#dream wedding anyhow

[poptartmochi]

the artist's folly descends upon me again🆘

#agustín's roots will always be great comet BUT. augusta is being seasoned w poto sooo thoroughly im ⛏️⛏️⛏️⛏️ #no thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy 🥺 no dreams within her heart but dreams of love!! 🤧 #as the little baby augusta on her wedding day (w her father's blood 🤭) and THEN #abandon thought and let the dream descend when she kills her husband #as some fun little mirror image thing 🐻🐻💫 #the brain also churns for like.. evildivorce art based off the one lyric 👣👣 #the one that's like those who have seen ur face draw back in fear. i am the mask you wear‚ it's me they hear. my spirit and my voice in one #combined yk.. the image in my mind rotates to that one lyric 🤧 #although that's a fun reversal.. augusta would be the phantom there 😝 but tbh i have no idea if that even fits! #anyhow dino thoughts foreveeer!! #🦖 #sriracha.txt

[xxacademy]

tender

husband!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: succumbing to injuries inflicted by a B.O.W you fight the mental and physical battle to recovery. meanwhile, your husband does everything in his power to support you.

any leon timeline works, except re2. i did have older leon in mind though <3

a/n: inspired by lil a snippet from an anon request, find it here. anyhow, i love how this turned out, i was 🥺 writing it. pls lemme know what you think <33

content//warnings: depictions of blood & injury, hospital setting, non-graphic description of an IV, pain medication, y/n is used ONCE, pet names (dear, sweetheart, honey), hurt/comfort.

harsh white light wakes you revealing an image of horror. your trembling hands painted with your own dried blood, hooked up to an IV and a pulse oximeter. dazed, you know you’re in pain, but it’s not registering. it’s like you’re floating, possibly in a dream. a bad dream. but the reality of your condition is enough to confirm this is in fact not.

there’s a small group of medical staff standing at the end of your bed, talking quietly amongst each other. “the bloodwork came back, she’s not infected. all though the acid is wreaking havoc on her immune system, sending it into overdrive. the patient needs to be monitored for at least another two days.”

one of the nurses walks over to check on you, first, he looks at the monitors at your bedside, then goes to place a hand on your forehead. he notices you’re waking up, your heavy-lidded eyes focused on your hands.

he calls the doctor over, who pulls a chair up next to you. “hey, how are you feeling?” her voice is soft and calm.

“w-why am i here?” you mutter shakily, unable to make out much more.

“you sustained serious injuries on an extraction mission against a bio-organic weapon. you came in contact with its lethal acid, which is primarily why you’re here. your ankle is broken and you have puncture wounds in your arms.”

you’re still fixed on your bloodied hands, images of what you endured flood back. it was so intense- the last thing you remembered is a sharp talon-like claw piercing your upper arm. it all went fuzzy after that.

“you had surgery early this morning, and we have you on a morphine drip to help with the pain. please let us know if you begin to feel ill.”

you respond with an unsteady nod.

“you’re gonna be alright.” she smiles sympathetically.

another nurse comes into the room walking directly to the doctor. their speaking is hushed. “doctor, there’s a man here to see the patient. he says he’s her husband.”

“we can’t risk exposure from an outsider, we can’t have visitors yet.”

“he seems antsy.”

“well, assure him that she’s okay”-

the room is dead silent, so you can rather clearly make out what they’re saying.

“bring him in.” your voice quivering.

their heads turn, giving you a look of disappointment. similar to the one your mother gave you as a child. a sullen expression of remorse when she couldn’t afford to buy you new toys.

they do not want to hold your loved ones away from you. but it’s what has to be done. after all, it could mean life or death.

you sigh. you’re in no place to put up a fight.

“i’ll talk to him.” the nurse whispers. leaving the room.

“i’m sorry mrs. kennedy, you’re just not in a well enough state for visitors yet.”

you respond with yet another dreary sigh. fidgeting with the ring finger of your left hand.

your wedding ring is missing. you know you were wearing it prior. you’re always wearing it. sometimes you would loop it around a necklace chain, but you didn’t before this mission. surely it was on your finger.

“-doctor” you whisper.

“yes mrs. kennedy.”

“do you have my wedding ring?”

your tattered and blood-stained belongings were placed in a biohazard bag. a nurse picks up the bag feeling through the plastic for a ring.

“it’s not in here.” the nurse admits, a touch of anxiety in her voice.

“that’s okay.” you exhale.

it’s not okay. your beautiful diamond ring was more than just a pretty thing. it was one of the only sentimental pieces you coveted so highly. hand-picked by leon, it was a symbol of his undying affection. despite all the odds pinned against your love.

wanting to cry, but your bloodshot eyes are dry. the medication numbs you enough to let the pain run by, but you still feel broken, physically and mentally.

the hours pass as you bob in and out of sleep. your wavering limb’s finally settling. nurses and doctors are always present, constantly checking your vitals.

the next day two nurses come to bathe you at your bedside. gently wiping the sticky dried blood from your skin. the other trying to get it out of your hair.

“thank you, i mean it, thank you,” you whisper, fighting to keep your eyes open.

it was a relief. the sweet, metallic smell was driving you crazy. it felt itchy and uncomfortable against your skin.

…

leon hasn’t left the hospital. confined to a chair in the waiting room for the last day and a half. constantly flagging down staff for updates on your condition.

“she’s doing really well, the blood transfusion took perfectly.” the nurse smiles reassuringly.

“does that mean i can see her?”

“not yet, but soon.”

leon sighs. “well anyways, thanks for the good news.”

he sullenly returns to his chair. the stress and lack of sleep painting his under eyes dark. in his grasp is a picture you two took together, one he always carries in his wallet. it was taken a few years ago and you’re kissing his cheek. it’s the only solace he can find in the depressing waiting room.

leon had fallen asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours. slumped over in his chair, chin resting in his palm. he jerked awake when his chin slipped. it was dark outside and the lobby eerily quiet.

3:47am

leon walks to the front desk heavy-footed and groggy. “my wife, y/n kennedy, is she okay?” his voice is grave.

“yes sir, she’s sleeping- and everything is looking good. but, you should get some sleep too sir, it’s gonna be a while until she wakes up.”

“-thanks.”

the pain of not being able to see you cuts like a knife. leon can't stand the image of you suffering and alone. but he’s borderline delirious from the sleep deprivation. he returns to his chair, lays his legs out across another, and falls asleep.

leon is jolted awake by a nurse tapping his shoulder. it’s morning- warm sun seeping through the windows and the smell of fresh coffee wafts through the lobby.

“do you need me to move?” he asks, still half asleep. voice deep and raspy.

“oh no mr. kennedy, your wife is on the right track to her recovery. you can go see her now.”

…

you feel much more alert, the daze the blanketing your apprehensive thoughts finally lifting. they switched you onto a far less invasive medication, which was probably helping.

it’s been a week since you’ve seen leon, and about two of those he’s been here, but just barely out of reach.

whenever the nurses praised you for the progress you made- you jump straight to asking if you're well enough for visitors. In your defense, it’s been unbelievably hard going through this journey alone.

the door creeks open, a very common occurrence of your stay. but instead peaking through the door is your blonde-haired husband.

you immediately start to cry- tears welling up and streaming down your cheeks. leon tears up too, casting a glossy filter over his blue eyes. he delicately wraps his arms around you, careful not to inflict any more pain. and you bury your face into his chest, immediately staining his shirt with your cry.

“i missed you, leon, i can't believe you’re here, i’ve missed you so much.” you sob.

“it’s really you, you don’t understand how much i’ve missed you, dear.”

you take your time, relishing in the comfort of your husband's arms. he gently rubs your back, consoling you with his touch.

“how're you feeling?”

“ugh okay, i guess. my whole body hurts and i can barely move. but the doctors say i’m improving- so yippee” your deadpan tone emphasizes how exhausted you are.

“that’s what i heard. and look, i know it’s been hard, but i’m so proud of how strong you’ve been, sweetheart.”

“i love you.”

“i love you, too” leon squeezes his embrace around you a little tighter, gently kissing the top of your head.

you smile, the first one in a while. but it quickly fades. “leon, can i tell you something.”

“of course you can.”

you fidget with your hands pressing your face deeper in his chest. “i lost my wedding ring- i think it was during the mission. i’m so sorry.”

“is that really what’s on your mind right now?” leon chuckles.

you look up at him with, tears streaming down your face. “you do understand how much that ring meant to me.”

“of course, i know, dear. but how can i care about the stupid ring if the wife i thought died is actually alive and in my arms?”

leon wipes the tears from your cheeks, his hand cupping your jaw. “i promise i’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“okay.” you say sniffling your runny nose.

with a big yawn, leon stands up raising both arms up into a stretch, his shirt lifts up slightly showing off his abdomen. “i’m going to find your doctor, see when you’re coming home.”

you smile. it’s nice not being alone. you feel bad knowing leon anxiously waited at the hospital for days. but there’s an unfamiliar warmth in knowing how much he cares. leon had always cared about you- before you were even dating. that’s one of the many reasons why you married him. aside from the ongoing list of shared interests- he’s so protective, it’s one of his beautiful ways of loving you.

leon comes back to the room, “looks like they need to run more blood tests, make sure that acid is out of your bloodstream before you come home.”

you’re totally spaced out, it feels like you haven’t even had a chance to take in what’s happened to you. it’s all become a blur, taking in the moments a second at a time. you were so worried about the details it almost failed to compute that you were nearly infected by the very thing you swore your life to rid of.

like a time release valve finally triggering; anxiety washes you cold- it could have been the end. leon would have been widowed, and all your friends would have been at your funeral. your mind is playing devil's advocate. what if i don’t get better? are the doctors just hoping i stay positive?

“are you okay?” leon’s bloodshot eyes are nearly aching with concern.

“i’m scared.” your chest is sinking deeper with each anxious breath.

“why? why would you be scared?”

it may not make sense to you now- but having leon there was a sort of reality check. alone, you just survived. with him, everything has weight.

“i dunno… i just want things to be okay. i want you to be okay, i want to get better.”

leon rushes to your bedside, holding your hands in his. “but it will get better- you’re doing better, so much better! i’ll be there every step of the way. i promise you.”

you take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. trying to hang on to his words.

you sob, absolutely overcome by emotion. “i love you, leon. thank you for being here, thank you for everything you’ve done.”

a nurse knocks at the door but you don’t let go of leon’s hand.

“mrs. kennedy- so sorry to intrude. but the doctor wants to do a scan of your ankle. is that okay?”

you wipe the tears from your face, trying to compose yourself.

“yes, of course, that’s alright, thank you.”

leon whispers “you got this, dear,” before standing up and sitting in a chair by the window.

…

leon has done everything possible to make the next few days easier for you. like ordering takeout and watching your favorite movies with you. serving as a distraction while you recover.

it certainly worked. he’s good at keeping you calm, and the energy light-hearted. you didn’t even think it was possible, given the grim reality of your circumstances. but somehow he can have your eyes filled with tears, giggling with laughter.

four days you’ve been in the hospital, and today is your last one. you’re able to stand up and the effects from the B.O.W are finally gone. granted you still have a long journey to recovery, at least you can go home.

…

after the agonizing hours of travel, you make it home. leon helps you into the house, guiding you to your bed. “i want to take a bath, i feel disgusting.”

“i’ll draw one for you, you want it now?”

“hmhm” you nod.

“sure thing, sweetheart.” leon tenderly kisses your forehead.

he runs a hot bath, adding a little lavender soap, just the way you like it. he walks you to the tub and helps you undress. he holds your hand as you shakily step in, slowly adjusting to the hot water.

“god my first real bath in a week, can you believe it.” you sigh, sinking your body in the bubbly water.

leon chuckles, “i know, you poor thing, those nurses really tried their best to help. but it’s never the same, is it?”

“…especially considering i was covered in congealed zombie guts”

leon laughs, “but look at you now, covered in…” he pauses to read the name on the soap bottle “…lavender dreams”

you both giggle, in love and delighted by each other's company.

“okay, i’ll leave you to it, holler if you need anything.”

…

“leon! will you fetch my bathrobe!” you yell from the bathroom. you hear his feet patter across the hardwood, “coming."

you stare at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your wet hair, inspecting the scars, bruises, and stitches that litter your body. it feels like you came home to a different person, a body you’re now unfamiliar with.

leon peaks through the door. head cocked to the side. “everything alright, baby?”

“i don’t know- it’s hard to wrap my head around it. i-i feel off.”

“c’mere i got something to show ya.” leon swoops you off your feet carrying you in his arms.

“what are you doing?” you giggle wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you’ll see.”

he delicately sets you down on the couch in the living room and sits next to you. he fumbles around in his pocket pulling out a little black velvet box.

“leon-honey, oh my god, what is that.” your eyes are round and doe-like, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.

he opens the box, presenting it to you as if his hands were a clamshell, revealing a glimmering ring set in pearlescent white satin.

“for you- i know it was hard losing the ring, but that one was beaten up anyways. you deserve something a little nicer.”

tears swell, gathering in the inner corners of your eyes. chocked up and rendered speechless, you mouth the words, i love you.

he reached for your trembling left hand, sliding the diamond wedding ring onto your finger.

“i love you, most.” he beams, the words fluttering with tenderness.

“i-i love the ring, it’s beautiful-truly. but how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“get a new ring, you were with me the entire time…?”

“i have my ways,” he smirks, planning on keeping that little secret to himself.

leon holds your hand, admiring the way your hand looks adorned by his diamond ring.

“remember when we got engaged?” he muses.

“of course i do! you took me to milan, i should have known you were going to propose.”

