"Znowu złamiemy zasady?"

My Little Pony (G3, I think?), W.I.T.C.H., Winx, Barbie, Disney princesses, Winnie the Pooh, vintage Polish cartoons like “Bolek i Lolek” and “Reksio”. Quite an adorable potpourri.

Some cards and stickers have their date of release printed in the margin — the oldest are from 1998 (older than me and the friends I got them from. They must have passed through many hands before they got into mine :D), the newest are from 2006. Many are undated, though, and all are equally worn-out (as expected from something handled by young kids lol), so it’s hard to guess when exactly I stopped supplying the collection. I think it must’ve happened sometime in the first years of primary school.

I have only vague memories regarding this binder. I would carry it around in my backpack, sit among other girls from my group in preschool during playtime, and we’d chat, exchange the pictures and brag about our coolest findings. Two “normal” cards were equal to one fancy shiny card, from what I remember. “TAK” (yes) or “NIE” (no) was handwritten by me on the back of each sheet to mark whether it was up for exchange or not.

I have no idea what is going on with Hay Lin’s giant ear. It doesn’t look good lmao

Fun fact: I loved MLP as a little girl, but I’ve never been into W.I.T.C.H. and Winx Club lore. Like, not at all. I knew the main characters, knew the general premise of “a team of girls with magical abilities fights some evil powers”, nothing else. I simply liked the aesthetics of these cards and stickers. Shiiiny! hehe

Another fun fact: I’d started this entire collection with a single set of identical sheets. All the cool girls in my preschool had these binders full of pretty pictures, so I wanted one too, but I had no idea where to start — so I convinced my dad to buy me a random W.I.T.C.H.-themed notebook, and I removed the sheets to use them as cards for exchange. As you can see, it worked very well. :P

“I have too many of these. CARD SALE”. My handwriting before I learnt the standard cursive at primary school. Yet another useless fun fact: twenty years later, I still write my Ż’s (or rather Ƶ’s lol) the same way, either with a stroke instead of a dot, or — redundantly — both a stroke and a dot.

OMFG

ALSO

@mwahahalima

zawsze miło napotykać rodaków pod przypadkowymi postami

My Little Pony (G3, I think?), W.I.T.C.H., Winx, Barbie, Disney princesses, Winnie the Pooh, vintage Polish cartoons like “Bolek i Lolek” and “Reksio”. Quite an adorable potpourri.

Some cards and stickers have their date of release printed in the margin — the oldest are from 1998 (older than me and the friends I got them from. They must have passed through many hands before they got into mine :D), the newest are from 2006. Many are undated, though, and all are equally worn-out (as expected from something handled by young kids lol), so it’s hard to guess when exactly I stopped supplying the collection. I think it must’ve happened sometime in the first years of primary school.

I have only vague memories regarding this binder. I would carry it around in my backpack, sit among other girls from my group in preschool during playtime, and we’d chat, exchange the pictures and brag about our coolest findings. Two “normal” cards were equal to one fancy shiny card, from what I remember. “TAK” (yes) or “NIE” (no) was handwritten by me on the back of each sheet to mark whether it was up for exchange or not.

I have no idea what is going on with Hay Lin’s giant ear. It doesn’t look good lmao

Fun fact: I loved MLP as a little girl, but I’ve never been into W.I.T.C.H. and Winx Club lore. Like, not at all. I knew the main characters, knew the general premise of “a team of girls with magical abilities fights some evil powers”, nothing else. I simply liked the aesthetics of these cards and stickers. Shiiiny! hehe

Another fun fact: I’d started this entire collection with a single set of identical sheets. All the cool girls in my preschool had these binders full of pretty pictures, so I wanted one too, but I had no idea where to start — so I convinced my dad to buy me a random W.I.T.C.H.-themed notebook, and I removed the sheets to use them as cards for exchange. As you can see, it worked very well. :P

“I have too many of these. CARD SALE”. My handwriting before I learnt the standard cursive at primary school. Yet another useless fun fact: twenty years later, I still write my Ż’s (or rather Ƶ’s lol) the same way, either with a stroke instead of a dot, or — redundantly — both a stroke and a dot.

