#series: gilded leaves

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Interiors

As a followup to the very popular post on architecture, I decided to add onto it by exploring the interior of each movement and the different design techniques and tastes of each era. This post at be helpful for historical fiction, fantasy or just a long read when you're bored.

Interior Design Terms

Reeding and fluting: Fluting is a technique that consists a continuous pattern of concave grooves in a flat surface across a surface. Reeding is it's opposite.

Embossing: stamping, carving or moulding a symbol to make it stand out on a surface.

Paneling: Panels of carved wood or fabric a fixed to a wall in a continuous pattern.

Gilding: the use of gold to highlight features.

Glazed Tile: Ceramic or porcelain tiles coated with liquid coloured glass or enamel.

Column: A column is a pillar of stone or wood built to support a ceiling. We will see more of columns later on.

Bay Window: The Bay Window is a window projecting outward from a building.

Frescos: A design element of painting images upon wet plaster.

Mosaic: Mosaics are a design element that involves using pieces of coloured glass and fitted them together upon the floor or wall to form images.

Mouldings: ornate strips of carved wood along the top of a wall.

Wainscoting: paneling along the lower portion of a wall.

Chinoiserie: A European take on East Asian art. Usually seen in wallpaper.

Clerestory: A series of eye-level windows.

Sconces: A light fixture supported on a wall.

Niche: A sunken area within a wall.

Monochromatic: Focusing on a single colour within a scheme.

Ceiling rose: A moulding fashioned on the ceiling in the shape of a rose usually supporting a light fixture.

Baluster: the vertical bars of a railing.

Façade: front portion of a building

Lintel: Top of a door or window.

Portico: a covered structure over a door supported by columns

Eaves: the part of the roof overhanging from the building

Skirting: border around lower length of a wall

Ancient Greece

Houses were made of either sun-dried clay bricks or stone which were painted when they dried. Ground floors were decorated with coloured stones and tiles called Mosaics. Upper level floors were made from wood. Homes were furnished with tapestries and furniture, and in grand homes statues and grand altars would be found. Furniture was very skillfully crafted in Ancient Greece, much attention was paid to the carving and decoration of such things. Of course, Ancient Greece is ancient so I won't be going through all the movements but I will talk a little about columns.

Doric: Doric is the oldest of the orders and some argue it is the simplest. The columns of this style are set close together, without bases and carved with concave curves called flutes. The capitals (the top of the column) are plain often built with a curve at the base called an echinus and are topped by a square at the apex called an abacus. The entablature is marked by frieze of vertical channels/triglyphs. In between the channels would be detail of carved marble. The Parthenon in Athens is your best example of Doric architecture.

Ionic: The Ionic style was used for smaller buildings and the interiors. The columns had twin volutes, scroll-like designs on its capital. Between these scrolls, there was a carved curve known as an egg and in this style the entablature is much narrower and the frieze is thick with carvings. The example of Ionic Architecture is the Temple to Athena Nike at the Athens Acropolis.

Corinthian: The Corinthian style has some similarities with the Ionic order, the bases, entablature and columns almost the same but the capital is more ornate its base, column, and entablature, but its capital is far more ornate, commonly carved with depictions of acanthus leaves. The style was more slender than the others on this list, used less for bearing weight but more for decoration. Corinthian style can be found along the top levels of the Colosseum in Rome.

Tuscan: The Tuscan order shares much with the Doric order, but the columns are un-fluted and smooth. The entablature is far simpler, formed without triglyphs or guttae. The columns are capped with round capitals.

Composite: This style is mixed. It features the volutes of the Ionic order and the capitals of the Corinthian order. The volutes are larger in these columns and often more ornate. The column's capital is rather plain. for the capital, with no consistent differences to that above or below the capital.