“you have the same look in your eyes as you did then.” leon swipes his thumb along your cheek, smiling to himself, gazing into your eyes.

“and you’re as smooth as ever” you look at him through your lashes, pupils wide. “but really leon, thank you, means more than the world”

“you are my world.” his soft lips meet yours, kissing you gently.

somewhere in the crystal pools of leon’s eyes, you find the hope you were looking for. his unbreakable faith in you, alongside his never-ending acts of love, is reassuring.

hell, it’s not going to be easy, but at least you're not alone.

⭐️tags

@yourgentlegirlfriend

#academy fics✨ #thank you for reading <3 #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy #leon fluff #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #husband!leon kennedy #wife!reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #resident evil fanfiction

[inconspicious-random-thoughts]

Heeeey Bitch. Lets talk about Lucifer

I want to say Hazbin Hotel take on Lucifer is refreshing and interesting.

Just about everything portrayal of the King of Hell, hes a terrible evil creature wanting revenge on Heaven.

Granted Lucifer traditional backstory has been altered to fit this world version of him . In this world he was a dreamer and Heaven did not agree with his ideas of creation and that his way of thinking his dangerous.

I am interested what his ideas were. Maybe they were dangerous? Maybe we are being gaslit to believe he being a victim only to be revealed he wasn't. I don't think that's case, but it a possibility.

Anyhow, continuing with Hazbin lore, Lucifer met Lilith and they fell in love. They gifted/aided mankind with knowledge and free will by offering Eve the apple from the tree of knowledge. Then he and Lilith was casted away to Hell. To never witness what good that would raise from their act.

On top of that, he has a daughter that was born and raised with deplorable humans that became sinners to populate the world his daughter lives in.

It so valid how Lucifer became jaded, depressed and forlorn. To give mankind the gift of freewill and knowledge and only witness the worst of the crop. It a really refreshing take.

I love the little details of his design. When he was home we only witness him at his workbench, creating. He wants to create still like he was back as an angel.

Then his whole clothing design. When he view him from the back, he looks like an apple core. His spector is tipped with an apple, his hat has an apple and a snake wrapped around it to represent the serpent of Eden.

I noticed despite Lilith apparently leaving him, he still wearing his wedding ring. I am madly curious on the reasons with Lilith leaving. I thought she was away on mission to explain her absence, I didn't realize she left Lucifer as well. I'm guessing because like Charlie, she's cares about the people in hell, and is upset he doesn't do anything to stop the extermination and in fact enables it because he only sees the worst in them. That they deserve it.

He just a broken man...er angel surrounded by shards of a shattered dream. A man who fought for a dream and lost. Lost badly. Banished to eternal damnation of the worst product of his generous act. The only thing that probably kept him going was Lilith and Charlie. Only for Lilith seemly walk away with Charlie leaving him with nothing.

I wonder what what was holding him back from seeing or talking to Charlie. Clearly they both wanted it?

This portrayal was just fun! I really appreciate it.

I have no idea about the rubber ducks. I'm guessing something to be revealed later why ducks have a significance to him. I'm guessing he wanted to create something similar to a duck. As the flashback between him and Charlies duet he was showing her his dreams and the images looked like ducks. Or its something relating to Charlie and hes desperately clinging to the childhood innocence of her.

He had some fun lines

“This is the first time she’s called YOU in years…this has to be perfect…” -"Heeey bitch"

"take that depression!"

Basically every interaction with Alastor.

"you like girls! me too!"

His emotional duet with Charlie. What a voice! and End up supporting her and the love he has for her is so evident. Its touching.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel episode 5

[the-lonelybarricade]

A Blaze in the Dark - (10/12)

Summary: On the eve of her wedding, knowing nothing about her husband besides his apparent disinterest in his soon-to-be wife, Elain uses a spell to meet her true love in her dreams.

All my love to @itsthedoodle for beta-ing this when my anxieties were running amuck, I appreciate you! And also shout out to the angst eding anon for being so nice, I hope you enjoy!!

Read on AO3 ・Series Masterlist・Previous Chapter

-

An open doorway stood between Elain and Lucien.

One glimpse at her husband’s expression and Elain’s memory was cast somewhere far away. Her mother had once warned that a doorway should always be approached with great caution. She spoke of curses upon thresholds—woven nets of magic that could trap the thoughts and memories of anyone who walked through, if not careful.

But at the Archeron manor, magic was not a concern. When Lady Archeron advised her daughters to always brace themselves before passing through a doorway, it was not because she believed their memories would become trapped. But rather because she wanted her daughters to learn to use the concept as a tool. To act as if a curse had been enacted in every doorway, they crossed and to use that small, ingrained warning to remind themselves that any unladylike behavior should be stripped away before crossing the unseen barrier.

A doorway, she said, was always an opportunity for transition.

Elain recalled sitting on a plush stool in the powder room of the Archeron manor, quiet as she observed her mother pressing a cold spoon to her puffy eyes. She must have swiped it from the dining room after she had excused herself. Elain hadn’t heard what was said over the chatter and clinking silverware, but the unusual tightness in her mother’s expression had compelled Elain to follow.

It was the first time she’d seen her mother cry.

She met Elain’s curious gaze in the vanity and sighed. “Now remember, Elain. We came into this room because we were feeling overwhelmed—and ladies mustn’t look overwhelmed where others can see us.”

Elain nodded because her mother had put on the voice she used when she was imparting wisdom. The spoon clattered against the table as her mother set it down and practiced a smile in the mirror. Elain practiced one, too, despite the odd tightness in her chest.

“When we go back through that door, Elain, we leave our overwhelmed feelings in this room, understood? We let it take the unpleasant memory. And we pretend we’re thespians, putting on our masks to play our part.”

This was a trick Elain had already discovered. She nodded, showing her mother her best impression of a lady’s mask—chin tilted, shoulder blades pinched, smile primed. Her mother strained a hum of approval before returning to fixing her own mask. It was perhaps the first time Elain fully grasped that what stepped out of a doorway was not always the same as what initially stepped inside.

Now, Lucien was staring at Elain from the doorway to the bathing room. And she had the sense that something had changed. Been left behind and filtered through that invisible net.

He offered her a lazy smile, wet cloth in his hand as he’d promised.

And yet she found herself sitting up. Asking, “What’s wrong?”

Lucien crossed the room in long, casual strides. “Nothing at all,” he said.

He pressed the cloth into her palm before turning his back politely. As if it wasn’t his own release she was wiping from her thighs.

“If you don’t want to stay the night…”

Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

What reason did he have to stay, anyhow? She had asked for help in making a child, and he had done just that. She had been the one to hint that he should stay, and like the gentleman he was, he’d spared her the embarrassment of rejection.

They had separate bedrooms for a reason. They’d agreed to a platonic marriage for a reason.

Once again, Lucien was making his feelings and intentions perfectly clear and she was choosing to complicate the matter with affections he did not ask for. And if she thought there had been something more to his tender touches and gentle words, that could only be blamed on her own hopeful misinterpretations. He was a kind man. Of course he would ensure the experience had been pleasurable, exactly as Vassa had said. Any further examination would be a disservice to them both.

This had been strictly a matter of child-making, she reminded herself.

“I will stay the night,” he said. Ever dutiful.

Elain should have left it at that for her own well-being. But she could recognize his heavy swallow, how the bob in his throat took the familiar form of unspoken words. And she risked cutting herself on their jagged edges as she pilfered the debris of his silence, guessing at what he was too kind to say to her.

But I do not want to.

But do not let this be an expectation.

But I will be gone before you wake up.

She set the cloth on the bedside table with too much force. Lucien’s shoulders jerked at the wet slap, and she suppressed an apology for startling him. It would not be what she was truly saying sorry for.

“Lucien,” she started—

“Elain.”

He turned to look at her. She could see him fighting to hide it, but there was a hollowness to him that hadn’t been present before. The flame in his russet eye was guttered. The golden one was spinning as though recalibrating. Lucien touched her thigh, much shyer than the bruising grip he’d kept when his head was buried between her legs. Had all that passion, all those honeyed words, been driven solely by lust?

His voice was quiet. “I’m staying because, just this once, I’d like to know how it feels to fall asleep holding my wife. I’ll do better by you in the morning.”

Just this once. Like he was doing it as a favor.

An indignant part of Elain wanted to tell him not to bother at all, but it was outweighed by her longing. She wanted to know how it felt to fall asleep in Lucien’s arms, too. Even if it was just this once. Even if it would break her heart in the morning.

Elain leaned over to snuff the gaslamp before her expression could slip into dismay, and Lucien took that as his cue to sink down beside her and pull the blankets over their bodies. It took a moment for their weight to settle, where the snaps and pops of the hearth filled the spaces between their breaths. She was afraid of what her voice would reveal, and Lucien clearly had no words to offer that would spare her unrequited feelings. Had she made herself too obvious? Too eager?

After a moment, as though he had been waging some internal battle with himself, Lucien shuffled closer to Elain and slipped an arm around her waist. All it took was a slight tug for her back to find his warm, solid chest. He curled around her, knees pressed behind her own, face against her neck, hips flush.

“Cauldron, you’re cold,” he murmured, rubbing his palms over her arms like he could banish the chill. She supposed, with the magic heating his skin, he was doing precisely that.

“You were in the bathroom for a while,” she said.

A subtle question, which was met with crackling silence.

She could sense him calculating his response, and perhaps she was vastly overthinking things. Maybe nothing had changed at all, and the time he’d taken in the bathing room had simply left space for reality to creep back in.

“Apologies for my neglect, then.” He kissed her on the shoulder. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

His heated palm slid from her arms to her stomach, moving in slow circles. Up her abdomen, along her hips, up and around her breasts. She arched into the touch, feeling her eyelids grow heavy as she focused on the soothing sensation. How infuriating—that he could be so doting and reserved at the same time. She wanted to scream at him, but all of her temper was being quelled beneath the movement of his hand.

“Allow me to call on you during my next cycle,” she said, only mildly joking.

“Please do.”

The ease with which he offered, the sincerity in his voice… Elain could not understand him. There was amity between friends, there was fulfilling their marital obligations, and then there were the fingertips dragging against her skin with a reverence that spoke of more than simple duty.

Elain summoned the courage to speak his name, prepared to ask him for the truth of his feelings, but it clashed with the sound of her own name on his lips.

His idle strokes paused.

“You go first,” she said.

“Do you remember what you said in the carriage, that secrets are a currency?”

And like currency, they can be exchanged, traded, lended. Or stolen.

She had said it to wound him because she’d been irritated by his secret-keeping and had wanted to remind him that he was not the only one capable of seeing beyond what a person wished to reveal of themselves.

“Yes,” Elain said, wary of its relevance here, now.

“I was going to propose a trade. In the interest of knowing more about my wife. One secret from you and one secret from me.”

A very dangerous game if she did not play it correctly.

“A secret of our own choosing?”

“No,” he said carefully. “It would be too easy to choose something irrelevant. I get to ask you a question met with honesty, and you receive the same.”

Elain fought to keep her body from tensing up, knowing that with Lucien’s body pressed against hers in every way possible, he would be able to feel it. And she would betray her guilt before he could ask anything condemning.

“You can go first,” Lucien offered.

Was it better to go first? She would be able to measure the vulnerability of his answer to gauge how much she should reciprocate. But he had clearly started this game with a question in mind, one that she would not be able to return by going first. And one she could not hope to guess at.

Then there was the matter of what she should ask him. There were too many things she wanted to know. And far too many of them would give away the hope turning on a spit in her chest. Lucien began moving his palm again, unaware each touch was another laceration. She shut her eyes, ignoring what she truly wanted to ask because she couldn’t bear the truth of it.

“How did you lose your eye?”

Lucien stiffened.

Elain was instantly flooded with guilt. “I’m sorry. It is surely a painful memory—let me ask something else.”

“No, it’s okay.” His voice had taken on a solemn quality that chilled her bones, even as Lucien’s arms tightened around her. “As you can imagine, it’s not a happy story.” He cleared his throat. “Before I reached maturity, one of my brothers had an illegitimate child with a commoner woman. As a result, my father forbade us from having any relationships outside of the matches he explicitly approved. All of my brothers broke the rules—quite frequently, I might add—but I was the only one who got caught. And my father decided to make an example of me. He took my eye and left half of my face scarred so that I would be… less desirable. I can’t say if it had that effect, but it kept me in line and coaxed me down the aisle, so he got what he wanted in the end.”

Elain’s stomach knotted. Not only had Lucien been given no choice in their betrothal, but he had been punished, severely, for seeking any other match for himself. No wonder he resented her, this marriage. She winced, recalling the accusations she’d hurled at him on their wedding day.

“Lucien—”

He was quick to press his lips to her neck like he might temper her horror with gentle touches. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to feel any guilt. This happened well before I was betrothed to Elain Archeron. Though I hope you might forgive me that I was too stubborn to court you properly before our wedding. And that I acted in haste trying to separate our lives.”

There were no words to fully express the deep, abysmal horror caving open inside her. She only managed a weak, “When did this happen?”

“Over a year ago now. My father gifted me this palace shortly after as an apology, though I think he simply grew tired of witnessing everyone’s sympathy. It might be the closest he’s ever come to remorse.”

Elain had guessed that King Beron was cruel, but she hadn’t known the depths. She thought of the Queen’s sunken eyes and the way Lucien’s hand trembled standing before him. How Vassa kept her voice low, always cautious of listening ears. For a man whom she had never seen step foot in this home, he haunted every corner.

“He’s a monster,” she whispered.

“He is.”

