles strewn about the room cast a gentle, golden glow against your skin as you sit atop a table, singing beside another faceless man, playing an unfamiliar tune on a vielle.

Your eyes are closed, your expression focussed, a soft frown on your features as you sing. You are the most beautiful and ethereal creature that she has ever seen, Brienne’s heart leaps and bounds in her chest. 

And then, your eyes open, immediately locking with hers from across the room. A beaming grin overtakes your face, and then you sing the next line, eyes sparkling more than any star had dared to try.

“Would you let me touch your soul, forever?”

With the force of the strongest blow to the gut Brienne has ever known, she quite suddenly realizes that you are singing to her. Out of every person you have ever known, you have dedicated this song, for whatever reason, to Brienne of Tarth.

Despite not being able to see the faces of the men in her peripheral vision, Brienne somehow knows that they are smiling, their expressions anything but malicious, for what she’s certain is the first time in her life.

Standing from the table, you walk to Brienne and take her hands in your much smaller ones. Without hesitation or fear, you lean in and place the softest kiss on her lips, shocking Brienne’s body into stunned rigidity, her eyes closed from the emotional weight of such a gesture, in front of such a crowd. 

And as she drifts into the darkness that she had arrived in, your voice floats alongside her, until it disappears entirely.

“Can you feel me longing for you, forever?”

Brienne wakes with a gasp, sitting upright in her bed and panting heavily, wide eyes darting around the room and breathing a sigh of relief to find that she is a young girl, back in her quarters. Had that situation continued, she does not know she would have survived.

Naturally, she does not tell anyone of the dream. Instead, she intends to keep it as a secret that she will take to the grave, because she is certain she will be trying to understand it for the rest of her life. For such an impactful, detailed and strange dream to have been brought to her after she asked the Gods a question of her purpose, she cannot believe in such a coincidence, but she is too skeptical to wholeheartedly believe the opposite. That leaves the conclusion that there must have been a reason for such a dream, and that conclusion only brings about further questions, much to Brienne’s frustration. Still, the armor that she had been wearing in that dream gives her a place to start. 

Having been forced to deny all forms of stereotypically feminine interests, attire and ways of life, Brienne is not surprised to find how comfortable she feels when training and improving her strength. Unfortunately, being rejected as a woman and forced into the training of knighthood does force her into an entirely different world ruled by men and their criticisms, but this time, their judgements were different. They were simply of the view that they were better than her and that such a fact was obvious. Of course, their assumption was correct, but only to begin with. In this world of men, Brienne makes it her mission to best each and every one. If she is not to be accepted as a woman, or in the role of a man, then she will do her absolute best to be stronger and smarter than every man she faces in battle, with each victory won being a personal award won against the worlds of men, which have always judged her the harshest.

Her training has seen her through the remainder of her childhood and into her first years of adulthood now, and while she still thinks of the dream, she is less focussed on its meaning now. While she is no closer to discovering who you are, or where the tavern was that she had seen you, she has settled with the conclusion that perhaps the dream was solely meant as a metaphorical guide to the path of knighthood, whether this is her true purpose, above all else. With a moral code as strong as hers, and strength that often outmatches the men that choose to test her, Brienne is satisfied with this purpose.

Casting her gaze skyward, Brienne feels the smallest smile tug at her face at the sunshine that seemingly leads her on the path her horse walks towards the south of her homeland, her first mission away from Evenfall Hall, as tasked by her father. She is to reach a small town and ensure its safety in the face of some thieves that have been ravaging particular families in the region. By no means is it a dangerous or particularly exciting request, but Brienne is more than happy to take it in her stride and defend this new place with her life, if it is asked of her. 

Little stone houses greet her as her horse rides through the gates, and she reigns him towards the stables that she spots ahead of her. Many stop their conversations to watch her in awe, any armored person arriving on horseback is a sight to behold, but a woman? And one as tall as Brienne of Tarth? Naturally, news of her stature and ability had reached the south of the small island of Tarth, but none had seen her, save for the townsfolk that surround Evenfall Hall. 

Dismounting from her horse, Brienne ties him safely within the stable and thanks him for his service with a pat to his side, before she begins her march around the town. In 30 minutes, she has mentally mapped out each street, and started to enquire with the locals about the thieves. Nodding along with every word, she absorbs as much information as she can and retains it, then moves to talk to the next person. Within a day, she has spoken to almost everyone in the town. 

Retiring for the evening, Brienne makes her way to the local inn, sitting opposite a tavern. Though she hears music being played from within, she is too tired to venture inside, and instead continues her exhausted strides to the inn. 

Acting on instinct, she awakes at dawn and takes her first patrol of the town, finding no disturbances or damaged buildings since the previous evening and considers her first day a success. Brienne stations herself at the market that day, having gained some insight from the locals that there are pickpockets who frequent it. Despite watching everyone that passes through the market carefully, there are a pair of eyes that she misses from within the tavern window at the end of the street. Not a criminal's eyes, by any means. Perhaps that is why Brienne fails to acknowledge them. 

Having slept well the night before, Brienne patrols the town a few more times, until the late hours of the evening, to ensure the families she sees have not been bothered by any strange happenings. She recognises one of the mothers of a family to be the owner of a fruit stall that she was guarding at the market that day, and stops to ask her how the business has been recently.

“Thieves don’t bother themselves with the fruits of my labor, pardon the pun!” The mother laughs, Brienne chuckling with her. 

Wishing her a safe night, Brienne tries to take her leave, but the mother grabs her arm. 

“If you do get the chance, Lady Knight, you must come to the tavern for an evening! I think you would very much like the entertainment.” She giggles, and Brienne does not quite understand why.

“Thank you, I appreciate the invitation. Perhaps, when I am sure the thieves will not strike, I will pay it a visit.” Brienne nods at her gratefully, and with that, continues her final patrol before retiring for the night.