Ancient Rome

Rome is well known for its outward architectural styles. However the Romans did know how to add that rizz to the interior. Ceilings were either vaulted or made from exploded beams that could be painted. The Romans were big into design. Moasics were a common interior sight, the use of little pieces of coloured glass or stone to create a larger image. Frescoes were used to add colour to the home, depicting mythical figures and beasts and also different textures such as stonework or brick. The Romans loved their furniture. Dining tables were low and the Romans ate on couches. Weaving was a popular pastime so there would be tapestries and wall hangings in the house. Rich households could even afford to import fine rugs from across the Empire. Glass was also a feature in Roman interior but windows were usually not paned as large panes were hard to make. Doors were usually treated with panels that were carved or in lain with bronze.

Ancient Egypt

Egypt was one of the first great civilisations, known for its immense and grand structures. Wealthy Egyptians had grand homes. The walls were painted or plastered usually with bright colours and hues. The Egyptians are cool because they mapped out their buildings in such a way to adhere to astrological movements meaning on special days if the calendar the temple or monuments were in the right place always. The columns of Egyptian where thicker, more bulbous and often had capitals shaped like bundles of papyrus reeds. Woven mats and tapestries were popular decor. Motifs from the river such as palms, papyrus and reeds were popular symbols used.

Ancient Africa

African Architecture is a very mixed bag and more structurally different and impressive than Hollywood would have you believe. Far beyond the common depictions of primitive buildings, the African nations were among the giants of their time in architecture, no style quite the same as the last but just as breathtaking.

Rwandan Architecture: The Rwandans commonly built of hardened clay with thatched roofs of dried grass or reeds. Mats of woven reeds carpeted the floors of royal abodes. These residences folded about a large public area known as a karubanda and were often so large that they became almost like a maze, connecting different chambers/huts of all kinds of uses be they residential or for other purposes.

Ashanti Architecture: The Ashanti style can be found in present day Ghana. The style incorporates walls of plaster formed of mud and designed with bright paint and buildings with a courtyard at the heart, not unlike another examples on this post. The Ashanti also formed their buildings of the favourite method of wattle and daub.

Nubian Architecture: Nubia, in modern day Ethiopia, was home to the Nubians who were one of the world's most impressive architects at the beginning of the architecture world and probably would be more talked about if it weren't for the Egyptians building monuments only up the road. The Nubians were famous for building the speos, tall tower-like spires carved of stone. The Nubians used a variety of materials and skills to build, for example wattle and daub and mudbrick. The Kingdom of Kush, the people who took over the Nubian Empire was a fan of Egyptian works even if they didn't like them very much. The Kushites began building pyramid-like structures such at the sight of Gebel Barkal

Japanese Interiors

Japenese interior design rests upon 7 principles. Kanso (簡素)- Simplicity, Fukinsei (不均整)- Asymmetry, Shizen (自然)- Natural, Shibumi (渋味) – Simple beauty, Yugen (幽玄)- subtle grace, Datsuzoku (脱俗) – freedom from habitual behaviour, Seijaku (静寂)- tranquillity.

Common features of Japanese Interior Design:

Shoji walls: these are the screens you think of when you think of the traditional Japanese homes. They are made of wooden frames, rice paper and used to partition

Tatami: Tatami mats are used within Japanese households to blanket the floors. They were made of rice straw and rush straw, laid down to cushion the floor.

Genkan: The Genkan was a sunken space between the front door and the rest of the house. This area is meant to separate the home from the outside and is where shoes are discarded before entering.

Japanese furniture: often lowest, close to the ground. These include tables and chairs but often tanked are replaced by zabuton, large cushions. Furniture is usually carved of wood in a minimalist design.

Nature: As both the Shinto and Buddhist beliefs are great influences upon architecture, there is a strong presence of nature with the architecture. Wood is used for this reason and natural light is prevalent with in the home. The orientation is meant to reflect the best view of the world.

Islamic World Interior

The Islamic world has one of the most beautiful and impressive interior design styles across the world. Colour and detail are absolute staples in the movement. Windows are usually not paned with glass but covered in ornate lattices known as jali. The jali give ventilation, light and privacy to the home. Islamic Interiors are ornate and colourful, using coloured ceramic tiles. The upper parts of walls and ceilings are usually flat decorated with arabesques (foliate ornamentation), while the lower wall areas were usually tiled. Features such as honeycombed ceilings, horseshoe arches, stalactite-fringed arches and stalactite vaults (Muqarnas) are prevalent among many famous Islamic buildings such as the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque.