And this was their King. Her father-in-law, the man who would grandfather any of their future children. Elain pressed a hand to her stomach, contemplating if her desire to be a mother was worth one day exposing their child to Beron Vanserra. The thought of him holding their baby, knowing what cruelties he’d exacted on his own son…

Lucien’s hand fell over Elain’s, intertwining their fingers. “I am doing what I can to keep him away from you. Once tensions settle in the North, he’ll fix his interest elsewhere.”

“And if they don’t?” She struggled to stay her rising panic. “If Rhodes and the Eastern Kingdom go to war?”

“Then I pray my father will see no further use for you and Nesta as pawns. And that he’ll leave you in peace while I go off to fight.”

Then, there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t become his hostage. Especially with Lucien gone, sent away to lead some war camp on the other side of the Kingdom. Would she ever see him again if that happened?

Lucien added soothingly, “Eris is convinced this conflict will resolve without war.”

She thought of his eldest brother’s cutting gaze, so similar in nature to Nesta’s icy stare. But where Nesta was all cold temper, borne from feeling too much, there was an underlying ruthlessness to Eris that caused Elain to suspect he felt very little for very few.

“And you trust Eris?”

Lucien huffed, not quite a laugh. “I trust that Eris will act in his own best interest. This war will serve nothing but Beron’s pride.”

“I hope you’re right.”

His voice was little more than a whisper. “I hope I’m right, too. And if I’m wrong, I’ll find a way to get you out. Maybe back to Carterhaugh or—somewhere else.”

Fleeing the Kingdom while Lucien stayed behind to fight a war? As the Lady of the estate, it would be disgraceful, even if she risked becoming a hostage in the dispute. But the way Lucien’s voice wavered gave her pause.

“Where else were you thinking?”

Lucien was quiet for a long minute. Then he said, “Before I left on my trip, you asked me what I would do if your True Love demanded I give you to him. I asked if you would want to go, and you didn’t give me an answer.”

“I-Is that—” Elain, tripping over her tongue, stopped for a moment to compose herself. She forced her voice not to wobble despite how the thundering in her chest tried to shake her. “Is that the secret you want in exchange?”

“No,” Lucien said, too quickly. Like he couldn’t bear the answer. “No, it’s just—It occurred to me that there is a true love somewhere, searching for you. And if everything here went to shit, I could take you to him and trust that he would look after you. He could give my wife a chance at happiness where I have failed.”

She twisted to face him. It was dim in the bedroom, but the hearth cast enough light to see his face. His cheeks, smooth and scarred and dusted with dark freckles. She raised her hands, drawing the backs of her fingers along both cheekbones. Those beautiful eyes watched her beneath pinched, wary brows. Her fingers curled beneath his strong jaw, and she rose to kiss each side of his face.

A pleased, startled noise kindled in the back of Lucien’s throat.

Elain held his gaze, saying with every ounce of her conviction, “You have not failed, Lucien.”

She could see him fighting the urge to add yet. He had not failed her yet. Elain didn’t want to press him on what he feared this conflict would bring, why he felt it would be necessary to smuggle her out of the Kingdom if war truly did break on the horizon.

Forcing lightness into her voice, Elain teased, “And how do you know that you aren’t my True Love? You could be delivering me to yourself, for all you know.”

But she knew. And she was a wretch for pretending she didn’t, but it was a nice thought. Lucien and her True Love, the same person. It would spare her the guilt of betraying her husband before their wedding while painting him as some callous monster.

Elain brushed her thumb over the pulse in Lucien’s neck, faint with a rhythm so familiar she could have sworn she’d listened to it all her life. As if all along, they’d been tied together by a thread that spanned the ever-changing distance between them. And their hearts were the expert musicians, plucking a song that could only be heard on the other end, through Autumn and Spring and the vast stone walls of the Archeron manor. She’d heard his song even before she’d had any awareness of him. She could hear it now.

And she knew what her heart, swelling in answer, was telling her, even if magic—if fate—said differently. Her heart beat more surely than a butterfly’s wing, anyway.

Lucien’s voice was strained. “I doubt the Mother would look upon me so favorably. I’ve done nothing to deserve a wife as lovely as you.”

“Nor I a husband so insufferable,” she said, hoping to draw out his smile.

His lips twitched. The world’s smallest victory. He leaned forward to brush a soft kiss against her forehead. “Sleep, wife, and I’ll endeavor to be less insufferable tomorrow.”

“But you didn’t ask me for a secret in exchange.”

“Another time,” he said, shutting his eyes decidedly. But he didn’t withdraw.

His lips were still pressed to her forehead when his breathing leveled out. And Elain, content in knowing he wouldn’t be sneaking away once she was asleep, allowed the warm darkness to slowly overtake her.

-

Falling asleep in Lucien’s arms was a perilous thing.

Elain knew just this once would be an excruciating promise the next time she tried to fall asleep and there would be no warm, sturdy arms to wrap herself in. She’d expected that by morning, she would wake to cold sheets and a deserted bed, her husband long retreated back to his own side of the palace as they had agreed upon the day they were married.

She wasn’t expecting the slow waking of lips against her neck. A nose, dragging behind her ear and burying in her hair like he was trying to memorize its scent. Elain made a soft, sleep-contended noise and turned her head to bury deeper in that warmth. His laugh rumbled against her cheek. She felt his arms tighten, readjusting to curve his body around her. The hearth had died in the night, but the morning chill was somewhere far away, a concern only for the maidens who weren’t presently cocooned by their husbands.

Elain hummed, her sleep-addled brain taunting her as she thought, this is how it feels to wake in the arms of someone you love.

Lucien kissed her again, this time on the crown of her head. He must have thought he could get away with more while she was asleep because those were his fingers lovingly tracing the shape of her spine. Warm, like all of the rest of him was.

She wanted to luxuriate in this moment for eternity.

A knock on the door reminded Elain that the Mother and her Cauldron would never be so generous. With a noise that sounded decidedly like a grumble, Lucien pulled away from Elain. Cold air invaded the space he left, persistent against the protest that rose in her throat. Even as she pulled the blankets back around her, the cold stayed, an unwelcome reminder that their evening of bliss had finally ended.

And Lucien was again the husband who wanted nothing to do with his wife.

At least he was a naked husband who wanted nothing to do with his wife.

Elain peeled her eyes into the bleary morning and found that the sight of his firm, rounded backside eased some of her disappointment. Lucien had nothing to cover himself, which was ever so fortunate for her, though less fortunate for the poor servant on the other side of the door.

Lucien cracked the door just enough to peer through the slim opening, shielding the worst of his indecency.

“Clothes for you, Your Highness,” came Vassa’s response. The dry humor to her voice caused Elain to duck her face into the blankets, hiding her laughter from Lucien lest he think it was at his expense.

If he heard, he didn’t glance over his shoulder to see what had tickled Elain. He merely extended a hand to accept the clothes and nodded to the lady. “Thank you, Vassa.”

He began to shut the door, but she hovered.

“Shall I have the cooks prepare a breakfast to be served in Her Highness’s room?”

There was a question behind the question, one which carried more weight than perhaps Lucien understood: will you be staying to dine with your wife?

At this, Lucien paused. Paused as if he did understand the significance. That here, now, he’d be setting a precedent for what came after these attempts to produce an heir. He could stay, could allow them to connect their hearts just as much as their bodies.

Or he could leave. And with something so simple as passing through a doorway, the memory of all those fervent touches would be caught and tangled in that infernal net, and the evening prior, which had meant so much to Elain, would be reduced to little more than a fulfilled obligation.

The floorboards creaked beneath her weight. Elain hadn’t meant to get out of bed. In truth, she’d wanted to preserve what precious warmth remained of their night together before the phantom heat of his body became only a memory. But her body acted of its own accord, and the old wood groaned loud enough to turn Lucien’s head.

Elain had not drawn anything to cover herself. Her skin prickled in protest at the sudden exposure to cold air. She felt her nipples harden and resisted the urge to cover them up, particularly as Lucien’s gaze dipped, shameless in raking his eyes over the sight of her body in the full light of day. Was it less alluring without the flickering candlelight, the golden fire?

It didn’t appear that way.

Indeed, there was nothing covering Lucien either, and she was able to witness precisely how her naked body impacted him. And maybe, in a fair bit of turnabout, Elain let her eyes wander, too. To the swelling arousal between his legs.

No wonder she felt sore.

“Your Highness?” Vassa asked, oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the door.

Elain tried not to squeak at the thought that only a plank of wood separated her friend and her fully erect husband. Lucien didn’t seem to mind or care. He was simply staring at her, not trying to hide the longing in his expression.

“Sorry,” Lucien answered distractedly, still not taking his eyes off Elain. “What did you… Was there a question, Vassa?”

“Would you like me to bring your breakfast to Her Highness’s quarters?”

From the look on his face, if he stayed, Elain had a feeling that she would be the breakfast.

After a long moment of consideration, Lucien’s jaw tightened. “No,” he said. “Bring it to my study. I’ve much to catch up on in my absence.”

There was a small pause in which Elain imagined Vassa bowing her acknowledgment. Her tone was more frigid than usual as she said, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Vassa’s footsteps retreated down the hall. Lucien shut the door.

He hovered there, forehead pressed against the wood. Like he wasn’t prepared to face the fallout of his decision, the devastation she knew was plain on her face. She wouldn’t let him. By the time he turned around, Elain had slipped on the perfect mask of a lady. She was halfway to the armoire as if all that preoccupied her mind was what clothes she might wear today. It likely wouldn’t wound him to think she was indifferent to his answer, but at least she’d be spared the embarrassment of mistaking his desire for affection.

Neither of them made an effort to chase away the silence as they dressed on their respective sides of the room.

She thought he might even leave without saying goodbye, but Lucien paused with his fingers curled around the ornate door handle. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and turned to stride across the room. Towards her. Elain froze midway through buttoning her bodice, worried now that she’d upset him in her refusal to speak. Even as he stopped in front of her, she said nothing, hesitant to guess at his motives.

He lifted his hand, and Elain stood perfectly still as it glided over her cheek, so warm in contrast to the air pressing around them that she couldn’t suppress her shiver. He stopped with his fingers captive in her hair. Even Elain’s pride couldn’t keep her chin from tilting up when he leaned down.

Nothing—not silk, or flower petals, or the whisper of a butterfly’s wings—was softer than the press of Lucien’s lips against her forehead. He lingered there, allowing her to carve the sensation into her memory. The heat of his breath brushed over the crown of her head, the fingers curling into her neck. As if his body and mind were at war, half wanting to stay and the other half desperate to go.

She imagined it must be awful to desire someone he didn’t love. How conflicted his heart must be. One eye of russet that saw her for who she was—his wife, a woman with no greater control than he, who was struggling to make the most of their situation. And one eye of gold that must surely gaze upon her and see his injustices made flesh—a woman who caused him misery, who served as a lifelong reminder that he served the will of a tyrant.

Though it was painful to love and not be loved in return, Elain thought she preferred it this way. Love had always been something she expressed outward. First, with her sisters, with what ways she could find to bring a smile to their faces. Then, with her plants, where she learned to nurture the soil until the flowerbeds bloomed. She would not know what to do if the warmth in her chest went hollow and there was none left to extend to the world around her.

And she pitied her husband. Because she sensed he had never been treated with very much love and perhaps had never truly learned how to extend or accept it. He’d believed, possibly all his life, that even his marriage was to be loveless. They were so different in that regard. Even as he pulled away without meeting her eyes, Elain let herself hope that a day would come when he wouldn’t need to leave her bedroom on such a somber note.

For now, it brought her peace to know that their marriage would not be loveless, so long as she loved him. A small part of her delighted in proving him wrong that way.

-

Elain stared blankly down the long dining room table.

It was longer than any table her family possessed at the Archeron manor, equipped to fit as many as two dozen guests. She tried to imagine the clinking glasses and laughter that bubbled as readily as flowing wine, but all she could see were the countless empty chairs. Had such a thing ever existed in this palace? It was clear that the ballrooms and banquet tables had been constructed with lavish parties in mind. This was a place that was designed to be filled with music and dancing. Life.

That seemed a laughable concept to Elain, who’d spent the better part of the week with only herself for company. Vassa checked in regularly with tea and cakes and idle conversation, but this was Elain’s honeymoon, and it was improper for Vassa to take up much of the time that should be spent with her husband.

Should.

“His Highness will be taking lunch in his study,” Vassa said. She did not try to hide her irritation.

Nor did Elain restrain her sigh. She had not expected differently. Lucien had taken every meal in his study for the last week. He claimed it was a consequence of being away for so long, but Elain suspected he was trying to reestablish the separate lives they’d promised to uphold. They’d started off on the wrong foot, with her fever and the exchanging letters. The lovemaking. She’d become too accustomed to their proximity.

Once your fever has passed and I have returned from my journey, I’ll see to it that this palace feels far from empty.

He’d promised that before she’d asked him for a baby. Before they’d made love. Elain thrummed her fingers against the wooden table, staring at the vacant seat her husband had occupied on the one and only occasion they’d dined together. Maybe she’d asked for too much.

“Do you know what he’s doing in there?”

Vassa shrugged. “Paperwork from the looks of it, Your Highness. And lots of reading.”

“He’s been in his study all this while?”

“I think he’s slept in there a few nights, if he’s even slept at all.”

What was he doing? Surely, his governing duties had not accumulated so significantly that they required his attention day and night.

Elain rose from her seat. “Tell the cooks not to fuss. My appetite is fragile this morning, and I’d much prefer to garden.”

The servants had been bemused to discover her love of gardening, but she had not met the resistance she’d encountered at the Archeron manor. Vassa merely insisted she wear a fur cape to ward off the Autumn chill, and the gardeners had been happy to supply her with the tools and seeds she needed.

