morgan: YOUR CELEBRITY CRUSH LOOKS LIKE HE SHOULD BE MANNING A CREEPY ICE CREAM VAN
He smelled like five day old diesel and the roar of his bike set her heart drumming like a hummingbird on amphetamines. She flickered -- bad television reception & part wildfire -- like the excited child she was, round cheeks pulled tight and rosy against her grin. "Can I go for a ride?"
She'd seen small things before; tiny, biting sorts with blonde hair, who licked the spit and hunger from incisors and pushed cunning thoughts down clumsily for two cubes of sugar ( and regular visits with the thirteen foot wolf as she pleased ). She assumed all things were like that; biting and wild, all pine thistles and bought with sugar cubes and wolves. Rather than swat or scream or pout or cry, there came the quiet roar of flames when excited and a bowl of honey near the mouth of a tree while she waited nearby, belly pressed on the dirt ( she was thankful she had not put on the dress she cared about. )
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callxdus-deactivated20151018
➸ ❝ARE you going to come out from where you’re hiding? I know you’re there.❞
--- oh, no, she'd been spotted. it wouldn't have been so bad except she now appears to be RUDE and much like a scaredy-fire, which would prove hard to clear. "No, I'm quite fine here ---" said the bush, though a glow of gold and orange appeared from its center.
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Imagine your icon beating the living crud out of the people who treat you awfully
Though she means well and honestly attempts to practice being slow to irritation with a surplus of patience, being literally hot-headed tends to botch this process quite a bit. In fact, it ends with more than a few scorches and burn marks.
"---- one, two-three. one, two-three..."
the first fumble brought forth a nervous little noise. the second, a huff. the third, a curse. "--- and the butterfly daintily lands on the edge, swish, turn---" the fourth, an ankle roll and landing flat on her backside (followed by the biggest temper tantrum you've ever seen).
the round autumn moon rises in celebration i count again. under my eyelids still resides the summer rain holding hands with fire.
the spring is quiet. i watch the light on your heels, sleepy butterfly. (we whisper please don't the dusk comes, the lanterns glow our love, a fine rain.)
With the exception of the villagers in the Sealands (and some nobles), villagers tend to run in bigger sizes. Sturdier frames are very much ideal, as it means you're healthy and able to carry a great burden -- both physical and mental.
Alternatively, it is considered very attractive of a woman to perform a song, dance, or legend fluidly and without flaws. Because of this, most villagers hold small performances on the second night of a girl's first menstrual cycle to help her come into womanhood. By performing a tale of the gods, the girl not only blesses herself but may attract potential husbands and will live a long and prosperous life.
The lands are all very polite and reserved about their culture, preferring to use creative outlets as expression. With song, dance, and storytelling held in sacred light, it can be considered quite bad luck if you make a mistake when performing any of these or not believing what they represent. It can take years to reverse such luck, which is something the villagers do not even want to chance.
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s t a r r y s k y.
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He might have been surprised at the sudden jump and filling of space against his chest with a warm ball of a girl where there hadn’t been one before… if she hadn’t already tried that move a million times.
As it was, he only rolled his eyes slightly, but his arms still came around to hold the princess, almost protectively— if he was going to lug around a royal all afternoon, he at least should do it well.
“Awful, actually. I’m a royal wagon and I don’t even get to claim the job title. Practically a slave.”
Her head leaned against his shoulder, all smug and complacent because the rightful order of things had been restored. The word slave calmed her glibness for a few moments in favor of a small curious and concerned look. Is that how he felt? Oh, no, that wouldn't do at all. She worried an edge of her bottom lip trying to find a solution to the problem, just as her mother might've. A few moments of thinking and trying her best to emulate the queen (and failing, respectively), she thought she had the solution. "We...ll, would you like to claim the job title?"