Byzantine (330/395–1453 A. D)

The Byzantine Empire or Eastern Roman Empire was where eat met west, leading to a melting pot of different interior designs based on early Christian styles and Persian influences. Mosaics are probably what you think of when you think of the Byzantine Empire. Ivory was also a popular feature in the Interiors, with carved ivory or the use of it in inlay. The use of gold as a decorative feature usually by way of repoussé (decorating metals by hammering in the design from the backside of the metal). Fabrics from Persia, heavily embroidered and intricately woven along with silks from afar a field as China, would also be used to upholster furniture or be used as wall hangings. The Byzantines favoured natural light, usually from the use of copolas.

Indian Interiors

India is of course, the font of all intricate designs. India's history is sectioned into many eras but we will focus on a few to give you an idea of prevalent techniques and tastes.

The Gupta Empire (320 – 650 CE): The Gupta era was a time of stone carving. As impressive as the outside of these buildings are, the Interiors are just as amazing. Gupta era buildings featured many details such as ogee (circular or horseshoe arch), gavaksha/chandrashala (the motif centred these arches), ashlar masonry (built of squared stone blocks) with ceilings of plain, flat slabs of stone.

Delhi Sultanate (1206–1526): Another period of beautifully carved stone. The Delhi sultanate had influence from the Islamic world, with heavy uses of mosaics, brackets, intricate mouldings, columns and and hypostyle halls.

Mughal Empire (1526–1857): Stonework was also important on the Mughal Empire. Intricately carved stonework was seen in the pillars, low relief panels depicting nature images and jalis (marble screens). Stonework was also decorated in a stye known as pietra dura/parchin kari with inscriptions and geometric designs using colored stones to create images. Tilework was also popular during this period. Moasic tiles were cut and fitted together to create larger patters while cuerda seca tiles were coloured tiles outlined with black.

Chinese Interiors

Common features of Chinese Interiors

Use of Colours: Colour in Chinese Interior is usually vibrant and bold. Red and Black are are traditional colours, meant to bring luck, happiness, power, knowledge and stability to the household.

Latticework: Lattices are a staple in Chinese interiors most often seen on shutters, screens, doors of cabinets snf even traditional beds.

Lacquer: Multiple coats of lacquer are applied to furniture or cabinets (now walls) and then carved. The skill is called Diaoqi (雕漆).

Decorative Screens: Screens are used to partition off part of a room. They are usually of carved wood, pained with very intricate murals.

Shrines: Spaces were reserved on the home to honour ancestors, usually consisting of an altar where offerings could be made.

Of course, Chinese Interiors are not all the same through the different eras. While some details and techniques were interchangeable through different dynasties, usually a dynasty had a notable style or deviation. These aren't all the dynasties of course but a few interesting examples.

Song Dynasty (960–1279): The Song Dynasty is known for its stonework. Sculpture was an important part of Song Dynasty interior. It was in this period than brick and stone work became the most used material. The Song Dynasty was also known for its very intricate attention to detail, paintings, and used tiles.

Ming Dynasty(1368–1644): Ceilings were adorned with cloisons usually featuring yellow reed work. The floors would be of flagstones usually of deep tones, mostly black. The Ming Dynasty favoured richly coloured silk hangings, tapestries and furnishings. Furniture was usually carved of darker woods, arrayed in a certain way to bring peace to the dwelling.

Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD): Interior walls were plastered and painted to show important figures and scenes. Lacquer, though it was discovered earlier, came into greater prominence with better skill in this era.

Tang Dynasty (618–907) : The colour palette is restrained, reserved. But the Tang dynasty is not without it's beauty. Earthenware reached it's peak in this era, many homes would display fine examples as well. The Tang dynasty is famous for its upturned eaves, the ceilings supported by timber columns mounted with metal or stone bases. Glazed tiles were popular in this era, either a fixed to the roof or decorating a screen wall.