The grounds of the estate were well cultivated with short grass and perfectly trimmed conical shrubs, but aside from the yellow and gold leaves decorating the forests in the distance, there was no color. Elain was determined to change that, and she’d been using this week of silence to dedicate her attention to the flowerbeds on the east side of the building.

Maybe she was hoping that Lucien would open his window and see her crouched below. And maybe within the flowerbeds, she was trying to quietly grow the courage to storm into his room and demand justification for his neglect.

An hour into gardening, Vassa appeared with a tray of tea and small finger sandwiches.

“You’re too doting,” Elain said, brushing the dirt from her hands before reaching for one of the steaming cups.

“Well, someone ought to dote on you.”

She said it loud enough that Elain glanced towards the open windows above, nervous that the words might have carried. She was certain Vassa had raised her voice intentionally.

“Thank you,” Elain said, meeting Vassa’s eyes so she could see the sincerity of her words. These days, it felt like Vassa was the only one keeping her sane. Nodding to the second cup of tea, Elain asked, “Will you be joining me for a moment?”

Vassa shook her head. “Oh, no, Lady. I thought you might be tired of my company, so I’ve brought an extra cup of tea, hoping to lure someone to join you. If not your husband, perhaps one of the handsome guards stationed by the door? I imagine one of them would be grateful for the warm tea and warmer company.”

At this, Elain laughed. “Do you think so? I found the one with auburn hair rather charming.”

“The guards have a job, you know,” came a voice from above. Both Vassa and Elain glanced up to see Lucien, forearms propped against the windowsill of his study. His hair was tied loosely off his face in a braid, exposing the full cut of his jaw. Elain was grateful for the distance between them so that he couldn’t hear her breath catch, though she still earned a raised brow from Vassa.

“And you, husband?” Elain called. “Do you not also have a job? I’ve heard it’s so demanding you have little time for anyone else these days. Yet here you are, idle at the window.”

Vassa pressed her lips together. “Speaking of jobs,” she said, “I must return to mine.”

With an apologetic—or perhaps encouraging—squeeze on the shoulder, Vassa fled back into the palace.

“My curiosity drew me away from my work,” Lucien said. “I wanted to know what my wife was up to while she spoke so discourteously about her own husband.”

Elain drew herself up and crossed her arms. “If you were listening as closely as you’re pretending, you would know I didn’t say a word against you.”

“Nor did you speak in my defense.”

“Well, a lady mustn’t lie,” she said primly. “And, in fact, it has been so long since I’ve engaged with my husband that I’ve forgotten his true nature.”

Ignoring the jab, Lucien nodded at the plants and the dirt on her hands. “What are you growing? You mustn’t forget this land rests in eternal Autumn. No spring will come to reward your efforts.”

Elain huffed. “You underestimate their tenacity. There are plenty of flowers that can bloom in Autumn.”

“Even with the chill?”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “Do you anticipate that beauty thrives only where it meets no resistance?”

His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Having met you, sweet wife, I’ve learned that beauty may thrive under any condition.”

“Even solitude,” she said.

That dealt the killing blow to his smile. His voice took on an edge as he said, “While these flowers may survive the Autumn, surely they do so in spite of the conditions. Would they not be happier in a more fertile land, one blessed with warmth and sunshine?”

Elain looked at the flowerbeds she’d spent a week tending. She shook her head at the arrogance. “No plant is the same, husband. Which is why you must learn about them to understand what they need.” She gestured to one section of the soil, which appeared to be little more than dirt at the moment but, in time, would be bright, blooming flowers. “It’s true that flowers like these asters and dahlias prefer warm weather, and they’ll bloom here despite the conditions. But here—” she pointed— “These violas will flower because of the cooler temperatures. Put them in a warmer climate, and you will be hindering their growth.”

There was a moment’s silence in which Lucien seemed to mull over this description, weighing how much of her words held a larger meaning. “How strange that a flower would require adverse conditions in order to grow.”

“It’s not strange at all,” Elain countered. “Steel tempers in flame, doesn’t it? And humans grow wiser with each new encounter, particularly the unpleasant ones. Nature is no different—it’s likely where we learned it from.”

“You have a curious mind, Elain,” he said, his voice softer now. More like the curling steam from her tea. “I’d like to know all your thoughts one day.”

Elain took a sip before she responded. “That would require spending time with me, Your Highness.”

He looked pained. She thought he might turn back into his window entirely, but he burst out— “Tomorrow?” She only raised her brows. He added, “You asked me once if we could look at the autumn leaves. We could go on a ride through the woods together.”

She was surprised he remembered. And though she wished he had sought her without Vassa’s taunting, it was progress.

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.

-

The next afternoon, Elain waited patiently for her husband to appear in the dining room. He hadn’t said he would join her for lunch, but she reasoned they would need to eat before setting off on their afternoon ride. The slightest sound from the hallway made her glance towards the doors, and though she coached herself not to seem too eager, she couldn’t help fiddling with the tablecloth while watching the entrance.

Finally, the dark mahogany wood swung open, and Elain was graced with company at last. Her smile faded once she saw that the arrival did not take the form of her husband but rather a scowling Vassa and a handwritten note which read,

My dear wife,

I’m afraid I am still held up in estate affairs and must postpone our ride.

I beg your patience for another tomorrow.

Your husband,

Lucien

Another tomorrow. She could see it now, their life made up of thousands of stagnant tomorrows, perpetually waiting for the one where Lucien would pity her enough to emerge from the eastern wing. She would not wait for another tomorrow.

“Pardon me, Vassa. I need to speak with my husband.”

Vassa flinched as Elain’s chair scraped back against the floor, but Elain marked approval in her fierce blue eyes. She bowed her head, stepping aside to allow Elain straight passage to the large double doors. From there, it was a matter of winding the halls back into the entryway, where the double-helix staircase stood proudly in the center.

Climbing the grand marble steps, she could admit that the staircase was an impressive feat of architecture, even as she fantasized about burning it to the ground. Besides being a tangible barrier in her relationship with her husband, she could not understand the practicality of a staircase that only connected to one side of the palace. It must have been a horrendous experience for the servants who had to climb to the bottom and back up any time they needed to move from one end of the palace to the other. But then, the architect likely hadn’t cared about the extra burden on the servants—the impracticality of the design was boastful in itself.

It did serve one purpose, however, and that was the slow kindling of Elain’s temper as she circled around and around, replaying all of her husband’s empty promises. That they would be friends, that the palace would feel less lonely on his return, that he would be present whenever she needed him. Up, up, up, she could feel her rage rising with every step, carrying her forward until she was before the door to his study.

Elain didn’t bother with knocking. She suspected he was up to something other than estate work, and she didn’t want to give him an opportunity to cover it up. Thankfully, a prince didn’t bother to lock the door. He expected that the respect of his servants was absolute and that his wife would accept his flimsy excuses with a meek smile and swallowed protests. Not any longer.

“Elain,” Lucien started, standing immediately from his chair. His russet eye was bloodshot. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, fighting the instinct to raise her voice lest he dismiss her as hysteric. Her eyes flickered to his desk to see that it was littered with books upon books upon books. Many of them open, words scribbled in the margins and pages of notes scattered about.

What was he up to?

“What’s wrong,” she said through gritted teeth, “is that we have not spoken for a week, Lucien. And you dismissed me today with some meager note as though this is not supposed to be our honeymoon.”

Lucien opened his mouth, but before he could slip in some silver-tongued excuse, she pushed past him and surged for one of the books on the desk. The small black and white rendering of a butterfly made her heart sink, but what was worse were the words written beside it: How to contact your true love.

She looked towards him, not trying to contain her hurt. “I see.”

“You don’t,” he said stiffly, reaching for the book.

Elain reared back, holding it over her shoulder, though she knew he towered her in height and could take it from her with enough force. Lucien let his arm drop, saying nothing as she hopelessly glanced toward the other tomes on his desk. Spellbooks, all open to similar pages.

How to reveal a true love’s identity.

Locating a true love.

Magic and true love.

Her anger drained as quickly as it swelled, retreating like the tide from the shore.

“At last, the silence makes sense,” she said. Hardly more than a whisper. She shut her eyes. “If you are going to be taking a mistress—”

“I’m not,” Lucien said quickly. He stepped toward her, arms out like he didn’t trust she wouldn’t launch the heavy tome at his head. “Elain, I promise you—”

“I have had enough of your promises, Lucien!” Her voice cracked, and she dropped her head so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. She set the book back on his desk. “This has all made it plenty clear to me. My apologies for interrupting. I will return to my side of the palace, and you can keep to yours. Precisely the way you wished.”

Elain attempted to dodge around him, but Lucien stepped into her path. “I have not wished for any of this,” he said. She took a sharp breath, his words a knife in her chest. Lucien reached for her as if to offer comfort but stopped himself when she flinched. His eyes darkened, and his hand fell back to his side, fingers curling. “Elain, this is laughably far from what I wanted.”

“I know,” she said, more like an accusation than anything else. “You never wanted a wife and now you are shackled—”

“You are the one who is shackled.” He said it quietly, his voice so raw that her words dried on her tongue. Lucien ran a hand through his hair. “There are things about this universe that I will never fathom, Elain, and winding up married to you is one of them. This was supposed to be a punishment, a misery, and somehow, I’ve been gifted with the best of wives. And the only curse I can think of is that I’m to have this taste of happiness, and it will not be permanent. That you might be taken from me or worse.” He expelled the air from his chest in a dry, brittle laugh. “Or perhaps the torture of it is that I will be helpless in love while knowing that you loathe me, that I will forever stand in the way of your happiness.”

“I…” Elain blinked, looking again at the books on the desk. “Lucien, I don’t understand.”

“I think this is precisely what my father wanted,” he said, like that explained it all. He threw his hand out again, gesturing vaguely at her person. “He must have known that you would be lovely beyond comprehension. That you would bewitch me so thoroughly I would seek nothing more than your happiness. And that by trapping you in this marriage, that aim would be forever unattainable. Perhaps he wanted me to see myself in him. To understand how it feels to bear the resentment of a wife and watch her wither, knowing she would rather be anywhere else.” He followed her eyes to the desk, shaking his head. “I am not my father, Elain. I will not be my father.”

Love. He’d used the word love to describe his feelings for her, this marriage. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she couldn’t let herself hope, not yet. “You want to know what has been making me unhappy, Lucien?” She ventured a step toward him. “That you have been in here. All I have wanted this last week was to see you, talk to you. You promised me that the palace would feel less lonely when you returned. So what happened? Did I—”

Don’t say it, she could hear Nesta warn. Don’t let him know how much his absence has wounded you. It will give him too much power.

Elain’s lip wobbled, and she decided she didn’t care if it exposed too much of her heart. She wanted him to understand it, understand her. Voice broken, she choked, “Did I do something wrong?”

She watched his throat bob, working past whatever truth clogged his throat. Then he said, “I saw the butterfly wings, Elain.”

Feeling as if he’d struck her, Elain stumbled back. She laid a hand on her chest like that might keep the pieces of her heart from shattering. “W-what?”

“Beneath your sink,” he said. “I found them the night we made love, and I knew immediately what they meant.”

It was dreadful to think of what Lucien might have concluded. He didn’t sound angry, at least. She sensed there was no threat of him raiding the lands for whichever man was having clandestine meetings with his wife. At least not imminently. But did he think she’d been seeing her True Love in her sleep all this time? Did he believe her claim of loneliness was a farce, that she was trying to make a fool of him?

Elain shook her head, trying to quell the anxious thoughts swelling around her. “Lucien, please, you must understand—”

“You don’t need to explain it to me.” Rolling up his sleeves, Lucien returned to his desk. “Given your circumstances, why wouldn’t you seek him out? You deserve that happiness, and I won’t stand in the way of it any longer.”

“What do you mean?”

He reached for one of the spell books, skimming through the pages. “I’ve been trying to find a way to contact him. Perhaps you and Nesta can flee with him to the North. I’m sure your sister will provide the three of you refuge.”

“Lucien—”

He continued speaking, mostly to himself. “My father will lose his bargaining chip, and our Kingdoms will likely go to war, but the majority of it will be fought on our lands. You should be safe in Rhysand’s kingdom.”

“Lucien.”

At last, he looked up. It was midday, but with the curtains drawn, it was dark enough in the room that he’d lit the golden sconces on the wall. Elain maneuvered herself between Lucien and the desk, intentionally blocking the books from his sight so that he was forced to focus solely on her. Candlelight flickered in his red-rimmed eyes as they met hers.

Elain set her shoulders the way she was taught a lady should. Despite her shaking hands, she managed to keep her speaking voice level and deliberately slow, so that the full weight of each word had a chance to settle on him. She said, “I will forgive you for making so many assumptions about what I want without once consulting me. But I need you to understand three things, Lucien Vanserra.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before continuing, waiting for him to nod his agreement that he would listen without interruption.

Once he did, she plucked one of the books from his desk and chucked it to the floor. “Firstly, I have no intention of fleeing these lands or this marriage. I’m insulted that you so greatly overestimate my cowardice. Did you think you married a woman who runs away when things get difficult?”

Lucien, wisely, shook his head.

“Secondly.” The next book, which was thicker and heavier, hit the ground with a satisfyingly large thud. Lucien spared the leather-bound tome a brief, mournful look before he snapped his attention back to Elain. “I’ll admit that I sought my true love before our wedding. I was anguished that we had not had a proper courtship, and in truth, I did it largely out of spite. But I have not contacted him since I arrived at this palace, nor do I have any intention to. Burn the wings for all I care. True Love alone is not enough to earn my affection.”