Seven days have passed since her arrival, and there has not been the slightest whisper of an attempt at thieving. Perhaps her presence has scared them off, Brienne often remarks to herself in a backhanded compliment. Despite the lack of happenings, the townsfolk have kept her quite busy, often stopping her on her patrols to talk to her, and more often not ending their conversations with further invitations to the tavern. Brienne thinks it is very kind, but that their persistence lends itself to the size of the town and lack of other forms of entertainment. The tavern is all they have, after all, they are likely to think its entertainment a gift from the Gods if they have nothing to compare it to. The more they ask, the less appealing the idea becomes to Brienne, not wanting her arrival to be a spectacle or - Gods be good - part of the entertainment. She is here to do a job, after all, not amuse the locals. She has had quite enough of being the punchline.

With another day’s lack of work completed, Brienne begins the same path she walks each and every evening to the inn. Having slept as well as she has each and every night here, and not having had to perform much in the form of physical labor - save for helping the townsfolk when they have needed assistance lifting or moving heavy objects, which she has had more than enough time to help with - she is not as tired as she has been on previous days. In fact, Brienne would go as far as to say she feels that she is on full alert and would not miss a trick, so if a thief was considering testing her this night, they would be making a sorrowful mistake. 

As she walks towards the doors of the inn, the sound of chanting from within the tavern reaches her ears. 

“SING OF THE LADY KNIGHT!” 

Brienne stops dead in her tracks, slowly turning on her heel and straining to hear their chants, which are disordered now. Surely, they cant have been-

“LADY KNIGHT!”

Her eyes widen. Without hesitation, Brienne marches hurriedly to the tavern, but does not set foot inside. Instead, she stands beside an open window, out of sight from those within, but closer to hear the exact details of whatever is occurring. 

“Alright, alright, another song for our magnificent Lady Knight, it is!” 

That voice is…familiar, Brienne thinks. Frantically recalling every face and voice she has come to know in this town, she cannot match any of them to the words she just heard. Peaking around the window ever so slightly, Brienne’s eyes scan the inside of the tavern, recognising many of the townsfolk seated within, but there is one face that she has known longer than all the rest.

The candles strewn about the room cast a gentle, golden glow against your skin as you sit atop a table, singing beside another faceless man, playing a tune on a vielle that Brienne recognises by the first chord. Your eyes are closed, your expression focussed, a soft frown on your features as you part your lips. Brienne’s heart leaps, bounds and stops in her chest as she slams her armored back against the wall of the building, breathing heavily. It cant be, she thinks, there is no possible way that the Gods knew you would be here, the location of her very first mission, it cannot be you, she must be getting confu-

“Can you hear me say your name, forever?”

Gods be good, Brienne slowly lowers herself to the ground, her back still pressed to the wall of the building. And there she stays, in a state of shock, for the rest of the night. Song after song, reference after reference of things you have seen her do, questions of whether you saw her yesterday doing this or that, put to you by the crowd sitting around you, and you answering with “Yes, of course I did” every single time. Having never before felt the admiration of another, Brienne does not know how to lift herself from where she sits, perfectly in earshot of such genuine confessions.

That is, until the tavern closes for the night and the townsfolk begin to file out of the building. Quite suddenly, Brienne is scrambling to her feet and standing to attention, trying - and failing - to act as though she had been on patrol all night and just happened to be here, now. But as person after person exits the tavern, many of them stop to smile knowingly at the armored woman, giggling amongst themselves, but with no malicious intent. For the first time in her life, Brienne finds herself the topic of conversation for a nice reason.

Holding the hilt of her sword for comfort, Brienne waits and paces, long after the last of the crowd have left the building, because you still have not left yet and she cannot decide whether she is emotionally stable enough to speak to you tonight or if she is willing to try and survive the agony of waiting until tomorrow, so is stuck in a pacing equilibrium as she weighs the positives and negatives of both possibilities. 

“Oh, Gods!” 

Somehow, your exclamation of surprise is enough to make the towering, knightly woman jump in her skin, her armor rattling in a way that she knows will plague her mind while she screams into her pillow from the humiliation. Turning to face you, Brienne clears her throat.

“Good evening. I am Brienne of Tarth.”

Gulping nervously, you nod up at her. “Hello, my name is (Y/N), and…I know.”

Brienne wishes the ground to swallow her whole in that moment. Of course you knew that, you were singing about her no more than ten minutes ago! Now that you are in front of her, though, Brienne is actually allowing herself to take in the image of you. So much smaller than her, so much shyer than you were in the dream, than your voice had made you seem. There is a book that you hold to your chest with both arms, as though afraid someone will try to take it from you. Any thief caught by Brienne attempting to do such a thing would surely suffer. 

“Sorry, I- please tell me you have not heard me tonight.” Your eyes are darting everywhere, returning to Brienne’s fleetingly, too bashful to hold her gaze.

“I did.” She answers you matter-of-factly, and you could have dropped dead. 

“Oh, Gods, I am so sorry, Lady Brienne, I- if I’d have known, I never would have- please, do not think poorly of me, I only meant-”

“Thank you.” Brienne interrupts your rambling, her voice softer as she sees you crumble before her.

Now, your eyes cannot leave hers, they are wide with confusion and curiosity, searching hers for an explanation. “What?”

A soft, shy smile makes its way to Brienne’s face. “Thank you. Nobody has ever said such…kind things to me before, let alone sung them to a crowd.”

You frown at that. “I cannot understand why I am the first, you are the most beautiful and ethereal woman I have ever-” Your jaw drops at your own admission. “I’m sorry!”

And Brienne laughs, a hearty laugh accompanied by rosy cheeks. “Thank you, again. I must ask that you stop apologizing for your kindness.”

Relaxing slightly, you chuckle. “Thank you, I’ll try. I just do not want to make you uncomfortable. After all, few would react well to the news that someone you have never spoken to has written and performed songs about you.”

Glancing around the town, now silent save for the conversation between the two of you, Brienne nods at you. “May I walk you home, my Lady?”

Your jaw drops again. “R-Really? Why?”