Romanesque (6th -11th century/12th)

Romanesque Architecture is a span between the end of Roman Empire to the Gothic style. Taking inspiration from the Roman and Byzantine Empires, the Romanesque period incorporates many of the styles. The most common details are carved floral and foliage symbols with the stonework of the Romanesque buildings. Cable mouldings or twisted rope-like carvings would have framed doorways. As per the name, Romansque Interiors relied heavily on its love and admiration for Rome. The Romanesque style uses geometric shapes as statements using curves, circles snf arches. The colours would be clean and warm, focusing on minimal ornamentation.

Gothic Architecture (12th Century - 16th Century)

The Gothic style is what you think of when you think of old European cathedrals and probably one of the beautiful of the styles on this list and one of most recognisable. The Gothic style is a dramatic, opposing sight and one of the easiest to describe. Decoration in this era became more ornate, stonework began to sport carving and modelling in a way it did not before. The ceilings moved away from barreled vaults to quadripartite and sexpartite vaulting. Columns slimmed as other supportive structures were invented. Intricate stained glass windows began their popularity here. In Gothic structures, everything is very symmetrical and even.

Mediaeval (500 AD to 1500)

Interiors of mediaeval homes are not quite as drab as Hollywood likes to make out. Building materials may be hidden by plaster in rich homes, sometimes even painted. Floors were either dirt strewn with rushes or flagstones in larger homes. Stonework was popular, especially around fireplaces. Grand homes would be decorated with intricate woodwork, carved heraldic beasts and wall hangings of fine fabrics.

Renaissance (late 1300s-1600s)

The Renaissance was a period of great artistry and splendor. The revival of old styles injected symmetry and colour into the homes. Frescoes were back. Painted mouldings adorned the ceilings and walls. Furniture became more ornate, fixed with luxurious upholstery and fine carvings. Caryatids (pillars in the shape of women), grotesques, Roman and Greek images were used to spruce up the place. Floors began to become more intricate, with coloured stone and marble. Modelled stucco, sgraffiti arabesques (made by cutting lines through a layer of plaster or stucco to reveal an underlayer), and fine wall painting were used in brilliant combinations in the early part of the 16th century.

Tudor Interior (1485-1603)

The Tudor period is a starkly unique style within England and very recognisable. Windows were fixed with lattice work, usually casement. Stained glass was also in in this period, usually depicting figures and heraldic beasts. Rooms would be panelled with wood or plastered. Walls would be adorned with tapestries or embroidered hangings. Windows and furniture would be furnished with fine fabrics such as brocade. Floors would typically be of wood, sometimes strewn with rush matting mixed with fresh herbs and flowers to freshen the room.

Baroque (1600 to 1750)

The Baroque period was a time for splendor and for splashing the cash. The interior of a baroque room was usually intricate, usually of a light palette, featuring a very high ceiling heavy with detail. Furniture would choke the room, ornately carved and stitched with very high quality fabrics. The rooms would be full of art not limited to just paintings but also sculptures of marble or bronze, large intricate mirrors, moldings along the walls which may be heavily gilded, chandeliers and detailed paneling.

Victorian (1837-1901)

We think of the interiors of Victorian homes as dowdy and dark but that isn't true. The Victorians favoured tapestries, intricate rugs, decorated wallpaper, exquisitely furniture, and surprisingly, bright colour. Dyes were more widely available to people of all stations and the Victorians did not want for colour. Patterns and details were usually nature inspired, usually floral or vines. Walls could also be painted to mimic a building material such as wood or marble and most likely painted in rich tones. The Victorians were suckers for furniture, preferring them grandly carved with fine fabric usually embroidered or buttoned. And they did not believe in minimalism. If you could fit another piece of furniture in a room, it was going in there. Floors were almost eclusively wood laid with the previously mentioned rugs. But the Victorians did enjoy tiled floors but restricted them to entrances. The Victorians were quite in touch with their green thumbs so expect a lot of flowers and greenery inside. with various elaborately decorated patterned rugs. And remember, the Victorians loved to display as much wealth as they could. Every shelf, cabinet, case and ledge would be chocked full of ornaments and antiques.