Those full, perfect lips parted like he intended to say something. She cut him off by sucking in a deep breath and exhaling, “Finally—”

“Elain.”

She threw another of the books to the floor.

“You will listen!” She snapped in the wake of its silencing echo. He shut his mouth. “Finally, Lucien, I need you to understand that it does not matter that you are not my True Love. You will never be your father. Because I do not resent you, I do not loathe you. In truth, I love you so desperately that even fate cannot shake my conviction. I love you despite all of your foolishness and all of my own. You are my husband, and you are the man I choose to walk alongside, even if that may only ever be in parallel.”

Lucien said nothing once she finished, but she could sense him tracking her every breath like he was waiting for her to add something that would take it all back. His mechanical eye clicked as his gaze roamed from her eyes to her mouth, to her chest heaving out of her tightly laced corset. And finally, to the carnage she’d wrought on his study. The ancient—and likely valuable—books were tossed carelessly about, some of the spines likely now damaged, the pages folded over.

He offered her a sly smile. “Am I permitted to speak now, Your Highness?”

Just like that, all of the tension eased out of her. A small, astonished laugh bubbled out of her throat. “Only if you say nothing foolish.”

“In that case, it’s advisable I remain silent.”

Words weren’t required, anyhow. The way he reached for her hand and drew it carefully to his lips said enough. That soft kiss against her knuckles was a silent apology. The second, an admission that unfurled something warm in her chest.

“I have been a fool,” he conceded, bowing his forehead to the back of her knuckles. “I have been a fool helplessly in love with his wife. And you have been so patient with me.”

Elain winced. “I did wreck your study.”

“It was in need of redecorating,” he said, tugging gently on her arm now, trying to guide her into his lap. She obliged, perching herself delicately across his knees. One of his hands moved to brace her hip while the other raised to her chin, drawing her face down towards his. “You love me?” he said like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“I love you.” She leaned down to kiss him, stroking a hand through his hair. His body was shaking. “But no more silence, please. I cannot bear it.”

“Consider it done,” he said.

“And the agreement we made on our wedding day, that we should live our lives separately?”

Lucien pressed his forehead into her chest, inhaling deeply before saying, “I am happy to cast it out of my memory for eternity. You can move into my bedroom in the east wing, or I can move to yours in the west. Or we can maintain separate bedrooms if you please, but I’d like us to at least be on the same side of the staircase.”

“And our meals,” Elain said. “We take them together from now on.”

“Happily. Our baths, too, if you’d oblige me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he laughed.

“You’ll forgive me for trying my luck.” He kissed her shoulder. “There is one agreement, though, I’d like to keep if you’re willing.”

Elain felt wary at the suggestion. “Which agreement is that?”

She could feel the wicked grin spreading across his lips. His voice dipped low. “I’d like to continue our attempts to conceive if that still sounds agreeable to you.”

Oh. Elain felt something heat in her gut. She lowered her voice, too, to remind him, “It’s been over a week since our last attempt.”

He hummed against her skin. “Something I think we should rectify.”

With a grin, Lucien withdrew far enough to reach an arm around her body and swipe the remaining books off his desk. Then he lifted her so that she was sitting atop the wooden surface, his body wedged between her legs.

“I believe the study will do nicely,” he said. “What do you think, wife?”

Elain reached for the buttons of his waistcoat, the top button already loosened by the time she said, “I think it’s a good thing someone relocated all of your books.”

#A Blaze in the Dark #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfic #Elucien fanfiction #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

[lieutenantfloyd]

✦Day and Night — Yuki Tsunoda✦

Dating AU (headcanons)

Pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x reader

Summary: What daily life is like in your relationship with Yuki.

Notes: This is the product of me getting distracted while writing a completely different thing for a completely different driver (more on that later). Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this! <3

Day

♫ Bad Haircut - Stephani Poetri & JVKE

Your days start slow. Mornings are full of soft cuddles and even softer kisses. When it’s finally time to greet the outside world, expect to coordinate entire outfits, or at minimum match sneakers. He’ll pick you a bouquet of wildflowers whenever he spots them, only to be left worshipping the small bug bites perpetually scattered across his knuckles whenever he’s away for a race. His love of food bleeds its way into your relationship in a myriad of ways. Whether it's him waking up early to make you breakfast in bed, catching up over lunch at a new restaurant, or taking turns being each other's sous chef whenever there’s a recipe you want to try out. When your schedules allow, you’ll travel to one of the many places you always talked about going to. At some point you’ll invest in cameras; his digital and yours analog; with the notion of capturing the beauty of the world around you. Nevertheless, you’ll return home every time with pictures of nothing but each other. If you ask him to teach you/help you improve your Japanese, he’d be over the moon. Watching your eyes light up with recognition as you start to understand his words of adoration and terms of endearment is enough to make his heart nearly burst.

Night

♫ Here With Me - D4vd

Nights with Yuki end just as soft as the days begin. You’ll complete your nightly chores before playing video games or reading. It’s all so hopelessly domestic. If he’s had a hard week, you get him to take a bath with you. You can practically see the tension slipping from his shoulders as you shower him with floral soaps and loving words of encouragement. On occasion, always when he’s in a particularly cheerful and clingy mood, he’ll pester you to share a gloriously graceless slow dance. While this usually happens at home, there have been several times he’s convinced you to dance with him in the most social of situations. No matter the location, Yuki always makes sure to mark the intro, chorus, and outro of each song with a kiss. When insomnia gets the best of you, you’ll go on late-night drives. The streets are nearly empty and he’ll always insist on driving. At some point, he’ll pull over for a midnight snack. You always pick something like chips, pizza, or sandwiches while Yuki always chooses nothing but sweets. Salty and savory foods might not be your favorite, but Yuki's bright eyes and near-blinding smile when he inevitably mentions how well you balance each other out certainly is. The best nights are when he finds himself wine drunk and overflowing with love in its most pure form. Giggling and tripping over his words as he spills every last bullet point on his list of hopes, dreams, and intentions for your future together. Introducing your families to each other. Two dogs and a cat. Fresh flowers and white linens. Home-cooked meals. Wedding vows and pastel-painted nurseries. A modest home, a gentle life.

#yuki tsunoda x reader #yuki tsunoda #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 headcanon #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fiction #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 moodboard #yuki tsunoda moodboard #Formula 1

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Better Than Revenge

Part 4 of You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader, Past! Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: It's been a year since you fell in love with Jake Seresin. You'd be a fool if you didn't count yourself so incredibly lucky to know and love him. You adore Jake for everything he is and everything he tries to be for you. But you're not above proving to the world, shouting from the rooftops that Jake is the man for you. You finally get your chance while at a wedding in Italy when Bradley Bradshaw makes a nuisance of himself yet again.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: Sex. Sexual Themes. This chapter is mostly smut, okay?

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 4147

A/N: Here is Part 4 of You Play Stupid Games You Win Stupid Prizes! Jake and Bitsie have been through a lot together and I love them so much! This is the scene that started this whole series. This is the scene I first dreamed of and I've been working up to it for months! I really hope you all love it!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

You’d think that a girl who’s been deployed all over the world for the US Navy and to a certain capacity travels for her job would know how to be packed and ready far sooner than right before you leave. You’d think, anyhow. It’s currently 1 pm the day of your flight and while Jake is all packed with one itty bitty rolling suitcase and his uniform and a tux in their dress bags, you’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off. At least you’ve managed to get your dress laid out in its bag with Jake’s tux and uniform. You’ve also got your shoes packed in a corner of the suitcase in their special bag. It’s everything else to pack that you have no idea what you’re bringing. Jake’s no help. Every swimsuit you try on gets the same result: hungry eyes and fingers that try to paw the suit right off. 

Finally you settle for two bikinis, one in a classic black and the other a purple shade which looks amazing against your skin, as well as two one-piece suits. You weren’t expecting Jake to like the one-piece suits more, but with their plunging necklines and high leg, he hadn’t let you go for at least half an hour. 

So, a part of your struggles in packing are Jake. The other part is how nervous you are. This will be your first time meeting Jake’s other friends, his other colleagues. You're not sure if they truly like him or not, but damned if you're not resolved to like them and make them like you. It's the only thought in your mind as you finish slotting underwear, t-shirts, shorts and sundresses into your bag. You add a few more pairs of shoes and a cardigan for if it ever gets chilly and stand back in satisfaction. 

With your bag packed, it's easy for you to collect everything else. By the time Mickey's pulled up, you're ready to go. Jake's vibrating out of his skin the entire drive to the airport. After a year of dating, a year of loving him, you think you know exactly why he's so nervous. Pilots don’t generally like flying when they’re not in the cockpit themselves. Seeing as how you’ve never flown with Jake before, you guess you’ll see when you get on the plane. Check-in and security are smooth and before long, you’re on the plane. Before the plane even takes off Jake is white knuckling the arm rests with his eyes closed. You take his hand in yours and settle in for the ride. 

Halfway through the flight, you wake up from a nap to see Jake staring broodily out of the tiny airplane window. You push up the arm rest between you.

“Darling?” Normally calling him your darling makes him grin unabashedly. Today, he’s barely responding. You press a kiss against his knuckles, staring at his star-streaked profile as the moonlight seeps into the darkened cabin.

“Jake?” You tug gently on his hand until he turns to you. 

“Sweetheart?” His voice is hoarse and deep. It sends shivers down your spine as you tug him towards you, kissing his lips gently. When you pull away, his eyes stay closed for several long beats. You examine his face, cataloging the new dark patches under his eyes. He hadn’t slept well the night before, when you were home either, and normally he loves your bed.

 “What’s going on Jake?” You cup his cheek, tugging him down until your forehead is pressed against his.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bitsie-girl.” You scrunch your nose before pecking his lips again.

“Uh-huh. Suuure.” You cuddle into his chest, drawing one of the thin, scratchy airline blankets up over his lap and yours. 

“Something’s eating at you, Jakey.” He kisses your forehead, breathing a little raggedly. “What’s going on? I thought you were excited beyond words to be Arrow’s best man?”

“I am excited for him.” He inhales deeply, tugging you in closer. "But I also don't know how I'll face him again."

"Why?" You snuggle closer to his broad chest.

His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the plane engines and the ambient cabin noise. "Because I'm the reason why he doesn't fly anymore. If I had been a little bit faster, I would've saved him and he wouldn't have to wear crutches to stand at the altar."

Your voice is vehement as you press a kiss over his heart. "You saved his life, Jake. You did. He wouldn't be getting married at all this week if it weren't for you. This is something to celebrate."

"Then why doesn't it feel like it, darling?" You can hear all of the emotion clogging his throat. "All of my old squadron members are going to be there. I haven't seen any of them since Arrow got sent home. What if they blame me for what I did? What if they hate me for not being fast enough? For being too cautious up in the air?"

It hurts your heart when you feel wet warmth smattering against your forehead. You just hug Jake to you tighter. You can't imagine what it's like to have to make snap decisions like that. All you can do is be there for Jake. You fall asleep like that, curled up in his arms, waking only when the flight attendants bring around the breakfast service.

Jake looks like he's feeling a little bit better, at least. He's back to being your very own ridiculous Texan puppy-dog of a man. Jake spends the remainder of the flight flirting unendingly with you and making you flush from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. There is no way you’ll ever be able to hide how he makes you feel. 

He’s still a bit off, you can tell, though his mask is near impenetrable. He smiles the same, laughs the same, but there is a part of what makes Jake, a special spark that is missing. The Hangman mask, his armor is back up. Indeed, if he were a castle, he’d have the drawbridge up and the moat filled with hungry crocodiles. When he’s in his own head like this, you know there is no way you’ll be able to get him to open up to you. You can only pray that he’ll work himself out of the funk, pray that you won’t lose him to his own intrusive thoughts.

It’s been about a week since you landed in Italy and you can’t be more in love with the experience if you tried. The food is amazing, the scenery takes your breath away and you adore waking up bare in your obscenely expensive cottage surrounded by wild roses with your boyfriend wrapped around you. Jake’s happy, it seems, so long as you are. He’s gone out of his way to make you smile this trip, but his nerves from the plane, the nerves he’s been hiding the entirety of your trip thus far, come out in full force when you’re at the wedding, specifically at the reception.

The entire function is happening in a gorgeous old villa in the countryside, with the reception taking place on the sprawling grounds. There are clusters of fragrant night-blooming roses perfuming the air with their delicate fragrance and with Jake by your side, now dressed in a perfectly fitted black tuxedo, you rather feel like Cinderella at the ball dancing with Prince Charming for the first time. 

Jake had been taciturn, his face a mockery of a smile the whole night, at least until he caught up with the groom. Arrow, Carson, as you’d learned was his given name, didn’t hold a grudge towards Jake at all. He’d hugged Jake after the ceremony and the two men had shed manly tears while you chatted with Amanda, Carson’s new wife, getting to know her.

Indeed, it seemed like none of Jake’s old squad held a grudge to him. He’d been greeted with smiles and bro-hugs all night long, slowly but surely untensing with each affectionate greeting and smiling face. In fact, he’d even danced with Mandy while Carson had swept you away in a dance later that night.

“You make him really happy, you know, Bitsie?” You smile at Carson, not minding the shuffling sway he’s got you in on the dance floor at all.

“He makes me really happy too, Carson.” You grin, seeing the way Mandy laughs, throwing her head back at what Jake says to her.

“Jake looks at you the way I look at my Mandy.” You giggle nervously at his words. 

“He does?” You’re sneaking besotted glances at Jake the entire time you talk to Carson on the dance floor.