Brienne already cannot resist smiling at the way you look up at her. “It is my duty to ensure all under my protection are safe, and yet somehow, we have not been introduced until today. I feel I must make amends with you for my negligence, starting immediately.”

Sensing the playful tone but serious reasoning behind Brienne’s words, you smile. 

“Though I have been purposefully avoiding you to also avoid my own crippling embarrassment, I will never fail to take you up on such an offer, Lady Knight.” Your eyes widen. “L-Lady Brienne!”

Laughing at you endearingly, Brienne holds her arm out to you, and the moment you loop yours through it, she begins to walk in the direction of the stone houses. 

“I am no lady, nor am I a knight.” She corrects you gently as you walk. 

Sighing deeply, you rest your head against her arm. “To me, you are both and more.”

[kriscrm]

The goodbye letter… Brienne x Reader based on ‘Enjoy the Silence’ fic by @bri-sonat

[cissyenthusiast010155]

🤍✨️send this to ten other bloggers you think are wonderful. keep the game going if you'd like✨️🤍

Awwww, thxxx @a-queen-and-her-throne !!! I already did, but I’ll tag 10 more AMAZING bloggers below 😉

Keep the game going! ✨🤍

@bri-sonat and their fabulous Brienne & Gwen blog🫰🏻

@sapphicsbeloved in her marvelous Gwendoline Christie era 🙌🏻

@prefer-to-be-vilified with her spot on and obsess-worthy wenclair content👏🏻

@alder-saan and their dedication to their jaw-dropping Gwendoline Christie character fics 🫠

@rippersz and their knee-wobbling Larissa Weems fics 😮‍💨

@juicyflawless25 who runs a stunning blog for the Queen herself, Gwendoline Christie 💎

@ladyzmilf002 and her fucking amazing/mommy issues driven blog 💋

@yourfavoriteweirdo19 whose fantabulous and apart of the Gwendoline Christie Government(as we all should be) ❤️‍🔥

@rainbow-hedgehog with her heartwarming blog and Gwen content 🥰

@neuroprincess who writes addictive fics for hot women in law (as well as criminals…)🔥

[funky--lesbian]

Super Nova

Larissa Weems X OC

A.N. hello all. if this seems familiar to you it's because... I've already posted it. With that said I realized I am Horrendous at formatting and decided to repost with some alterations. a HUGE shoutout to the council for helping me get my shit together, especially @bri-sonat for helping fic my truly wretched formatting. the next few chapters will be posted soon as I write some new ones as well.

The wind howled as you looked out the window of the train. Trees passing by in flashes as you made your way through towns, each one smaller and more spread apart, until there was nothing but the forest and the rain dripping down the windows to keep your eyes fixed on.

You can feel the chill of the weather as you rest your gloved hand on the window, not quite knowing what to expect. Finally, you see lights as the train pulls up to a town. As you look away from the pouring rain, you realize that everyone else had departed the train many stops ago.

After all, who would want to travel to a town like Jericho.

Though you suppose it wasn't Jericho itself that they avoided but rather what was just beyond it, Nevermore, your destination. The school had quite a reputation amongst the residents, almost serving as a horror story, an urban myth.

You quickly made your way up from your seat and gathered your belongings, not that you had many to grab, as the stewardess waited by the door of the train. With a small nod in her direction, you square your shoulders and step out into the world once again.

You quickly feel the rain soaking through your many layers as you dart under the cover of an awning, dragging your trunk behind you as you huddle over your tote bag, attempting to protect the few notebooks you carry. 

You look around as the train pulls away, desperately hoping that you will be able to spot your ride to your new home. As the lights from the train disappear into the distance, you’re left shivering on the cobbled road, lit only by a few meager street lamps. As the minutes pass and the cold sinks further into your bones, you finally decide you can't wait anymore out in this weather.

You shift your bag further up on your arm as your breath fogs up before your face. The second you step out into the storm again you regret it, but within minutes your steps have led you to the one building that seemed to still be open. As the wind blows the door shut behind you, you look around and realize you're in a small coffee shop, the Weathervane, according to the sign above the counter.

You quickly leave your trunk by an empty table before heading up to the counter where a young boy is watching with wary but amused eyes. “Hi…” You murmur, your voice horse from disuse, ”could I just get a hot chocolate with oat milk?” you ask, with a slightly clearer voice.

“Of course, what's the name?” He queries with a small smile.

“Adelaide.” You respond before turning around, the bell of the door behind you ringing, the noise drawing your attention. Standing there silhouetted by the glowing lights of the street was the most striking woman you had ever seen.

“Miss Florence, there you are my dear!” She exclaimed as she walked towards the counter. Somehow despite the stormy weather, she looked absolutely perfect, not a single hair out of place regardless of the howling wind and rain that had quickly turned your long curls into a stringy mess. 

As she approached the counter, you found yourself tilting your head farther and farther back, and when she finally stopped next to you, you realized how ridiculous you must look peering up at her like a drowned rat. You quickly looked down with a blush.

“Hello Tyler, a hot chocolate please, and would you be so kind as to put Miss Florence's drink on my tab as well?” She states with a glimmering smile at the barista.

“Oh no, you really don't have to do that!” You state, looking up quickly at the woman whose name you still don't know.

“Nonsense! Consider it a welcoming gift and an apology for my tardiness. Unfortunately, our normal driver fell sick due to the weather, so I had to finish up an appointment before coming down.” She stated warmly as she handed over some cash for the drinks before heading over to the table with your trunk. “I’m Larissa Weems, Headmistress of Nevermore Academy, my dear.” She smiled at you as you glanced up at her.

In the light of the coffee shop you can't help but stare at her beauty, clear blue eyes surrounded by delicate long lashes, a bright red lip captured in a gleaming smile, she was like an angel come to life.

You let out a shiver as her eyes pierced yours. Seeing this her smile faded into a frown, creasing her forehead as she looked down at you. “My dear, you must be freezing, you're absolutely soaked!” She says as she reaches toward you.