Edwardian/The Gilded Age/Belle Epoque (1880s-1914)

This period (I've lumped them together for simplicity) began to move away from the deep tones and ornate patterns of the Victorian period. Colour became more neutral. Nature still had a place in design. Stained glass began to become popular, especially on lampshades and light fixtures. Embossing started to gain popularity and tile work began to expand from the entrance halls to other parts of the house. Furniture began to move away from dark wood, some families favouring breathable woods like wicker. The rooms would be less cluttered.

Art Deco (1920s-1930s)

The 1920s was a time of buzz and change. Gone were the refined tastes of the pre-war era and now the wow factor was in. Walls were smoother, buildings were sharper and more jagged, doorways and windows were decorated with reeding and fluting. Pastels were in, as was the heavy use of black and white, along with gold. Mirrors and glass were in, injecting light into rooms. Gold, silver, steel and chrome were used in furnishings and decor. Geometric shapes were a favourite design choice. Again, high quality and bold fabrics were used such as animal skins or colourful velvet. It was all a rejection of the Art Noveau movement, away from nature focusing on the man made.

Modernism (1930 - 1965)

Modernism came after the Art Deco movement. Fuss and feathers were out the door and now, practicality was in. Materials used are shown as they are, wood is not painted, metal is not coated. Bright colours were acceptable but neutral palettes were favoured. Interiors were open and favoured large windows. Furniture was practical, for use rather than the ornamentation, featuring plain details of any and geometric shapes. Away from Art Deco, everything is straight, linear and streamlined.

[vagabond-umlaut]

tryst, too tempest

Icarus fell for loving the Sun.

You will, for loving your lover.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; 1.1k wc; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone' & 'fall of icarus'; warning: sukuna is sukuna, so expect the expected [mentions of violence, murder, cannibalism]; warning 2.0: the reader is not very keen to leave or not love her husband; uraume is the BEST WINGPERSON none of you two ever deserved but still got; FLUFF & ANGST & A MADLY DEVOTED LOVE YOU AND SUKUNA FEEL FOR EACH OTHER

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' – same universe as the work 'six seeds, like rubies...' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Foul winds howl through the land, the first year of your life as one Ryomen Sukuna's wife.

Servants cower before you the moment your shadow falls within their field of vision, yet their gaze stays steeped in pity and envy the entire time it remains trained on your feet. Grocers mumble to one another, eyes looking away when you move to look at the things in their shops. Even the very flora and fauna, you loved so much growing up, writing poems on them from the day you knew how to pen a poem– even the same flora and fauna feels so foreign to you—

"You do realize your importance to Master, don't you?"

Uraume's quiet question floats in through your thoughts, much akin a gentle breeze creating small ripples over the water surface. You smile. "Given how I haven't been eaten by him or sent to be murdered by his subordinate curses, I think I do."

Emotion, too similar to humor, flits across the mien of your husband's loyal follower — you decide not to think much of it. Too many days of having only them as someone to speak to, outside of requesting for a second serving of the soup or asking for the cost of yukata, has led to you imagining a smile on a person who is famous for their poker face. Shaking your head, you return to your poems, the quill fluttering over the roll of parchment you found lying at the breakfast today morning, and let out a content sigh — only for your peace of mind to be broken by the bursting of a guard into the garden, appearing too terrorstruck to utter a single coherent word.

It takes you nothing save one glance, moving from him to Uraume to your ink-stained fingers, before you find yourself keeping the papers on the ground beside and rising, feet breaking into a hasty giddy run down the corridors of the palace to the throne room where, certainly enough–

"I was under the impression you've run away in the extra while I spent sleeping, wife."

The world around you comes to a dead stop as the visage of Sukuna comes into your line of sight; you feel your heart skip two beats then begin a thundering rhythm against your ribcage.

Four years ago, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have given them a second of your time before walking away with a polite excuse.

One year before, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have huffed a quiet laugh. The first two have already come to pass (with too many lives lost and too many lives threatened) — yet the very last prediction? You would have considered it to be highly improbable, if not outright impossible.