“Yeah, he does. I haven’t seen him this happy, ever, I think, Bitsie. You bring out something special in him. Something which makes him glow in a way I’ve never seen before. You make him a better man.” You’re gaping at Carson when the song ends, pulling away from his polite grasp on your waist and hand to clap for the live band. “Take care of him, Bitsie. And thank you for getting him to come to this wedding. There was nobody else I would want to be my best man.”

You carefully hand Carson over to Amanda, not even minding when Jake gets pulled into the crowd of men around the groom as he does the garter toss. You meander your way over to the bar, and it’s as you grab a glass of Prosecco when you encounter Bradley Bradshaw again. You knew he was going to be at the wedding, so it’s not a surprise. You’d evaded him, time and again, from the moment you’d sat down on the groom’s side of the aisle. Having Jake as a six-foot-tall glaring guard dog certainly helped. So did having the insulatory presence of Amanda and her bridesmaids, all of whom were Jake’s ex-squad members’ partners and wives. The group had easily adopted you as one of their own and now you have a whole new set of girlfriends to get to know and keep up with when you’re all stateside again.

But now, as you take in the all too familiar scent of patchouli and cedar wood emanating from the man next to you, you can’t help wondering what he wants. All of your fond memories of your time with Bradley have soured. It’s like the curtains were pulled aside, letting daylight in. You finally see all of the flaws, hidden in plain sight.

“Hey, Bitsie.” He sounds oddly subdued, sad and very lonely. You’d half expected him to have Britney or Natasha on his arm tonight, but he’d come alone and stayed mostly alone the whole night through.

“Bradshaw.” You sip on your Prosecco, exuding your disinterest with everything you have. 

“Thank you, Bitsie.” At your little questioning hum, he continues. “Thank you for finding my mom’s wedding ring in that pawn shop.”

“Oh, you got the ring back?” Your tone is still light and half-disinterested. But you can’t help but feel a little rush of relief. In truth, other than the old woman at the pawn shop and her son, the only person you had told about what you did with Carole Bradshaw’s ring is Jake. He hadn’t been pleased, exactly, but he’d come around to your way of thinking after a little bit. You couldn’t in your right mind keep Bradley's mother’s wedding ring from him. The urge for revenge has long ago faded to dust.

“Yeah. A kind stranger tracked me down via the pawnshop owners. Britney,” He spits her name with disgust, “sold it to them complaining about how her ex was abusive and she was pregnant and needed money to run away from him to keep her unborn baby safe.” He chuckles mirthlessly, flagging the bartender down for another whiskey. “She then walked right into the liquor store across the street and bought a bottle of vodka which she drank right in view of the cameras.”

He’s tracing absent-minded circles on the bartop in front of him.

“How did I go so wrong, Bitsie?” He drags his hands distractedly through his curls. “I wish I’d never met her. She fucked up my entire life. I lost everything I’ve ever had because of her.”

“She single-handedly tanked my reputation, lost me my friends, and destroyed my relationship with the best girl I’ve ever known.” Now this, you weren’t expecting.

“You, Bitsie. She destroyed my relationship with you.” You're not sure how to respond. In your shock, he's even closer to you, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath and see the glassy sheen in his eyes as he looks at you.

"I'm so sorry for that. Is there any way? Is there any way, at all, that you can forgive me? Is there any way you can give me another chance?" He's looking at you with puppy dog eyes, the brown orbs nearly glowing in the light.

"No, Bradshaw. I'm sorry. That door, that relationship between us? It's done. I've moved on. I wasn't lying when I told you all those months ago that I found somebody better. The best part is, he makes me better." Around you, the party erupts in cheers and whoops as the man who caught the garter is paraded around. To your happy surprise, it's Jake. He's grinning widely from ear to ear with the lacey garter hanging lopsidedly out of the breast pocket of his suit. His expression changes the minute he sees who you're talking to, though.

"Bradshaw." If your tone was cool, Jake's is like a glacier swept through the party. A crackling tension sets up between the two men looming on either side of you.

"Seresin." Bradley's got an evil glint in his eyes. "What's up? Afraid your girl will leave with me?" He chuckles. "Well, she picked me once. Who's to say she won't do it again?"

Jake's tense against your side. Rather than respond, you leave your glass on the counter, order a pair of shots and down both. Then you take Jake's hand and drag him out of the tent and into the garden. This is exactly why you would never even consider being with Bradley Bradshaw again. He goes from having a nice-ish moment to being a complete dick in seconds. 

You know Bradley's following you. You can hear quite clearly how he calls your name over and over. There's a maze on the grounds and you lead Jake there, pressing him into an alcove watched over by a greek-style statue of Venus. The marble is festooned in flowers and shines palely in the moonlight.

Jake's jaw is still clenched as you press him into the cool stone and kiss him like you want him to forget everything but your name. His lips are spit slicked and swollen when you pull away and his hands are hot against your waist as he paws absently at the fabric encasing you.

"What, Bitsie-girl, was that for?" He sounds wrecked already, a sizeable bulge in his pants as you drag your hand over his crotch.

"That was because I love you. You. Just you. Nobody else." You smile up at Jake, cupping his jaw in your hands, relishing in the soft pinpricks of his stubble against the pads of your fingers.

"I love you too, baby." He tries to drag you in for another kiss, but you're cognizant of eyes on your back. So, you drop to your knees in the gravel, letting your gown pool around you as you nuzzle against Jake's cock, staring coquettishly up at him through your eyelashes.

His gasp as you drag the zipper down and free his hard length is like music to your ears. Jake's length already glistens in the moonlight, the tip dribbling precum as you draw it between your cherry red lips. You struggled with blow jobs a lot in the early days of your relationship with Jake, never knowing how much suction to use or your own limits. But after a year of tutelage, you can suck Jake off in minutes now. He always feels like sin in your mouth, hard and velvety soft against your tongue.

Tonight, you're not in the mood to tease. You take him to the root, relishing the choked off gasp and how he grabs the edge of the alcove to keep from bucking into your face. You tease him, treating his cock like a popsicle, licking and sucking until he loses his control and actually begins fucking your face. You thank Venus herself for waterproof mascara as the insistent pace sets tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You know Jake's close to coming by the moans spilling out of his mouth. You glance up at him again and moan around his length as he cums. When he drags you up for a kiss, you stop him, showing off his spend coating your tongue before swallowing and parting your lips again to share how good you are.

"God, Sweetheart." Jake's voice is all drawl as he turns to cage you against the statue. "Look at you. All pretty, dressed up in a gorgeous gown with your mouth fulla my cum?"

"How did I get so lucky? How did I get you to be mine?"

You shrug cheekily in response, gasping as you feel cool stone against your bare back. Your gown gapes forward, baring your breasts to your heart's hungry gaze. You don't know when Jake unzipped you, but right now you could care less. 

Each longing glance from your boyfriend sets flames alight under your skin. You can't hide your moan when Jake mouths at your nipples. Your eyes nearly close in pleasure, but you still see Bradley Bradshaw, because who else would it be, standing just behind another statue looking right at you.

Your leg is wrapped around Jake's waist, the skirt of your dress rucked up around your waist. His hips grind his length up into you. You're just wearing panties under the dress and you wish you hadn't worn anything at all under it now. Jake's mouth is hot and wet over your peaked nipples as he leaves hickeys over the tender skin and makes you babble his name.

"My pretty Bitsie-girl. D'you want my dick, baby? D'you want it buried deep in that wet little hole?" He sucks harshly on one of your nipples, using your mewl of pleasure to bury two of his fingers into your cunt. Each thrust of his long fingers combined with the constant assault of his mouth on your tits has your head lolling, mind fogging with pleasure as you stare right into Bradley Bradshaw's eyes.

"Yes, Jakey. Yes, please. God, right there." You feel wicked and so turned on, staring into your ex boyfriend's eyes while your current boyfriend reduces you to a wet, drooling, mindless mess with his mouth and fingers. "Mm, you feel so good. Gonna come, Jakey. Don't stop! Don't stop."

You come with a scream, your back arching as you positively gush around Jake's fingers. He's grinning wickedly at you, his teeth trapping one perky nipple between them before he kisses you.

"There y'are. My wild, wild, Bitsie-girl. My sweetheart. God, you look so pretty like that, coming for me. I'm going to marry you, one day, pretty girl." You moan into the kiss he presses to your mouth, open mouthed and sloppy. "I'm gonna marry you and fuck you in your wedding dress, just like this."

Your voice is cheeky as you trace your fingers over his hard length. "Mmm… you're putting a lot of stock into your dick game, Cowboy. You haven't even fucked me yet. You gonna put your money where your mouth is?"

His groan is musical as he turns you around, pressing your bare tits into the cold marble and buries his cock in you with one swift thrust. It lifts you several inches, dragging your sensitive nipples across the marble and makes you moan so loud the sound echoes. Each thrust has you grasping the statue with shaking hands. Jake always feels so good, especially like this when he's all over you and he's all you can think about. Well, not everything. Despite your ragged breathing and the way Jake's hands and mouth are all over you, a wicked part of you hopes Bradley likes his show. 

You hope he gets the picture. You're done. You've moved on. Jake gives it to you better than he ever could. But it's a fleeting thought, quickly driven away by the cresting wave building in your gut and the way every fiber of your being is screaming for Jake. You feel all strung out, like your skin is too tight and you're shivering as a cool breeze blows over the garden. You're surrounded by the scent of Jake's cologne and hundreds if not thousands of roses blooming in the late night air.

The combination sinks into your skin, turning your arousal up a hundred-fold, making you thrust your hips back to meet his. The additional stimulation has you even closer to your second orgasm of the night, and you can hear Jake's groan in your ear, the special one that he always lets out when he's about to come himself.  You grab your skirt in one hand, rucking it up higher, and drag Jake's hands up with the other to fondle your tits.

The new angle when he reels you against his chest has your eyes crossing as every thrust hits your g-spot. You can already feel your pussy fluttering, spamming around his length as your orgasm builds and builds. You come with a scream when he pinches and tugs at your nipples, rolling them against his calloused fingers as you writhe in his arms. He follows after you with a bitten off curse shortly after.

Your face is hot and you can't help your whimper when Jake pulls away. He kisses your bare shoulder softly, murmuring, "I know, sweetheart, I know. Let's eat some cake and then you can have this cock all night, okay? My pretty Bitsie girl. My sweet slutty baby. You’re mine, Bitsie, baby. Mine."

You shudder when he settles your panties back in place, the lace quickly becoming sticky as your mixed cum drips out of you. You turn in his arms easily, kissing him until you're breathless. Jake lifts you up onto the base of the statue, grinning at your pout when the cold marble meets your hot, mostly bare ass. When he peppers kisses across your bare tits, you surreptitiously look for your voyeur. 

Surprisingly, or well, maybe not, Bradley Bradshaw is still where you saw him last. He's flushed, blushing profusely, so red he could glow like a neon sign. Did he get the message? You tug Jake closer, kissing him as you wrap your arms around his neck. Just in case Bradley didn't get the message, you flip him off with both hands behind Jake's head, soon losing yourself to the kiss.

It's about a quarter of an hour later when you walk back into the party. You'd cleaned up as best you could in one of the bathrooms, but you're sure nothing can actually hide your blissed out, well-fucked glow. Jake's not even trying to hide it. He walks up to Carson and you can't hide your giggle as all the men take one look at him and start smirking and laughing at him. The one man in the group who can't meet Jake's eyes is Bradley. He got the message, then.

You, of course, are bombarded with questions from Mandy, questions you can't help answering, all the while grinning mischievously at your new friend as she tells you she covered for Jake earlier. During her Bachelorette party a few days earlier, you'd actually told her the whole saga of Bradley and Jake and you. So she knows, and Mandy has never doubted your choice. It makes you happy to know that Jake has such good friends. 

It's not long at all before you and Jake make your exit from the party. The night, still perfumed with rose, seems filled with promise. So much so, that you can't hide your tears when Jake leads you into the small flower festooned gazebo in the garden of your rental cottage and asks you to marry him.

You say, well actually, scream "YES!", of course, and then promptly drag your fiancé into the bedroom for a 'she said yes' fuck. Bradley Bradshaw isn’t even a thought in your head. Not anymore. You can’t wait to hear what Jake says when you tell him you had an audience in the villa garden. Knowing him, you won’t be able to walk when he’s done with you.

Taglist:

✈️ @greenbaby12 ✈️ @mayhemmanaged ✈️ @desert-fern 

✈️ @roostersforevergirl ✈️ @cassiemitchell ✈️ @eli2447 

✈️ @the-romanian-is-bae ✈️ @luckyladycreator2 ✈️ @lunamoonbby 

✈️ @daphne-turner ✈️ @callsign-athena ✈️ @angeliccks ✈️ @dakotakazansky 

✈️ @daisydaisygoose ✈️ @inky-sun ✈️ @fighterpilothoe 

✈️ @pulisvertz ✈️ @wildxwidow ✈️ @angelbabyange

✈️ @chaoticassidy ✈️ @genius2050 ✈️@sarahsmi13s ✈️ @roosterforme

✈️ @lavenderbradshaw ✈️ @bobby-r2d2-floyd ✈️ @lovinglyeternal

✈️ @bradleybeachbabe ✈️

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #you play stupid games you win stupid prizes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #past rooster x reader #past bradley bradshaw x reader #past bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster is a dick #he's not the greatest in this #top gun imagine #top gun angst

[latristereina]

When Johnny Fontane shows up at Connie’s wedding and starts singing “I Have but One Heart”, we can see Michael and Kay talking at their table, he takes her hand and tells her to listen to the song, trying to ignore her questions about his father and Johnny. Then we see Connie clearly in awe of Fontane while he’s singing:

“I have but one dream that I can cling to, you are the one dream I pray comes true.”