OMFG

ALSO

@mwahahalima

Tw: Mild ambiguous gore if you squint

The Greek Mythology continues to consume me I fear. Always have, always will and will continue to distract me from other projects.

Driven:

"Good morning." "Hey... you're still here."

5. "Please... say something."

Stormusa:

2. "Why didn't you stop us?!" "Why didn't you?!"

2. "What a lovely sight to wake up to."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY CHILD!!!!

Driven:

"Good morning." "Hey... you're still here."

Riven, a small, starved twelve-year-old boy, imagined his life quite differently. While his belly rumbled and begged for any form of nutrition, he gazed up at the night sky, imagining what was awaiting him. The stars glimmered, like the crystal chandeliers of those rich and posh ballrooms he heard from one of the guards while he successfully pickpocketed enough money to get himself some new shoes.

The one he had wouldn’t survive the upcoming winter, and the last shelter threw him out after accusing him of stealing bread rolls from other kids. No one saw him, heard him, or wanted to see his side. Dirty, hungry boys were meant to stay out of sight in the shadows. But this boy had a dream.

In his wonderland, he was no prince and held no riches. There was no big house or six bathrooms with hot water running at any given moment. Lilac eyes shifted to the ground where, from his position in a tall tree, he watched guards scream at the kids like him, scaring them away into the night. They never cared for them. Where they slept, where they found clothes, or if they were starving and in dire need of medical aid.

He would be a good guard. The best guard there was. He would swing his blade and protect these kids from the evil. His sunken cheeks frowned, bony hands bringing his thin legs closer. The guards bore armors decorated with golden insignia, which reflected the light cast by lamps right below them.

In the light,  evil hid in plain sight while they forced the vulnerable to befriend shadows.

The boy never stopped pondering about it. Not when he stole the hoverbike, not when he enrolled in Red Fountain, not when he finally got a chance to beat the living shit out of Sky as a form of fucked up therapy for years living as a scoundrel on Eraklion’s streets. The words eventually lost their meaning with time as he claimed his spot in the light, only to gaze at the shadows fondly, remembering them in the same manner a kid remembers his first successful tree climb. Blood, bruises, scraped knees, and muddy clothes, but with a tender smile on his face that reached his eyes.

Shadows never forgot him, and as he was falling to his doom from a hoverbike accident, darkness provided him safety once more. He never imagined Darkness having golden eyes and a shy smile when she introduced herself to him.

Evil hidden in plain sight. Behind gold once more. He should have known better; it would end with him once more muddy, bruised, bleeding, and with a reminder of why he decided to be different.

He hated them. These—the—these shadows. The darkness where true evil lived and spat him out once he reached his usefulness limit. Light…he would stay there. Light didn’t lie, and all the good people were here, so why would he ever need to seek shadows—

He did. After each argument with Musa, he found himself returning to darkness. Either rushing through the space as the stars turned into nothing but dirty smudges across the perfect, endless black ocean that shielded the children of darkness. Often, though not always, he would lose himself in mastering his skills, swinging his sword with nothing but shadows keeping him company.

Serene. Understanding. Never asking why he returned to what he swore over. The golden accents never gleamed in the dark; it knew here it held no power, and its shine was nothing but a reflection of artificial light. He learned to live among them again, the shadows, slowly pulling away from the grasp of Musa’s hand that felt more like a snake’s tail trying to suffocate him for every wrongdoing.

When she broke up with him for the nth time, he simply walked away. Her shouting slowly turned into hoots of an owl and the sound of screeching tires. He prided himself on being better and that he would never lower himself to those scumbags who would go behind their lover’s back—

The situation with Jason made him almost lose his teeth due to the grinding he resorted to to avoid screaming his lungs out. In a time of need, as he was falling to his mental doom, the golden eyes found him again. Wiser, tired, with a baggage of experiences she would never escape from. The darkness didn’t judge.

Nor did the hotel room where they ended up. The golden orbs were barely visible; nothing remained but a thin golden ring as he pounded into her against the wall. He knew his back would be covered by the valleys of blood sipping from the scratches and the digging into him.