Yet, now, if someone were to tell you the same three things, you think you wouldn't have shown much of a reaction. You would have simply turned to that 'someone' mentioned in the prediction, and gazed and gazed and gazed–

"I left the roll of parchment you bought for Mistress at the breakfast table, just as you asked, Master," Uraume's voice cuts your thoughts into half and you twist to catch them offer you both a very deep bow before hurrying out, to the left towards the kitchen, four baskets full of radishes in their arms.

You look back at your husband, only to find him seated stiffly on his throne, eyes landing anywhere but you. Stifling a giggle, you tilt your head to the side.

"Why do you act so embarrassed, my king?" you ask, stepping a timid step towards him, then another. Gleaming ruby eyes dart to your face then to your approaching feet. Something tingles through your veins. Climbing the stairs leading to him, you hum, smiling, "I don't think it's embarrassing – quite the opposite, in fact. To me, giving one's wife a thoughtful gift as that... it seems quite adorable to me."

"Be careful of your words, woman," the King of Curses growls, rising and taking a large menacing step in your direction; your smile grows intentionally too innocent, which does apparently nothing to quell his increasing fury: the precise outcome you've been wishing so fervently for.

He pulls you by the waist, flush to himself and lowers his lips close to yours, tantalizingly so. He smells very strongly of those bath salts you bought from a travelling merchant three moons back; faintly of blood and death, of the priest he diced last night after dinner — you wonder if you're worthy to be called a human, after finding the curse you have sworn yourself to forever, so terribly dear despite these.

Certainly not — but you reckon you're too far gone to care anyways, so you stop wondering such things – and lift yourself on your tiptoes to brush your lips with your husband's, then pull away a touch, words leaving your lips in a breathy whisper.

"What if I'm not careful with my words? What will you do then, hm? Will you devour me like the monster everyone says you are? Or, will you throw me away like everyone warns me you will one day– when you find someone prettier, smarter, better than me, huh?"

Two moments pass in pin-drop silence between the two of you.

Barking a noisy guffaw, Sukuna weaves his fingers through your hair, still damp from the bath you took a short time ago, and plants a deep kiss to your lips. Then parts his lips from yours, although a mere hair's breadth away, and grins, features teeming with that exotic species of malevolence you never saw yourself regarding to be charming.

Until your gaze met with his, one fated evening, that is.

Your nails dig crescents into the broad muscles of his shoulders.

Your lover's grin sharpens. "Let time tell the tale— yes, my queen?"

The next morning, you find a dozen or so heads waiting for you at the breakfast table, severed by a neat slice at the root of their neck– eyes and mouths which once looked down on your wedding with the King, frozen forever now in a scream of terror.

Forsaking the wonted theme of nature, you decide to pen a poem on scathing, soothing love, instead.

or... everyone: your husband is a despicable monster!!! you: uh-huh everyone: he might leave you for someone better!!! you: uh-huh everyone: you better not stay in this union anymore. you: nuh-nuh. i'm so gonna stay and love and fuck my hubby <3

▸ masterlist

[peachtarto]

Now or Never

Pairing : Luke Castellan x reader

Word Count :

Summary : Luke missed his chance to ask you an important question, and is painfully unaware of it.

Warnings: mostly fluff! nothing crazy- Luke is dumb, Clarisse is an overprotective bestie, talk of self-doubt etc.

Masterlist here!

A/N : thinking of making this a little series of moments in your relationship- let me know if that’s something you guys would like!

‘Don’t you think it’s a little much?’ You questioned, eyeing your own reflection with what some might call a generous amount of scrutiny.

Silena gave no indication that she’d heard and continued talking, ‘there’ll be such good food, and wine of course, lots and lot of wine..’

The pins in your hair were already beginning to ache, and you tried not to wince as she added yet another one to the elegant braid she was painstakingly creating.

‘- imagine if we made this much fuss for our birthdays,’ she continued, ‘like, I get that he’s the god of festivity but I’ve got to question why he wants to party with a load of hormonal teenagers. Not that I’m complaining, we could all use a good party.’