“No!’ You shouted, quickly scooting out of the bench away from her as you trip over your trunk in panic. She lets out a gasp at your desperation as you shake on the ground, refusing to look into her eyes in shame.

“I was just going to remove your coat, dear, it’s soaked through…” She murmurs comfortingly with her hands clasped in front of her for you to see clearly. You feel your cheeks turn pink with shame as you slowly climb up from the ground, ignoring the looks from the few other patrons.

“I can't do… touch.” You state as you wring your gloved hands together, “I apologize, it would not be pleasant for either of us.” You continue, wrapping yourself further in your layers as you look down at your feet.

“That is quite alright, my dear, I apologize for disturbing you.” Her voice was gentle, a touch of worry in her tone.

“Adelaide, Headmistress, here you go.” You hear as two to-go cups are placed next to you on the table. You quickly step back from the barista, once again kicking your trunk but managing to stay upright this time as you let out a tight smile.

Clearing her throat, the headmistress quickly stands with a slightly strained smile on her face. “Let's get you to your new home!” She says with joy, grabbing her hot chocolate with one hand and your trunk in the other.

“Yes, let's…” You murmur, grabbing your own drink and following behind the statuesque woman.

[principal-weems09]

@na-shoba @littledollll @bri-sonat @duke-of-poosay @vickie-mcmuffin @daydream-cement @cissyenthusiast010155 @weemssapphic @spicy-picklez @fruitylo0pz

Thank you for your content I'm so blessed to be able to read it. I really appreciate your work, I hope you're having a great day/night wherever you are located. I'm posting this to say thank you for all those writers out there that take out time to write smut, fan fiction, or something else. I am greatful for the writers out there.

[weemssapphic]

Top 5 favorite fics <3

This is one of the hardest questions ever because there are SO many excellent fics and I'm discovering new ones every day - I'm also very behind on reading lately and haven't been reading as much as I would like to. Everything I reblog I absolutely adore but here are some fics that have made a permanent home in my brain

Shapes of Love by @dianneking (multi-chapter, ongoing) Larissa x Morticia AU wherein Larissa is an escort and Morticia is a recently widowed, very wealthy woman who hires her. If anyone thought the comments I left on the fic were deranged, you should see the dms I have sent this lovely author. The absolute prose in this fic. The angst, the slowburn, the deep-dives into both characters. Incredible. It's marathon week this week and Friday will be the last chapter and I am simultaneously SO excited to see the stunning conclusion and also devastated for it to end.

Warmth of Your Doorways by @alexusonfire in collab with @daydream-cement (multi-chapter, ongoing) It's no secret that I'm madly in love with Jane Murdstone. This fic scratches that itch SO well. Reader is a dressmaker and Jane calls her little violet and if that isn't enough to make you spontaneously burst into flames, I don't know what is. The last chapter was hella angsty but it's so satisfying in a way. Hook this shit to my veins. (as a side note, I devoured The Diary of Jane Murdstone last night and that makes it 10x more satisfying and lovely than it already was.

Sugar Mama by valda (on ao3, multi-chapter - abandoned) Phasma x Rey AU wherein Phasma is a CEO and Rey is a college student. I didn't think I would like the pairing but if @yourlocaldisneyvillain recommends something to me, I read it, and boy let me tell you. This fic made me lose my mind and I haven't been able to find it since. I am a Slut for a good sugar mommy trope and this fic is SO well done, every word of it lives inside my brain rent-free. The only disappointing part is the fact that it appears to have indeed been abandoned at 20 chapters :(

danger level - one by @yourlocaldisneyvillain (oneshot) Hear me out... sex-pollen. Phasma x reader sex-pollen. The filthiest yet most artfully written sex-pollen fic you've ever read. That's this. I need Captain Phasma to call me a depraved whore. Anyway. You probably expected me to pick this author's Jane Murdstone fic which I am also Insane for. But I just can't resist the sweet siren call of mean!horny!Phasma, okay?

Enjoy The Silence by @bri-sonat (3 part series - complete) Brienne of Tarth x knight!reader. This, as well as the two subsequent parts, might be one of my favorite Brienne fics to ever exist. Sublimely written, truly, and includes a little bit of everything (fluff, smut, angst). Absolutely in love with Brienne's characterization here. A true masterpiece.

(this got so long oops)

[queerfanfiction]

WIP Game

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

—

Thank you to both @littledollll and @weemssapphic for the tag. You two are wonderful!!

—

you are my bitter rival but i need you for survival

2. six times that time stopped

3. a touch like a sharp and glorious thorn

4. i swear you fealty

5. weightless

6. i slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

7. pant: new booking request

soooooo, these are my current works in progress. one request and six other stories. these do not include new chapters of love notes or topic of study. am I biting off more than I can chew? of course! will I reconsider? not at all!

not sure who to tag, but I'll try! no shame in passing up the game if you are tagged. @fadingdaggerr @tanith-rhea @moodreaderlesbian @bri-sonat @alexusonfire @suckerforcate @anti-bright-places @yourlocaldisneyvillain @milfsloverblog @wasjustred @v3nusxsky

[bri-sonat]

was nervous when making these gifs… i don’t know why.

[daydream-cement]

Little Walks

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Just little walks taken Miranda to your car.

Author's Note: Just a random lil fic. Thank you to @bri-sonat for your beta <3

“You’re Y/n, right?” A voice called from behind you. It was familiar enough to remind you of two distinct characteristics of its owner: cute smile & great tipper.

You stopped and turned your head, pausing to wait for the leggy blonde who was walking fast to catch up to you. Her excitement to see you was obvious, involuntarily giving you butterflies. You greet her with a nod and a big smile, “Constable. I haven’t seen you for a while. How have you been?”

Miranda fell into stride with you, her joy was infectious, “Busy, but good! I’ve been meaning to come back in. I miss that hot chocolate you made me.” 

“I can assure you, there is nothing special about my hot chocolate.” You laugh, turning your chin upwards to catch a glimpse of her face. Much to your surprise, Miranda was already looking at you, her blue hues unwavering when they locked on your own. There go the butterflies again.