She was never fond of cutting her nails.

The night bliss died with the first sun rays. Silently, they left to return to what they knew. That was the point, but…maybe it was on them. To return to darkness and to each other’s embrace, if one would call pushing her head into pillows as he claimed her from behind. Her teeth sank into a pillow to stay silent as they found themselves in his apartment, which he shared with his friends.

Eventually, he could only thank himself for being so great at being a specialist that Trix were once more on their way to another prison. He was forced back into light again; this time, he stayed on the edges, engaging in some worthless chatter with the only creature who knew his pain. Layla, after losing Nabu, was never the same. The spark of light died, yet the rest acted as if killing Wizards of the black circle would miraculously restore it. His time with another fellow soul didn’t last long as Musa pulled her back into the sun-adorned realm, leaving him nothing but a hurtful gaze. It only sharpened as the news spread of the return of the three witches, and he could not help but ask her…

“Can you fix it? Is there a way to bring him back?”

“Why do you think his soul is among my shadows?”

“Because I know them.”

‘Because I know you.’

Because I know that whatever we do, we somehow end up in the same place all over again. Like fate’s cruelest joke, our paths kept on crossing and always splitting the moment life was being too kind for us. The choices we made, hot metal we chose to pour in the mold to shape a sword we used to fight with one another instead of learning how we can set it ablaze again and create something new.

It took—We took our sweet time understanding what the world tried to tell us. This time we listened.

“Good morning.” The crease between his brows deepened as his mind tried to recognize the voice that said those words. Slowly, as his senses sharpened and were no longer covered by the veil of haziness, he noticed the naked skin pressed against his. His arm swung around another body, grasping the soft tissue of her wide hips. His head turned, blinking back to reality. Lilac eyes focused on the person whose eyes glowed in the darkness. He frowned, his gaze shifting to the half-pulled blinds, which confirmed that the morning was in full swing.

“Hey…you are still here.”

She smiled tenderly, snuggling down to lie her face in the nook of his neck.

“I thought heroes protect the vulnerable.” Her lips brushed his skin as she spoke. He pulled her harder against him.

“Are you vulnerable?” He teased.

“Whenever I am outside my shadows.” If it were even possible, he brought her closer.

Shielding her from light and what came with it.

"Please... say something."

Despite the rapid rising and falling of her chest, no oxygen was entering her bloodstream. Her lips parted, her golden eyes darting panicky between fifteen pregnancy tests lying on her bathroom sink. Her hands shook, trembling as she reached for one of them to once again see some form of affirmation for her deepest fear.

She always wanted to be a mother. But wanting is like admiring blossoming lilies at the start of spring. Flowers are blown away by the wind, fall off under the weight of heavy water droplets, or simply wilt away. The flowers were beautiful but fleeting, and with a promise to return at the same time next year, and then over and over again. She stared through the gap between her arms at her stomach. It was never flat, always carrying a soft pouch that, in the too-tight jeans, wound a muffin over. Didn’t make any of her partners ever see her as something less than absolutely ravishing.

Just the fucking action that got her into this place.

Why would she be careful? It wasn’t like she was fertile by any means. Her creation was a miracle at best and her mother’s greatest nightmare at worst…otherwise she would have kept her.

She blinked away the tears the longer she stared at the non-existent bump. Her sisters were going to kill her or kill it—NO! Her hands shot up to her stomach, covering the little tiny, most likely not even with registerable brain activity thing that was growing within her. The test fell into the bathroom sink, hitting two other positive tests on its way. They clunk in the porcelain bowl before halting right around the drain.

The answer stayed the same.

Tears streamed down her face; no cry followed, only blood from her lips, her teeth sunk into.

Nothing.

She was going to say nothing.

He didn’t need to know.

He didn’t need to know.

He. Didn’t. Need. To. Know.

She exhaled with difficulty. Anything to collect herself before Valtor called for them. To avoid the magic detection within the Cloud Tower, she grabbed her phone and sent a swift text message requesting a meeting in their place. She barely got a chance to press send when she heard Icy calling for her. As if burned, she threw the phone onto the bathroom counter and left before the boy on the other side could respond.