And then Michael turns around and smiles at Kay, his dream girl as per the novel by Mario Puzo.

Many years later, in The Godfather part III, we have another family reunion with Johnny singing a romantic song, Connie fangirling over him, and Michael approaching Kay as she’s looking at the display of family photos. She’s in these photos as well. The song’s title is “To Each His Own” and it goes:

“To each his own, to each his own, and my own is you. What good is a song if the words just don’t belong, and a dream must be a dream for two. No good alone to each his own, for me there’s you.” And so on.

I came to the realization it was a parallel to the wedding scene from the first movie only when I skimmed through the script draft. Originally, it was a completely different song, and when Michael invited Kay to his study to talk about Anthony, Johnny was supposed to be singing: “…tell me that you love me, tonight…” They later modified the script and “To Each His Own” was what we got.

Anyhow, I’ve just wanted to point out the parallels, I think they’re great, and I interpret the lyrics of all three songs as Michael’s feelings for Kay.

#the godfather #the godfather part ii #michael corleone #kay adams #kay corleone #al pacino #diane keaton #mario puzo #francis ford coppola

[pumpkinpot]

Katsuki’s wedding night and tattoos

I had another dream... Shocking, I know.

CW: sex (so MDNI pls.) desperate Katsuki. He’s down bad. tattoos. the reader is heavily tattooed. AFAB reader. They wear a wedding dress.

A/N: So here’s the thing, I am heavily tattooed and I have a couple different ideas on how the MHA characters would react to that, but for now, just know that that is relivent to the dream. per usual, this will be in x reader style. 

.

You’d decided to cover your tattoos for the wedding. Not because you were ashamed, not because of some arbitrary belief that tattoos and wedding dresses somehow clashed, but you knew that on both sides of your families there would be problems. Enough so to justify the decision in your mind despite Katsuki telling you he didn’t mind your sleeves and thought they’d actually look good under the lace of your dress, you’d made your decision. 

It had taken a solid amount of make up to cover your arms, chest and back. you’d realized too late how much simpler wearing a slip would have been, but instead you stood here, in front of a fan watching paint dry over the art you’d spent years decorating.

Anyhow, the wedding it beautiful. Truly. Everything goes off without a hitch. Katsuki even cried, which was called by both Midoryia and Kiri who swooped in fully prepared with pats on the back and tissues. 

Once the festivities die down and it is finally time for you two to retire, you tell katsuki that a shower before anything else is non negotiable. He does the thing where he carries you into the hotel room and helps unzip you from your dress, pausing at the blank skin he’s met with. 

“whoah,” he mumbles, running warm fingertips down the rivets of your spine. “I though this was just one of those slip things. You actually-” 

You wiggle from his grip, feeling cakeier now than before. he watches as your bare arms and peel from the lace sleeves with none of the designs that had embellished you before. 

It was odd for him in a way that made his own skin feel ichy. He fell in love with you, that’s true, but in the time he’d spent getting to know your body and soul he’d memorized the placement of every one of your tattoos. 

Like where you were pulling the dress from now usually held a flower that whenever he unfocused his eyes he found a face in. He almost wanted to tell you that you were right, this shower was non negotiable.  

You kiss him before you go, closing the bathroom door behind you. On any other occasion you’d offer for him to join you, but you knew just how messy the shower was about to be, and not in the sexy way. You take the time to remove your face make up, waiting for the warm water to heat up. Upon getting in you realize you don’t have a towel. 

Pajamas were less of a worry, but a towel was a necessity. You’d thought about changing into the cute little set you’d gotten from your wedding party, but wanted that more for when your hair wasn’t dripping wet and your eye bags could be mistaken for designer accessories. “Katsuki!”

He pokes his arm through the door, holding the thing he knew you’d forget. He peeks around the corner of the door, a waft of cold air coating your legs. His hair is riled and ruffed from him trying to unstick whatever the stylist had put in it. 

He folds the towel over the sink, looking at you through the glass shower door. Your hair is just barely soaked through when he opens the shower door stepping in with, his tux still on. 

He steps under the stream of water with you, gripping your shoulder. Your instinct is to lean back into him, but fight the urge given the paint. Before you have the chance to ask him why he was here and fully clothed he begins messaging his thumb over your shoulder where a tattoo should be, but the make up doesn’t budge. 

You felt an odd sense of satisfaction. For how much you’d paid for it, the waterproof label better have been accurate and so far, it was. But that also meant you were going to likely be here a while. 

The thought stops in its tracks as Katsuki globs a thick dose of body wash in his hand, lathering it onto your skin. He kneads it into your skin until your tattoo peaks through. Without another word, he continues until your full shoulder and down your tricep is colorful again. 

He rinses off the space, replacing his hands with his mouth, kissing every inch of freshly cleaned skin. His palms get to work on the rest of your back only taking breaks to replenish his glob of body wash, rinse and kiss. 

His white shirt clings to his frame and covers in smeared make up, but he pays it no mind instead works his fingers into the groves of your body, pulling your art back to him. 

He’s finished half your left arm when he finally he closes the space between you, grinding his soaked trousers against your backside. He sucks purple kiss marks on your shoulder inching his soapy hands up your back. 

“Love-” you halfheartedly protest. 

He response is to hold your hip to his thigh so you can feel his hand as he unzips himself from his trousers. He rinses off any lingering make up before pulling your cunt onto him. 

His moan is a desperate whine as he sinks in to his base, holding you against him with shaking palms. He kisses your colorful shoulder, bending you down continuing to etch out the fossils of your tattoos from beneath cakes on foundation while rutting into you. 

he’s carful not to get any soap in undesired areas while still keeping you connected to him. Once done with your full back he slips a sudsy hand over your breast and around your throat. “Don’t cover these again.”

Your complacent nod is immediate. He kneads your body and fucks you until every inch is covered with the art he’s now decorated in his colors. 

when out of the shower he demands you put back on the wedding dress, so he can “fuck you right,” he explained. 

He helps you tie up the most important buttons along the back before walking you to the mirror. He stands behind you, none of his clothes surviving the shower. He snakes an arm around your waist hugging you tightly to him. “I will worship you till the day I die, little temple.”

. 

Hey if you like content like this, here is my  Master List Cheers!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #mha x y/n #mha smut #mha fluff

[tired-reader-writer]

The eastern sky turns a pale rose as dawn breaks over the horizon— quite the lovely shade if he says so himself.

Kazai has been awake for a while, ways before the world turned from black to indigo to pink with the rising sun and receding night. He's an early riser, always has been— even with the activities that he and Shapur were up to through the night, his body would not allow him sleep beyond dawn.

Well, it's not like he minds, anyhow.

Soft golden light streams through the high windows, all the while his beloved lays asleep and Kazai watches in gentle silence. He looks innocent, Kazai notes somewhat absently. Gone are any traces of harshness or strain on his face, as if they never were. Like he was some physical manifestation of peace, tranquility given mortal body.

If only he could extend the dawn, halt the time, for day to never come and for this contentedness to never flee Shapur's face, he would.

Oh, he would.

His beloved glows in the gentle light, and Kazai's heart leaps in this breathless sort of wonder— one that feels like it might break if he moved a single muscle... And he wonders if Shapur would look this lovely on the morn of their wedding, clothed in green and bathed in dawnlight as they both kneel before a great old tree to speak their vows.

He would look even better, he decides. The snow will have melted away, making way for them to be surrounded by the bright young blooms of early spring. Sweetness would fill the air, not only from the flowers but from their hearts as well. They'd be smiling, and oh wouldn't that be a sight to behold?

Kazai has dreamt and fantasized about getting married one day, even though in his dreams his husband-to-be was ever faceless...

But it changed one day— after they saw each other again, after... after everything, after the first time they ever slept together, after they became lovers.

And then Shapur himself proposed that they wed.

He swears he felt like he could've soared into the endless sky then.

Logically, his body ought to be too heavy to fly, he knows, but it feels too light to stay aground regardless— to have it be concrete, be tangible. To know that it's only an autumn and a winter away. To know that it will be real, though to the rest of the world he is merely Shapur's paramour. His steward and subordinate.

It doesn't matter, never will. Their children know. The Marda know. The woods and the spirits know.

And that?

That's more than enough.

Their love is strong. It will prevail.

He leans forward to press his lips on Shapur's temple, and the love of his life stirs beneath him with a soft noise.

Laughter blooms in his chest like unfurling petals, warms him from within. This is what bliss is, he thinks. And he'd like it to never end.

He still remembers the first time he stayed until Shapur woke, the restless stir of anxiety in his gut, his heart a fluttering frantic bird trapped in his ribcage.

He remembers the surprise that came from his lover, so much surprise that it knocked the sleep right out of his head in an instant.

He also remembers the first time he himself had fallen asleep in Shapur's bed in the first place, he teased Shapur for his shocked face but it wasn't like his own was any better when he woke up that morning.

It feels like something from forever ago.

Shapur has fallen back into tranquility, his breaths even and soft again. Good. It's not like Kazai wants him up at the ass-crack of dawn— he knows he can be... unusual, in this regard. Besides which, Shapur stayed up late last night. They both did. He'd much rather Shapur get some good sleep.

Kazai plants another kiss on Shapur's face before placing his ribbon and bells down on the pillow where his head previously rested. A little token, a small tradition of theirs. It too started out as an accident, but well...

Doesn't matter.

He knows Shapur will come find him later.

He always does.

---

Special thanks to @marchdancer for giving me the motivation to finally finish this.

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #heroic legend of arslan #winds of wolfsong #wolfpack au #shapur #kazai (oc) #rotten egg's shitty writing #gods how long has this been sitting in my drafts?

[shinranweek]

SHINRAN WEEK 2022 PROMPTS

Thank you so much for all your votes and suggestions in the survey! After taking them into account, we are happy to share the prompts for ShinRan Week 2022!

Day 1: First Times & No Childhood Friends AU Day 2: Conan Revelation & Role Reversal AU Day 3: And There Was Only One (...) & Flying to Los Angeles (E162) Day 4: Hurt/Comfort & Fake Relationship AU Day 5: Family & Honeymoon Day 6: Sick/Injured & Black Organization Takedown Day 7: Soulmate AU & Creator's Choice

Prompt descriptions are below!

Day 1

First Times Let's think about first times! What was it like the first time when… they met? Their first confession, their first kiss, or first date? The first time they bought something important jointly, the first time they moved in together, their first big fight, their first “not today”? Tell us about the first time they did something!

No Childhood Friends AU Forget about Shinichi and Ran meeting in kindergarten. If they met later, as teenagers or adults, they would carry a past full of experiences that do not include each other. How has life been for them up to this point? And how do they meet? Is it due to their jobs, are they neighbors, or do they happen to be at the same place at the same time? Anyhow, there is attraction, interest. No way they can just let it go. How will they manage whatever it is they are feeling?

Day 2

Conan Revelation It’s time to face the truth. How would it come out? Accidentally? Would it be Ran who finally brings it up or would Shinichi tell her? How would he do it? And what about Ran's reaction?

Role Reversal AU What if instead of Shinichi, Ran was the one who got shrunk into a seven-year-old? Or what if Ran had been the detective geek and Shinichi the one who didn't care about mysteries that much?

Day 3

And There Was Only One (…) Shinichi and Ran face a situation where they need to share something they are not used to, like… There is only one room left in the hotel. Maybe only one bed or only one blanket to warm themselves. Maybe there's only one free chair left at some party, or a drink from the only available glass or can... How would they react and what would they do?

Flying to Los Angeles (E162)

You remember this scenario, right? Such closeness. What happened before Ran fell asleep? What was she dreaming while leaning on Shinichi? Or maybe she was faking? Oh, and what was going through Shinichi's mind at that moment… I wonder…

Day 4

Hurt/Comfort The world is full of concerns. Conditions with lifelong effects, painful memories, hurtful losses… broken dreams, doubts about the future or about ourselves, feeling not being enough or being unable to meet others’ expectations or our own goals. Luckily, they have each other! How would they find out about each other’s fears or would they be open about them? How would they try to cheer each other up, get the other back to their feet and support them?

Fake Relationship AU Does Ran has some stubborn admirer who would like to go on a date with her, but she isn’t interested? Does Shinichi have a case where he needs Ran to pretend to be his fiancée? Or maybe they need to fake another kind of relationship, something that doesn't have anything to do with romantic feelings? Or maybe they don't get along at all or even know each other before the fake situation!

Day 5

Family Shinichi and Ran visiting Shinichi’s parents in America? Shinichi helping Ran with drunken Kogoro? Both of them in a cafe with Eri? Maybe both the Mouri and Kudo families are together on vacation? Perhaps there is some relative that isn’t mentioned in canon and they meet ShinRan for the first time? Ooooor maybe Shinichi and Ran having their own offspring?

Honeymoon We had the wedding; now it’s time for the honeymoon! A time to forget about the real world and relish the company of your beloved, to focus on how deeply in love you are, and experience awesome things with them. Where do Shinichi and Ran go to spend their first days as a married couple? Do they stay in Japan or travel overseas? Is it a relaxing trip, or a thrilling journey? What is the most special thing they do?

Day 6

Sick/Injured Homebound because of a bad cold, or in need of somebody’s help to do anything because of an injury… What happened? Who is convalescent and who is playing the nurse role to take care of the other? Are they good at it, or… do they make it worse?! Are there some habits they would do when another one is sick/injured or does this scenario new for them?