“I’d beg to differ.” Miranda shot back before dropping her gaze. Her tone suggested flirtation and the growing blush on her cheeks made you turn your attention to the sidewalk before you could get your hopes up. The constable’s eyes were glued to her boots kicking at a patch of gravel, her confidence wavering, “...do you usually get off work around now?”

You had no reason to lie to the tall constable, rather you were keen on getting to know her, so sharing things about yourself made sense. “For the most part, yeah. I like it when they give me a consistent schedule.” 

“Cool... cool...” Miranda nodded nonchalantly, her cheeks showing signs of a suppressed smile.

--

She had started this little habit of waiting for you after a few times of eating at the restaurant where you waited tables. Hilmarson had gone two straight weeks of waiting for you to walk you to your car just to spend time with you. Her chivalrous offer to walk with you to your car was unexpected (and somewhat unnecessary), but how could you say no to those sweet eyes, and why would you want to? 

To you, it was all one big coincidence that Miranda was always nearby patrolling when you walked down the alleyway toward your car. It was just a wonderfully serendipitous moment where her work schedule coincided with yours. 

She would ask you about your day and sometimes speak vaguely of her work. You knew you had a small crush forming when you watched the way she would coo at passing dogs and cats sitting in the windows of the apartments they called home.

Miranda spoke incoherently in a high-pitched voice, squatting low to welcome an overexcited puppy into her arms. The constable enjoyed the animal’s attention for a long while before she looked up at you with a great big smile, “Isn’t she adorable?”

“She is…” You say, eyes focused on the constable. Your agreement was two fold - while the puppy was adorable, so was the woman crouched in front of you. Your gaze caused the blonde to look away, a blush spreading on her face when she realized your words had more than one meaning.

The puppy continued on with her walk and Miranda and you did the same. There was an awkwardness between you, but you saw the constable smirking from the corner of your eye. 

The silence continued until you reached your car, the constable quickly reached out and opened your car door for you, “Hey, Y/n… I was thinking, uhm…”

Butterflies began swarming in your stomach and you paused in front of the constable, watching her expectantly. “Mhm? What is it, Andy?”

You could see the constable’s eyes go soft at the use of the nickname, her teeth biting at her bottom lip as she considered her words carefully. “Well, I was wondering… if you have time…”

Your eyes went wide and you leaned in closer, desperately hoping Miranda was finally going to ask you out.

“Do you think you, uh… could text me where you got that top? It’s… very cute.” Miranda looked away from you, her eyes squeezing shut as she realized how disappointed she was in herself.  She had completely chickened out and couldn’t bear to see the look on your face.

And it’s a good thing she looked away. You were so disappointed. You actually thought she was going to ask you out.

“Oh… Uhm, yeah. Sure.”

“Great. Thanks.”

The rest of your interaction was so strange. Miranda was as polite and kind as always, but there was a newfound distance between the two of you as she bid you goodbye and closed your car door. 

--

Miranda stared at her shoes as she leaned against a building and waited for you to get off work. She was ten minutes early so she wouldn’t miss you. This walk to your car would be different. That's what she kept telling herself anyway.

She held a cigarette between her middle and forefinger while her cell phone was wedged between her ear and shoulder. The constable spoke in a hushed tone to her partner, “I’m not going to chicken out! Don’t say that...”

“I don’t know about that. You didn’t ask them out the past two times you said you would. I’m just assuming you’ll do it again.” Robin was plain in her criticisms of her best friend, not sugarcoating anything for the constable. 

Miranda took a drag of her cigarette and pouted, “I swear, Rob. I’m gonna ask them for dinner on Friday.”

“You better. Otherwise, I’m going to have to listen to your pining for another week.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m not wrong. Whenever we are together, it’s ‘Y/n did this’, ‘Y/n did that.’ It’s never-ending, I swear, Mir.”

The two’s bickering was cut off when Miranda turned her eyes up and caught a glimpse of you leaving through the side door in the alleyway. The constable swiftly hung up on Robin and tamped out her cigarette on the brick wall nearby. “Y/n!” 

You paused with a great big smile, treasuring the image of Miranda jogging down the alleyway to walk at your side. After Miranda had acted so strange yesterday, you were filled with determination to ask her out. You tried to make sure your flirting was as thinly veiled as possible - your hand reaching out to squeeze her forearm as unabashedly admired her face, “Good afternoon, constable.” 

“H-hey...” the constable was taken aback by your forwardness, her thoughts stalling as she looked from your eyes to your hand. “I, uh, brought you something.”

You giggled and looked over her person expectantly, wondering what she could have possibly gotten you, “Really?”

“Yes! It’s right, uh- Right here.” Miranda searched her pockets until she found the little shell sitting in her pant pocket. She held it out to you with a great big smile. “Yesterday, you said you never get to go to the beach as much as you want to... So I.. uhm.. brought the beach to you.”

Her thought and pure sweetness made your heart ache. You pouted slightly as you took the small olive shell from her palm between your fingers, examining it for a moment before squeezing it in your fist. “Thank you, Andy...”

Andy. She loved when you used that sweet nickname. Never had she liked it before it fell off your lips.

“I found it on this beach when Robin and I were out of town doing interviews. I was actually thinking you would like it a lot there...”

“I’m sure I would. Maybe you should take me sometime?”

Miranda’s whole body was buzzing with excitement. “Really? Together?”

“Absolutely.”

You both spoke simultaneously, “Like a date?”

Immediately, you looked away from one another. There was an abundance of excitement and energy between the two of you that created a thick silence.

Miranda took the brave next step in taking your hand and intertwining your fingers. She broke the silence in a hushed tone, “I was able to get a day off Friday… I know you usually don’t work those days. We could go then.”