Hours later, she wasn’t any calmer. She did what she did best: crafted a perfect façade of nonchalance and boredom and faced the boy who, behind everyone’s back, was meeting up with her.  

Either Musa was a fucking idiot or blind…like her.

For the first time, she didn’t rush to destroy the space that the world forced between them. She let it stay, be the wall she needed in that very moment.

She cleared her throat, staring at him coldly instead of admiration or love. “As much fun as it was, I—”

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

She double-blinked, brows furrowing over her golden coin-like eyes. “Huh?”

He laughed mockingly. The stare was full of judgment, his own head shaking from side to side in pure disbelief. “You,” he huffed. ”Weren’t even planning on telling me, huh?”

The frown deepened, struggling to understand the cryptic messages. “I don’t—

“Your sister sent me a very intriguing photo.”

no.

“Of a bathroom.”

No.

“Specifically the sink.”

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO

She was in a rush, and she thought that she remembered to throw them away after she hadn’t found them there—

Someone threw them away.

Her heartbeat was deafening. Her eyes were glued to the cave’s stone floor. Her hair providing that bit of shelter. After a minute, maybe ten, she finally met his eyes.

“Which one?”

Like she didn’t know it could only be Icy. His arms crossed, staying silent both in the open and in her mind.

“Look, it would be better for both of us.” She explained, her voice betraying her inner war, it stumbled over words like she forgot how speaking worked.

Silence.

“Please…just say something.” She begged, eyes glossing over with unshed tears. “Please just—”

A broken loud gasp echoed through the cave as he pushed and pinned her to the wall with his arms. Head lowered, all she wished for was for her shadows to consume her and never spit her out. He leaned in, lips right against her ear. She was a witch, why, why when it came to him she was reduced to this pathetic, useless, no one—

“I am not letting you.” He began, quietly, a growl beneath the surface. “Raise that child without a father.”

A glass dome where she kept herself out of his reach shattered into thousands of pieces. With each glass shard hitting the floor, so was her restraint and faith in the holy mission the three mothers bestowed on her and her sisters. As if he knew, recognized the effect his words made on her, he loosened the hold on her.

In a split second, she clung to him, fingers clawing at the material of his shirt. Bowling, letting the tears fall only to start sobbing even harder once he returned the desperate hug and let his hand pet her hair. The cries wrecked her frame, but she no longer was crying for the little bean nested in her womb but for two kids that never experienced parental love…This time around, they would.

As parents.

Stormusa

"Why didn't you stop us?!" "Why didn't you?!"

Stormy enjoyed drinking. Never strained from it or from the boys with whom, at the end of the night, she would end up sleeping with. Outing like any other. Go to a club, get wasted, dance the night away, get some good fuck out of it, and with the morning and a massive headache, move on with her life. She had it all under her belt.

Perfected.

Her eyes squinted as she rubbed her face, already knowing that another successful conclusion must have happened, and so began her morning routine. She stretched her arms, letting out a satisfying moan before dramatically throwing them back on the bed with a thump. She didn’t recognize the room, which was weird as she knew every hotel in Magix. Usually starting from the bedroom and ending at the morning buffet. This felt different from her regular nights.

A familiar ache felt more dull, yet her insides, if anything, were thoroughly taken care of. Multiple times. Through haze and blurry images, she recalled herself screaming someone’s name. Their lips make their way from her ankles, calves, inner thighs, to finally, after languidly taking their time to land on her already soaking wet and throbbing pu—

A whine next to her ended her daydreaming. She turned her head, ready to hear the repetitive questions about her availability and next time. The answer was always very loud and unable to be confused with anything else—

“NO.” The person frowned, their eyes blinked to clear their vision, only to regret seeing who was right next to them.

Naked.

Covered by her lipstick.

Knowing very well where she would find that lipstick elsewhere. She jumped right up, covering herself with a duvet she recognized—OF FOR THE LOVE OF THE GREAT DRAGON SHE TOOK HER TO HER STUDIO?!

“The fuck you doing here?”