Black Organization Takedown Time to take down the ones who are responsible for why Shinichi is Conan. And of course, our heroine would be part of it. But how? How would she assist the love of her life? Would Shinichi know about it or would it be a surprise? Would Ran team up with him from the beginning or would she show up when he needs her the most? Or what would happen when everything is over?

Day 7

Soulmates AU There are many stories about finding a soulmate: sharing a telepathic link with each other, hearing the same song in their heads, meeting in dreams, or feeling when the other one is feeling strong or is in danger. Some have matching marks like tattoos and names, and some share their injuries. Some can only taste, smell or see colors after meeting their soulmate. Some get a timer that tells when they are meeting their soulmate, some know their soulmate’s secrets and some can’t lie to their soulmate, and… some don’t have a soulmate at all, or the other one's soulmate can be someone else. What about Shinichi and Ran?

Creator’s Choice Is there something you wanted to create, but it didn’t fit any of those prompts? Was there last year’s prompt that you would like to use or maybe a WIP that you want to finish? Here is your chance ;)

Remember that these are just examples meant to give you ideas and inspiration!

#Fandom Events #Detective Conan #Detective Conan Events #ShinRan #Kudou Shinichi #Mouri Ran #Shinichi x Ran #ShinRanWeek2022 #Prompts List #Announcement

[authoralexharvey]

Writeblr Introduction

The Cat

I am a two-time published speculative fiction writer and mountain of incomprehensible goo living in the PNW. When I'm not being paid to talk about your car's extended warranty (sell insurance), I am researching whatever interests me, reading from my arsenal of books, or playing video games. You can reach me by howling into the woods when you're alone at night. Some fun facts about me:

I was nearly devoured by red ants when I was 2

I'm a devout Hellenic Polytheist. You can read more on that at @cosmina-miki

I'm nonbinary (they/them pronouns) and bisexual, and just about every single character I write is queer in some way.

I've been writing since I was six years old. The first thing I ever wrote was World of Warcraft fanfiction of my parents' characters. Yes, really.

I come from a family of gamers. This includes the guy who helped make me, who has credits in GURPS sourcebooks.

I recently quit my four-year job at [insert International Hardware Store Company here] and a bitch has been thriving ever since.

I'm engaged to be married in 13 months. Our wedding is Pokémon Mystery Dungeon-themed.

The day WTTV got published, I got to read it at a local pride festival talent show. Said talent show was run by (and featured a performance from) Eric Millegan, who played Dr. Zack Addy in Bones.

The Comma

I have a lot of projects in a wide variety of genres. The below list is not complete, just the most important works in my collection:

The Temple on Cicaro Hill (#ttoch, #muirenn) - Dark fantasy short story about a living goddexx, Muirenn, who grows up in and eventually escapes from Their cult. Published in Myths, Legends, and Dreams, A Worldsmyths Anthology.

Within These Twisted Vines (#maenads) - Urban fantasy short story about Macy Floros, a Dionysian devotee who will do anything to get Isabella, her missing best friend, back. Published in Darkness and Moonlight, a Worldsmyths Anthology. Also available by itself.

A Sharper, More Lasting Pain (#asmlp) - Sapphic fantasy dark academia novel about a living, corrupting magic system, two lovers at a magical college, and the destruction their college has covered up.

Those Who Emerge from Ashes (#twefa) - Dark fantasy novel about a goddess, a priest in a cult, and a runaway who find their lives deeply entangled with the help of an 800-year old living corpse.

A complete list of my works and where to find them is here

I also have a website

I swear I've done one of these before, but I can't find it and I'm sure it needed updating, anyhow.

#writeblr #writing community #alex has the floor #asmlp #twefa #maenads #ttoch #muirenn

[thegirlwhowrites642]

I think it's cute both Harry and Ginny birthdays are almost in the same time and both share the same zodiac. What's your thoughts on this? I don't i you believe in zodiac stuff but I think it's a cute thing Harry and Ginny shared.

Seeing that today is Ginny's birthday, I'll answer this ask because it seemed pretty in theme.

My relationship with this kind of things is a bit weird because I don't believe in any of it but I come from a long quite direct line of women who believe in the zodiac, can read palms, the cards, are superstitious, have apparently premonitory dreams... It's a long story. The summary is that I've learned a decent amount of stuff by proximity.

Anyhow, it's quite fitting for Harry and Ginny to have the same zodiac sign seeing that it is supposedly an indicator of personality.

I think that some personalities need to be matched and others need to be balanced. Harry and Ginny possess already a fair amount of balance within themselves and therefore need to be matched. Even if when necessary they balance each other out.

It's also very fitting that they are both leos, so the sign of the lion.

Leos, in reference to the animal, are supposedly people with great charisma who naturally find themselves at the centre of attention and it suits them. They don't need to try to be leaders, they just naturally are. Reminds you of two characters we know?

Leos are also extremely loyal, it's basically impossible for them to cheat. They are very confident and don't let stupid inconveniences disturb them. As the lion, they resemble the figure of the royal, the king (or queen). So they enjoy the beautiful things of life, strive always for light and repudiate darkness. You can see how Harry and Ginny fit very easily in this narrative.

The leo is extremely passionate in general, it's a fire sign after all, but especially in love and it is driven by the heart (legend says that this may also make them more prone to cardiac problems).

Again, if there are two people in the HP books who are driven by passion and the heart, they are definitely Harry and Ginny.

Always in link with the lion and its mane, it's said to be rarer for those who are born under this sign to be bald and they usually have great hair. The beauty of Ginny's long flaming red hair is something that accompanies us through the entire saga and from the scene at the lake between James and Lily we can deduce that the typical Potter's hair is quite attractive too.

The leo is a zodiac sign greatly influenced by the sun, and in the story, we have many references to the sun and light in association with Ginny alone but also her relationship with Harry. The sun is for sure something Harry craves.

It's a fixed zodiac sign (Idk if this is the correct term in English, I'm translating from Italian) which means that it's at the centre of a season, summer in this case. Summer is very important in Harry and Ginny's relationship, many relevant transitions in their relationship happen in summer, including when they become close friends and Harry's feelings for Ginny reach a point of no turning back.

The colour of the leo is golden, just like Ginny's dress at Bill and Fleur's wedding when Harry was pining like a poet from thirteen-century Tuscany. In general, the colour gold is a reference to light and warmth, dominant themes in their relationship.

#hope this was a fun reading #ginny weasley #harry potter #hinny #harry x ginny #thegirlwhowrites642HPmeta

[daintyduck99]

More soft prompts! I will love you forever (like I won't anyways, but still...) if you wrote 14 for Rulie, pretty please!

Julie twirls through the night with her hands in those of everyone she's ever loved, enjoying the breeze on her skin, the way it lifts her curls and ruffles her dress, echoes of her mother's love, her laughter.

Everyone is here tonight, in the old and the new and the borrowed and the blue, in the intimate little garden they've chosen as their venue, blooming with hope and celestial flowers and benevolent ghosts.

Her feet protest after a while, but only slightly since she'd heeded Flynn's advice, swapping out her heels for comfy shoes. They're the sneakers everyone had joked that she'd probably be wed in, anyhow, and they're much better for dancing.

She's going to dance until her feet fall off.

As Luke breaks out the acoustic for "In Your Starlight," Carlos kisses Julie's forehead in a rare display of sweet, unbridled affection. It has tears brimming in her eyes before she's even whisked back into the arms of her husband, who smiles at her tenderly before she lays her head on his shoulder. If she looks at him any longer at the moment, she'll overflow.

The lyrics wash over them as they sway, and shooting stars streak silver overhead.

Could I step into your starlight

Let'a blaze a new trail, you and I

Tell me, love, would that be alright

Let's make our own sky, you and I

Julie really has to hand it to their friends. All of this ridiculously pinpoint coordination is thanks to their devotion to the theme.

Reggie must be thinking along the same lines. He laughs quietly into her hair.

"We really got our dreams, huh? It almost doesn't feel real."

Julie hums, lifting her head. Another breeze makes her shiver, and he shifts to hold her closer, lips parting to ask her if she wants his jacket, probably. She lets out a little laugh of her own.

"I still wonder if you're real all the time."

His eyes go all soft, shimmering in the dim light.

"I'm real, sweetheart. Crazy as it is, all of this is real. None of us could've made it to where we are without you, Julie. You're—"

"A star?" she asks through a giggle, kissing his sheepish smile off of his face. "It's okay. What I said was way cheesier."

"My vows were the cheesiest," he returns, lifting his chin like it's a point of pride, and she supposes that it is, given that there wasn't a dry eye anywhere in the vicinity.

She kisses him again in lieu of responding as the music swells, and she nearly sobs as the song transitions into "Bright," but instead she just kisses him more soundly.

She lets her eyes flutter open as they end the last lingering kiss, and he rests his forehead against hers, smiling softly.

"Like I said," he murmurs, eyes shining like the stars, "I'm eternally yours, sweetheart."

Shine together, bright forever

"Y yo a ti, tesoro," she replies, and it's the easiest promise she's ever made.

#rulie #reggie x julie #this might be the cheesiest one yet y'all #soft romance prompts #ficlets with ash #julie and the phantoms

[reginarubie]

Hello! I'm obsessed with your jonsa works and just saw the ask, asking about whether or not you think jonsa is canon. I thought so too but Jon died for Arya saying I want me bride back 3 times and his last thoughts were stick them with the pointy end. And GRRM said that asides from the details the ending has always been the same, like the original script that was leaked. What do you think of that? I'm still on the fence about believe they're canon, either way I love them 💙💙

Ciao anon!,

First of all thank you, I am happy you enjoy my Jonsa works, sadly I haven't been able to update them as regularly as I'd like but alas real life can be a pain in the side sometimes.

Also, post being reference to x.

While thinking the original outline could bear some importance in the endgame plot might be worrying, I think we forget, though, that while the underlying of the original outline might be the same ‘Stark girl + Tyrion + Jon love triangle’ which should have featured Arya as the Stark girl in truth it has featured as the Stark girl Sansa. So when Martin says that the original outline might still serve to hint toward the end I think he means the trope of ‘brother and sister turned cousin triangle with Tyrion’ and who is the Stark girl Martin married to Tyrion in the books? Sansa.

Also, he dies for Arya that's true. He dies to go save her from Ramsay with the resounding ‘I want my bride back’ and his last thought is of Arya; and I think Martin is very much playing on the whole siblinghood vs courteous love trope here, with this passage:

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest.  — Jon XIII, ADWD

He puts Ygritte, his supposed love interested between his two sisters, so I think that to see which one is the one who will end up being his possible romantical partner (as I've stated in the why I ship Jonsa post) we have to analyse how he fell in love with Ygritte:

Ygritte was safe territory, she reminded Jon of Arya because she was wild and unruly and her hair were always a mess — sibling stuff — but the romantic stuff comes in when Ygritte sits near the fire, which bathes her pretty red hair in warm light as she sings which is something associated basically only with Sansa of the big female characters. Even with Val, he is attracted to her mostly when her hair look like honey (darker than blond and yet not brown) and because of her diplomatic and lady-like sensibilities, he is attracted to the fact that Val would turn heads in whichever court (something that speaks of Sansa so loud I'm going to cry in a corner); and he finds compelling and lovely to a point Satin capability of reading a room and know his social standing during the wedding feast, also his sweetness and the way he is gentle and kind, all characterisations he shares with Sansa (of whose Tyrion of all people speak about in these very terms during the feast for Joffrey's wedding — like we see the parallel here, don't we?), Jon himself knows he always wanted the lady-love who'd be some great lady of a great keep and gave him children, which coincidentally happens to be Sansa's dream and part of what her arc is about.

Also, another pointer at his, might be held in this book reference (I still have to analyse it in depth and it has been sitting in my ask-box for days but I digress):

Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers." "What's wrong with flowers?" "Nothing, for a bee. For bed I want one o' these." Ygritte made to grab the front of his breeches. — Jon V, ASOS

This is reminiscent to me of the scene on the show, of which I don't think there is a counterpart in the books (save for this one) in which Jon tells Ygritte he'd like to see her in a silk dress, and she has been mocking his romantic ways, so Jon backtracks and tries to play it off as something sultry (but all us book readers know how romantic Jon is at heart):

It's because this is what reminds Jon of Arya, the unwillingness of being lady-like, being wild and messy, but what Jon dreams about is a lady in a great keep, wearing silk he could tear off her body after he has admired her in it (‘I like the wolf bit’ — Jon Snow, s6 👀, like I see you Jonny boy, I see ya); also Jon connects his talking to girls to Sansa's and her teachings (‘Gilly he called me for the gillyflower’ ‘that's pretty’).

So I think that when Martin speaks of the original outline, he actually speaks of the idea of the triangle between Jon/Stark girl who reaches him North+ Tyrion and we know in the canon he published that girl is Sansa, and not the specificity of it with Arya inside.

Also as I've already said in the post you mentioned, I want to believe and hope that Martin will give us more than little crumbs and inner dialogue, but I very much think as plausible that Jonsa will play a very important part in the story while remaining something only innerly acknowledged by both of them leaving the open ending and thus the potentiality of it without exploring it further.

Also all the foreshadowing he has with Sansa is soft and subtle while that he has with Arya is way too blunt, it's like Martin wants to use it to deceive and hide the true endgame. But that might be only wishful thinking on my part, tho it does feel that way!

Either way I'll be shipping them even if they don't end up together in canon!, so there's two of us, loving 'em even if they don't end up being canonically together!

Again thank you for your ask, and I hope you keep on enjoying my works!, several chapters will be updated soon, so stay tuned! Sending all my love ❤️ ~G.

#anon asks #ask the hag #jonsa ask