“I would really like that…” You smile, meeting her eyes before lifting her hand to your lips to press a soft kiss to her skin.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @renravens, @whenyouhaveanobsession, @shyladyfan, @rubberduckiesbathing, @mcufanisme, @peanutbutterprincess, @larissaoftarthweems, @lvinhs, @myzzjolanda, @principal-weems09, @imlike-so-gaydude, @emilynissangtr, @xuukoo, @brienneswife, @oculusalien, @sweetderacine, @giogwensversion, @gela123, @thevillagegay, @katiemcgrathsbitch1, @naomi-m3ndez, @mysaviorfalsegod, @salems-spaghettios, @imgayforwoman69, @bychrissi, @bitchr-mkay, @h-doodles, @alexusonfire, @weemssapphic, @lilfartbox1, @mountain-bikingwitch, @aemilia19, @agathaandgwenslesbian, @gay-frogs08

[alexusonfire]

Warmth of Your Doorways - Chapter One

Jane Murdstone x dressmaker!Reader

A/n: This is a collaboration with the stunningly talented @daydream-cement , and beta'd by the equally talented @bri-sonat ! I am so damn excited to finally post this!! The spitballing has been most fun, and Janey deserves some love!

Summary: When a beautiful raven-haired woman enters your dress shop, it takes everything in you not to fall in love instantly.

Your boss, Mary’s thick Scottish accent pulled you from your absent-minded daydreams as you practiced your stitching along the hem of a dress, “Go in the back and fetch more of this exact black fabric. I need it for Lady Marjory’s dress. She will be here in 15 minutes for final measurements.” 

“Yes, matron.” You nodded, pausing your work to begin your next task as you knew well that the matron didn’t take kindly to any dilly-dallying, having been the recipient of berating on previous occasions. Plucking yourself up from your stool, you make your way to the back room where all of the fabrics were stored in the dressmaker’s shop. Scanning the shelves quickly, you found the black fabric with the most faint of paisley designs woven into the background. Whoever was commissioning this dress must have had a significant amount of money to ask for a fabric such as this. 

As you reached to pull the bolt of fabric from the shelf, the shop’s bell rang, notifying you of a new customer. You pulled the bolt under your arm and hurried yourself out to the main area to hand over the fabric and to help whatever customer that may have entered. 

A dark-haired woman immediately caught your gaze, her icy glare causing your heart to stop for a fraction of a second. She was tall, taller than most, and she held herself with the poise and grace of a true lady. Though she had yet to even acknowledge your existence, you knew she'd be on your mind for the coming days ahead. She seemed solely focused on Lady Marjory, otherwise disinterested in the entire process, and sat on a chair in a nearby corner to make idle comments when needed.

If you were honest with yourself, it was nearly one of the worst jobs you'd done since starting, as you couldn't help but be distracted by the woman's (who you'd come to learn was addressed as "Miss Murdstone") cerulean blues. They were constantly alert, scanning the room, her lady, and once even you, though fleeting. Once you felt the blush creep up your cheeks, you knew you were done for. You tried to remember what pins the matron needed and when, how to properly cut the fabric in front of you, but it was all helpless once you'd heard her speak.

"Perhaps my Lady would enjoy a more...  flattering silhouette."

Deep, rich, seductive, your mind went entirely blank at her husk. From then on your hands shook and your gaze faltered, and you reluctantly gave in to the fact that as long as Miss Murdstone was around, you'd be utterly helpless in any task issued.

“What is wrong with you today?” Mary shot a glare your way as you slipped up on yet another stitch. The attention drawn to you made a blush creep up your cheeks, knowing the Lady and Miss Murdstone were most assuredly looking your way. 

You shook your head, not looking up to address the matron as that might lead to the potential of seeing the raven-haired beauty’s gaze upon you, “I apologize, matron. It won’t happen again.” Quickly, you pulled the stitching out and redid it correctly this time, blocking out the heavy gaze of Miss Murdstone the best you could. 

The matron and Lady Marjory exchanged gossip as you adjusted the trimmings of the dress, but the lady’s continuous sudden movements were making your job harder than necessary. With a deep sigh, you try to keep your complaints to yourself, hoping to get through this task so you could sit back down at your station and work on your stitching so you could sneak glances at the beautiful woman in the corner. 

With a few more pins in place, Mary finally relieved you of your task, waving you away with the flick of her hand. Before returning to your station, you smile to yourself as the most wonderful idea passes through your mind. You begin to gather the extra bolts of fabric laying about, deciding to clean them up earlier than usual so you could have a reason to pass by Miss Murdstone for the possibility of her speaking to you. You would even settle for her gaze settling upon you once more at this point. 

You flit about the room, making sure you weren’t in the way of the matron, who wouldn’t hesitate to scold you if you were to make another wrong move. Each time you pass by Miss Murdstone, you give her a small smile in case she may glance your way. Unfortunately, the serious ravenette kept her eyes trained upon her lady, not even sending you a wayward glance for a fraction of a second. 

With the bolts back in their home, you settle back down onto your stool, resuming your stitching once more, disappointed with the fact that you hadn’t caught her eye the way she caught yours; unbeknownst to you however, every time your back had turned she couldn't tear her eyes from you. Your brilliant smile and the delicate way your hands pushed and pulled the needle piqued her interest almost immediately, though her stony demeanor would never tell you so. 

The appointment lasted hours, yet felt like only minutes, and sooner than you would have liked the matron was clapping her hands together and giving the final details to Lady Marjory before she and Miss Murdstone were to depart. Woefully you watched as Miss Murdstone helped the Lady back into her original garment, tidying her hair and tying her hat before sweeping her out of the shop, yet again not even sparing a glance or a word of departure before leaving. It was like you'd been a ghost in the room, barely visible to the women (and one woman specifically) around you-

And yet you'd never felt more alive.

Hastily sweeping up the remaining bits of cloth, you were eager to finish your duties and have some downtime to breathe, as you suddenly realized how constricted your chest felt. Mary wished you a good evening (with a well-earned disapproving glare), and you sighed as you felt the tension leave your shoulders.

Not fifteen minutes later did you hear the bell sound from the front door being opened, and you grumbled when you realized you'd forgotten to lock it.