“The fuck I am doing here? The fuck—!” Her eyes widened, an absolute shock written all over her face—” I got fucked by a fairy.”

Musa wasn’t doing much better; her mind raced to find answers to the drunken state only to arrive at the empty alley…pilled up with sensations and screams and grasps and how she used her teeth to pull her top off…

“Why didn't you stop us?!" The fairy barked. Stormy, unlike Musa, didn’t make a single gesture trying to cover herself up. Her naked chest on full display. Her cobalt eyes struggled to stay on her face, and with her aggressive talking, moving, and accusatory finger at her, it did not help at all.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU?!" Stormy’s brows furrowed as Musa stayed silent a moment too long. She carefully followed her darting gaze. She saw red…and Musa’s red lipstick.

She snapped her fingers directly in front of her face. “MY EYES ARE UP HERE, YOU HORNY BITCH.”  

“Didn’t have problems with that hours ago cunt.” She snapped right back at her.

Stormy ignored her, and she began to gather her clothes from last night. Nude and walking around her precious music studio. “You didn’t have a single problem with my cunt hours ago either.” She argued.

Musa crossed her arms, the corner of her lips going up. “Ok, pillow princess.” The witch froze; she painfully slowly turned her head to look at her over her shoulder.

“WHAT.”

As if Musa would reiterate or back down just because Stormy was trying to make herself look big and scary.

“You should just take my clothes. Your clothes won’t hide the evidence before you reach whatever lair you and your sisters live in.”

The witch snarled…only to follow her suggestions while calling her names from pixie to dumb lesbian.

She raised a brow at that one. Both knew she was into men, but Musa, as she watched Stormy move throughout the place, had a feeling that the insult was coming from inside the house.

She would have pitied her, maybe provided a supporting shoulder. Instead, before Stormy snapped the door shut, she yelled.

“See you around, Tory!”

A lightning strike hit one of her lamps, snapping the poor thing in half, and with a powerful door slam fell to the floor, still toasting. Only then did Musa allow herself to cover her face and scream on top of her lungs.

"What a lovely sight to wake up to."

“What a lovely sight to wake up to.” Whispered the witch who once upon a time wanted her dead. Or all to herself…now that she was thinking about those words…it should have been obvious from the start.

The sound of storms behind her bedroom’s window never failed to lure her to sleep; clouds darkened the sky, wind gained this stress-easing chill that, paired with a thick blanket, was a much-made-in-stars. She smiled tenderly, her loose hair free of ponytails lying on her pillow with her hands tucked in under her chin. Right before her, the very not at all calm force lay her head on her arm, the other hand close to her chest. Her curls looking adorable, being half-squished and tangled after the night. Yet among it all, the thing that always drew her attention to Stormy, besides her breasts (don’t judge her!), was her turquoise eyes. It was like watching waves move across the endless waters; each one reflected the sunlight on the surface, illuminating the sea below.

“How do you sleep with so much hair?” She whispered, scooting closer to her. As if they had done it hundreds of times, Stormy lifted her free hand and gathered the fairy into her arms. Their faces were barely an inch from each other.

“You didn’t mind my hair when you were eating my p—” The witch laughed as the fairy squirmed, trying to leave the sweet embrace after turning it sour and tangy. Eventually, the little fight ended with her on top of her, legs on either side of the witch’s waist, her hands so close to the soft flesh that might be the only worthy competition with the lagoon eyes. Speaking of the witch’s hand found themselves brushing the top of her hipbones.

“Do you enjoy killing the romantic atmosphere, Storm?” Her fingertips brushed the outline of her breast. She smiled, seeing her shiver.

“It ended with you on top of me, didn’t it?” She answered cheekily. The fairy rolled her eyes, the small smile never leaving her face nowadays. She let her hands trail upwards until they cradled her face and she herself leaned in to kill her softly. As the second kiss followed, so did Stormy’s hands that climbed higher to reach her neck. She hummed into her mouth as the witch pulled the strands of her hair gently.

There was always something about Storms that intrigued her.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿

Thank you for the prompts child <3

…Flora’s sister, Miele, almost enrolled at Cloud Tower?