#thethirdkey

there went the ovaries

{thethirdkey}

It'd been months since his last meet. There were so many new faces Stiles was almost scared he wouldn't be able to fit in like he used to. But there were enough that remembered him, and, as usual in this sort of group, any new person that took the guidelines seriously but still knew how to have fun, was easily welcomed into the fold. It was a relief, to say the least. The past few weeks since... since the funerals... had been hell. Stiles still woke up and stared in the mirror and wondered who was staring back, whose skin he wore and how he was supposed to fit in it anymore. Taking himself completely out of himself, donning the dusty, musty, wrinkled up outfit, pulled him down. Took him out of that headspace without answers and made him someone entirely new. No longer Stiles the victim of possession and wearing the body an evil spirit had literally regurgitated. No. Here he was Ford Solo, human dual-wielding fighter with his own homemade chainmail. 

He was chowing down on a turkey sandwich while chatting with a elf-chick about the upcoming war games and what groups would be teaming up and which he should join, when Stiles saw him. 

So things definitely could have been worse, she thought as she started pulling suitcases out of the back of the cab. The whole rule about Freshman not being allowed to have their own cars on campus was stupid. And sure, Roscoe was a little rough around the edges but it's not like Stiles couldn't have actually having her Jeep.

The driver had wound up dropping two of her bags and she shook her head. "Can you not?" she wound up saying as she shoved a few bills into his hand and set them right. Luckily she packed light and figured that she could pick up whatever she may have forgotten at the store after she unpacked.

Behind her, she could hear shouts from people lining the street to move out of the way, and curiosity got the better of her. She turned in time to see some sleek black Chevy Camaro pulling up down the road and as she could look into the driver's window, the guy looked over at her. She couldn't help but stare, because she didn't care if she knew the guy or not. He was damn good looking and she was almost entirely sure that he knew that, if his wolfish grin was anything to go by.

could have been peter pan. this is meredith.

Braeden stormed forward, sword poised in front of her, leather bound shoes leaving deep imprints in the dirt where she stepped and attacked. Her opponent wore the visage of her father, for how dare he sell her off? She was not a cow to be sold, to be turned into a piece of meat for some spoiled ass to use her any way they wished. She was a woman –equal to a man in every way, however no -- a princess, the King had spoken, she was a princess and thus her duty was to her people –and with those words, a curse so fowl had slipped past her lips.

Pivoting on her foot, Braeden swung downward in a steady arc, slicing her imaginary enemy across the chest. She would be leaving in fortnight, her home, her friends –all was to be naught to her now that was she was to be wed.  She was even expected to dress and act as a lady becoming of her title on the coming weeks –that meant tight corsets in which she could barely breathe, frilled dresses that caused her skin to itch, proper speech with light undertones to offset that fact that she was a noble.

The King had stated it was to show that she was ready to be married –they were to show that she was a weak female who needed a man to take care of her, but she had no need for a man, let alone a prince who had other fight battles for him; the strength of her heart and body herald that she needed to fight her own battles, with her sword’s sheath at her side harmonizing in the declaration.

quite rude

or a cocoon.