"We're closed,” you called out, unmoving from your seat in front of Lady Marjory’s gown, hoping whomever it was would simply apologize and leave.

“I don’t believe I caught your name.” A divine voice directly behind you caused you to jump as you previously thought yourself to be alone. You turned your head to see the bottom of a black corset and you had to crane your neck upwards to see the owner: Miss Murdstone, herself. You lose all words, unsure if you even have a name at all. Those cerulean eyes pierced deep into you and you were sure that you were drowning. Her voice called to you once more, twinged with annoyance, “I don’t have all day. Your name, please?”

Standing, you speak quickly, not wishing to irritate her any further, "Apologies, Miss Murdstone. My name is y/n." You couldn’t help but gawk at her as she truly was the most beautiful woman who had ever set foot into your place of work. 

You decide to undertake the impossible task of picking your favorite feature on her flawless face. Perhaps it was those mesmerizing eyes. No, no, it was her nose, never before had you seen such a unique and beautiful shape. Your eyes fell mere millimeters and there it was. Your favorite thing about that glorious face- a little scar directly above her lip. How you wished you could feel that scar under your lips…

She tilts her head, though you cannot tell if it is with interest or the complete opposite. Whereas before you couldn't seem to hold her gaze, she now inspected you from head to toe, lingering on your hair and hands. She stood ramrod straight, and the silence lasted for a moment too long to be comfortable.

"Y/n." 

It was matter-of-fact, a statement more than anything; while it was odd, what was even odder was the way she simply nodded and left, not sparing a second glance or even a chance at conversation. You stood there bewildered for a moment, wondering if perhaps you'd imagined the whole thing; shaking your head, you began to pack your things, the ache in your limbs from a long day in direct contrast to your racing heart. 

As you settled into bed, your head filled with thoughts (both proper and not) of the dark-haired woman, and you drifted off to sleep with a smile on your face.

Halfway across town, Miss Murdstone lay awake, furiously scribbling in her notebook (she refused to call it a diary) about the pretty little seamstress in the shop downtown who dared to be so intriguing.

————

The city air seemed fresher, the sky bluer and your job far better this morning. You were convinced Miss Murdstone must have come back to the dress shop for a reason last night. Perhaps she found you as beguiling as you found her. 

With each chore and stitch, you found yourself humming and thinking of the women you had nary spoken a word to. You began wondering what she may look like without her bonnet or tight up-do. Would she have the long luxurious hair you pictured in your minds-eye? Or maybe she kept it cut a little shorter to make it more manageable? You had a million questions regarding this woman and no possible way to answer them. 

“Aren’t you in a mood today?” The matron broke you from your thoughts, noticing how much you had completed while in such high spirits. She looked you up and down, a smile, which was quite unusual for her, breaking out across her face, “Looks like someone has been bitten by a love bug, hm?”

You only smile, turning your gaze back down to the dress at hand, shaking your head at the thought of being in love. The matron wouldn’t let up, however, “Whoever the lucky boy is, keep him around. You are completing some of your best work… That reminds me. At one, I expect you to take Lady Marjory the receipt for her gown. I’m not paying for postage when you can walk your little fanny across town and deliver it yourself.”

“Yes, matron.” You stated calmly with a nod, keeping your eyes focused on the task at hand. Internally, you were screaming and jumping around like a little schoolgirl. You were giddy at the thought of going to Lady Marjory’s home because that meant one thing: Miss Murdstone may be there.

Swiftly you gathered your coat and the required receipts, trying your best not to look too earnest lest it draw more comments from Mary. You waved goodbye before making your way down the street, giggling quietly to yourself to ease the butterflies in your stomach. 

The large house came into view and you took a deep breath, smoothing your hair out before daring to approach the door. What if she answered? Would she greet you, or simply usher you in without a word, choosing yet again to ignore you? The endless possibilities knocked around your head as you brought your hand up to the door, giving a short but firm rap. 

Immediately you were disappointed at the sight of the butler who opened the door. You glanced over his shoulder, narrowing your eyes as they scanned the visible hallway or staircase of something reminiscent of Jane’s beautiful form. The butler spoke firmly, annoyed with your lack of communication about your intent for being on the doorstep of his Lady, “How can I help you, miss?”

You shuffled for a moment, a sudden bout of nerves overtaking you. Clearing your throat, you straightened and held up the receipt from the Matron.

"I've come to deliver the receipt and collect payment for Lady Marjory's most recent purchase. May I come in?"

The butler sighed, ever annoyed with your sudden presence, and stood to the side to usher you in. The inside was even more glorious than the outside, marble floors and pillars making your head spin. The sound of your and the butler's shoes echoed throughout the hallways as he led you to a drawing room with ceiling-high windows and plush chairs. Lady Marjory sat prettily near the huge stone fireplace, book in hand, and glanced up at you with a wide smile.

You'd barely registered it when you noticed Miss Murdstone by one of the windows, her hands (oh gods her hands) working feverishly on some sort of knit.

"Hello dear! I suspect you've come to collect for that beautiful dress you and Matron Mary made me?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat as Miss Murdstone had finally looked your way… you almost dared to think with a spark of curiosity. Lady Marjory simply giggled and rose to fetch her coin purse, plucking the receipt from your hands as she told you to "make yourself at home." You watched in silence as she strut her way out the doors you'd just come through, the butler nodding to you before closing the doors behind him as he followed the Lady out.

Leaving just you and Miss Murdstone.

Alone.

"You look nervous."

Turning towards her, you were both surprised and thankful that she was once again focused on her knit. You gulped, fingers twitching in an attempt to calm yourself down.

"Not used to so much glamor I suppose,” you replied, your voice sounding exceptionally small in such a large room. Her low chuckle in response nearly knocked the breath out of you; somehow, by some wild stroke of luck, you'd amused her.

“Glamor?” The ravenette paused for a moment, bemused at how you could use such a word to describe the room she was in. Lifting her chin, Jane began scanning the room taking into account that the estate of Lady Marjory was certainly more lavish than most see in their entire lifetimes, “Ah, yes. I see. The architecture and decor is quite glamorous, isn’t it?”