Silena was already dressed: a deep purple gown of silk accented with golden cuffs, and little combs fashioned like gilded laurel leaves swept her hair away from her face. She looked beautiful, and there was not a doubt in your mind that she was the daughter of Aphrodite.

She’d picked out your dress which had been a relief, a soft chiffon that seemed to float when you moved. It was simple but elegant, she’d insisted- perfect for a daughter of Athena. She’d also said that the hair should match, but it’d been half an hour since she’d started and it was starting to feel everything but simple.

‘And can you believe we’re allowed to switch tables tonight? I can’t wait! Charles said we’d sit together obviously and I’m sure the Hermes boys will join as and..’

Her smile faltered when she saw the look on your face and she quickly halted her movements, ‘oh, don’t you like it?’

‘No no, it’s beautiful!’ You stammered quickly; she’d curled and brainded your hair back in a thick, loose plait with little gold pins shimmering throughout. Even in cabin 10, her skills were unrivalled. ‘I just- do you think it’s too much?’ You questioned again.

‘Too much?’ She scoffed, and then her full lips parted in a dazzling smile, ‘of course it’s too much, that’s the point! We want every boy in this camp on their knees! Figuratively of course.’

You tried to hide the smile that tugged on your lips, ‘You’ve already got Charles drooling after you non-stop, leave some for the rest of us.’

‘Some?’ She said and grinned rather fiendishly, ‘or do you want me to leave just a certain son of Hermes for you?’

You rolled your eyes and gave her a smooth, and rather horrible gesture as she went back to toying with your hair, giggling to herself.

Silena had been the one to introduce you to Luke two years prior. She’d gracefully swept you into her circle the moment you’d arrived in camp, convinced you would be claimed by her mother too. Had Luke not intervened and taken you to cabin 11 she probably would’ve had you sleeping top to toe in her bunk; she’d reluctantly handed you over, but not before she’d seen the look that had passed between the two of you. Love at first sight she’d insisted, and maybe she’d been mistaken on his end, but she hadn’t on yours.

‘You know, he really does like you. I can tell, and you should believe me because it’s literally my thing.’ She sighed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. She pulled and prodded at a few loose hairs until she seemed satisfied, then dragged you over to the long mirror at the back of the cabin.

You didn’t know how she’d managed it, but for once you didn’t cringe at the reflection you saw and a part of you couldn’t quite believe what stared back. There was no denying she was a master at her craft.

‘You look so beautiful!’ Silena squealed, her hands clasped together in pride. Then, without warning she pulled you into a bone-crushing hug that had the air leaving your lungs. ‘Tonight’s the night, for both of us, I can feel it!’

You hoped she was right as you followed her out of the cabin, towards the glittering lights in the pavilion.

Luke stood with Charles and Chris at the edge of the party, sipping slowly on the glass of wine in his hand. He supposed Mr D had been granted a night of reprieve.

‘Seriously man, chill out,’ he whispered over Beckendorf’s shoulder, ‘she’ll be here. Keep frowning like that and you’ll pop a blood vessel.’

He could sense Charles shifting in his feet nervously and his mouth twitched slightly, he knew the feeling all too well. He’d been on edge all day too. Chris was smirking too, but his was all smugness; he’d asked Clarisse outright to attend the party with him and much to everyone’s surprise, she’d said yes immediately, which was lucky for him because the alternative would almost certainly have been the loss of a limb.

‘How can it possibly take this long to get ready?’ Charles said, turning to face Luke. It was odd to see the son of Hephaestus so flustered when he was normally immune to the whims of teenage hormones; apparently he was not at all immune to the power Silena Beauregard seemed to hold over him. ‘Maybe she’s not coming man, we should just go before- oh..’ he trailed off. His eyes went starry and Luke whipped his head around to see what had entranced his friend.

There was Silena in her finery, tossing her hair over a shoulder as she swept into the pavilion. She threw a dangerously beautiful grin at Charles who was beginning to look a little like he might faint.