Rather than answer her, most likely, rhetorical question, you speak quickly, needing to savor all of your moments with her while you could, “Last night. You left before I could get your name.”

"Jane Murdstone.” Her voice was curt and level, not wanting to give too much away about how she felt towards offering you her name.

“Jane… Jane..” You let the name savor upon your tongue like a glass of wine far more expensive than you could afford. Glancing upwards, you met her gaze for once, holding eye contact while you spoke your next words, “If I might be so forward, Jane is an incredibly beautiful name for an incredibly beautiful woman.”

You watched as her eyes widened, back straightening even more (if that were even possible). You could have sworn you saw a blush spread across her cheeks, but she ducked her head away quickly, wishing to hide the embarrassing sight from you. Her bonnet covered her face from your view, but you knew full well that you had caused her some form of nervous embarrassment, the kind where butterflies were running amuck in her abdomen.

You watched as Jane inhaled and exhaled deeply, trying to maintain a sense of composure. When her eyes met yours once more, her icy demeanor seemed to return, “While the compliment certainly isn’t necessary, it is greatly appreciated. I don’t appreciate the hyperbole, however.”

Eyes narrowing, your brow furrows as you consider her criticism of your words, “Hyperbole? My apologies if I have offended you, miss, but if anything, I have yet to clearly describe the great extent of your beauty.” As each word escaped your lips, your own blush was creeping up your neck and spreading across your face, “How did you come to work for Lady Marjory, Jane?”

Jane crinkled her nose slightly at the familiarity of the name but didn't correct you. Instead, she sighed, almost as though she were bored of the conversation already (a defense tactic, as you would later learn), and decided to engage in your attempts at conversation.

"Her family have been friends with mine for years, since before either of us were even born. When Lady Marjory became in need of a Lady to keep her company, my brother insisted on it being me. I can't say I mind much now… it's rather… nice… to have a change of scenery."

During her final sentence, she'd dared to look you up and down, less interrogating, more… sultry.

Well, if you could flirt, then so could she.

She was pleased to see the effect her innuendo had caused, not wanting to be the only "blushing maiden" in the room. She quirked her eyebrow, waiting for a response; disappointment coursed through her when the door opened once again to reveal Lady Marjory, alone this time.

"Apologies! I was in such a state the other day I'd forgotten where I put the darn thing!"

Lady Marjory's smile was almost too big as she took in the sight before her, the both of you tinged with blush and clearly in the middle of a conversation.

"Good to see you finally making some friends Jane! I daresay it's about time you have someone to talk to other than myself and that diary of yours."

Oh, if looks could kill the glare Jane shot at Lady Marjory would have buried her six feet under instantly. Lady Majory ignored it, simply placing the heavy bag of cash in your hands and thanking you once more for the expert craftsmanship of her dress. There was a beat of semi-awkward silence, the room still as you decided how next to act; a large part of you wanted to stay, to continue the flirtations that had begun between you and Jane… propriety however dictated that you'd finished the task at hand and that unless invited, it was time to go. You nod your head at Lady Marjory, not wanting to make a fool of yourself in front of Jane.

"Thank you for your hospitality, my Lady, and should you ever find yourself in need of another dress we'd be more than happy to help."

With that you turned back to Jane, offering her a small smile as a goodbye. Turning to leave, you nearly missed the smile she returned, your peripherals catching it just in time to make your heart skip a beat. The butler met you at the front doors, bowing as you made your way through them. You thought to glance back at the glorious house, take it in for just a few moments longer, but decided against it, trudging along the long driveway back into town.

Unbeknownst to you, had you looked back, you would have caught Jane looking out at you, willing you to turn around and come back to her.

[mysteriousmissweems]

One Last Dance (Ghost!Larissa x reader)

(I’d like to thank @bri-sonat and @daydream-cement for the inspiration)

(TW death of a loved one)

You missed her like crazy. Ever since she was now part of what she called “the mouldering sanctum of the spirit world,” it was a pain that she was gone. You were there to say goodbye, noticing how peaceful she looked there. Even during that, she wanted to look beautiful, and was buried in her favorite dress- the one with the matching pillbox hat with the veil she loved. But you noticed that she wasn’t wearing her usual flats with it- she had her pointe shoes on, signifying her love of ballet.

“I miss you so much, Rissie,” you whispered as you left. But sometimes the world works in strange ways. It was late at night, and you were finishing up a project of yours… when you heard music. Someone was turning the key of a music box, the faint chiming catching your attention. Curiosity got the best of you as you followed the music, which got louder as you entered Larissa’s old office. And what you saw shocked you.

Dancing in the moonlight was none other than Larissa Weems- well, a ghostly version of her. She was en pointe, just as you remembered her, and her eyes were closed as she danced on serenely. The music box’s gentle chimes accompanied her as she wisped around the office and past the taxidermied bear she called Betty. The music finally stopped and she finished her dance gracefully- stopping in front of you.

“Y/N?”

“Rissie?” Larissa let out a sad laugh as she hugged you, materializing a bit in the moonlight. Tears seemed to flow down her cheeks as she held you.

“Oh darling, you have no idea how much I miss you,” she said, sniffling a bit. “It just isn’t fair. I should be back at Nevermore, helping the students and dancing ballet again.”

“But you’re back now,” you replied, “and who said that you can’t have one more dance?” With that, Larissa smiled and gave you a gentle kiss. It felt like a soft breeze, but you knew that her love was sincere.

“Wind up that music box again,” she told you, “and we’ll get to dance again!” You wound it up and the music started once more, as the two of you danced in the light of the moon.

[billiedeansbitch]

Phasma is so mean that she suggested the “Let’s Be Quiet Game” for the road trip

Um, if you’re pertaining to the story i reblogged (the road trip by daydream-cement and bri-sonat), then yes she was so mean but she could run me over with a car and i’d thank her.