‘Hi Charles,’ she offered as she sauntered over. Anyone else might’ve missed the shake in her voice, but Luke caught the slightly nervous wobble of her tone and smiled. Good for Beckendorf.

‘You look great Silena,’ he managed to cough out. He quickly eyed Luke who gave an tiny nod of approval as if to say ‘keep going buddy!’

‘I know,’ she sighed dreamily, giving a little twirl of her dress before looping her arm through Charles’ who was now definitely holding his breath. Silena giggled and patted his chest sweetly before throwing a mischievous glare at Luke, ‘Just wait till you see her, I think you’ll get a little breathless too Castellan. Now come on Charlie, let’s get a drink.’

Luke watched her lead his friend away to where Chris stood with an arm slung around Clarisse’s waist; she’d opted for a gown of stormy grey adorned with tiny silver chains, as close to armour as she could get he guessed. She looked slightly terrifying, until Chris whispered something in her ear that had a blushing like crazy and stepping even closer into his side.

‘They make a great couple, don’t you think?’

Luke spun around quickly at the sound of your voice and cursed silently, Silena had been right. All the air left his lungs in a great breath and he was instantly lightheaded at the sight of you.

Devastating was the only word that came to his mind. Truly devastating. You could’ve walked into Olympus then and there and they probably would’ve pronounced you a goddess in an instant. He was struck dumb, and silent. He wanted to say something about how beautiful you looked, or how he’d been wrapped around your delicate finger the day you’d walked into camp; instead his frantic brain settled on, ‘nice dress, did you borrow it from Silena?’

You flinched. ‘No. We were sent a trunk to pick from from her mother.’

‘Oh.’ Was all he could reply as his gaze raked over you again. ‘That’s awfully nice of her.’

‘Very.’ You said through gritted teeth, trying to stop the scarlet blush you could feel rising to your cheeks. What was his problem? It wasn’t unusual for Luke to be blunt, he always struggled to keep his opinions to himself and it had gotten you both in hot water a hundred times before; but it was unusual for him to be blunt with you.

He’d been distant all week, he’d managed to miss three sparring sessions with you and counsellor duties on several occasions. The first few times Chris had been polite enough to make excuses for him, but when the two of you walked into the arena one morning to find Luke and Travis swinging swords at eachother, he’d stayed silent. He didn’t have to tell you what was already painfully obvious. Luke wasn’t ill, and hadn’t ’slept in late’, he’d just been avoiding spending any amount of time with you. You hadn’t had any idea why; and now, standing in the pavilion with the air thinning in between you both, you were even more confused.

He ran his eyes over your dress yet another time and something seemed to snap in your chest. ‘If you’re going to keep judging my outfit,’ you managed to spit out, ‘do it at the dinner table, I’m starving and don’t have the energy to defend myself. Let’s go sit with the others.’

You span away from him so quickly you missed him opening and closing his mouth as he tried to explain himself. As you stalked towards the table your friends had gathered around you must’ve been wearing a murderous expression, because Silena quirked her eyebrow at him with a face that said ‘what did you say?’ He responded with a small shrug before slipping into the seat opposite you.

Luke tried, and failed, to catch your eye throughout dinner. Food came and went, and glasses of a sweet amber wine refilled themselves as soon as the last drop hit the drinker’s lips. Silena had made her way through at least five glasses by his count, and was whispering something in Charles’ ear that had the man choking on his strawberry tart. You’d barely touched yours, and had politely declined his offer to get you something else to drink. You’d barely touched your dinner either, pushing things around your plate with your fork until Connor had unceremoniously dumped the contents of it onto his own. He felt he should apologise for his brother’s behaviour, but when he’d tried, you’d turned to watch the campers dancing by the fire.

The soft light from the flames flickered over the planes of your face and he knew he shouldn’t stare, but after starving himself of you for almost a week, he was finding it hard to look away. If he was honest with himself, it had been almost impossible to endure. You’d spent almost every day together for two years; a week apart had him feeling like he was missing a limb.

But a week apart was better than a week of watching male campers saunter up to you in a flurry of proposals. He’d managed to stick around long enough to see two Ares boys crash and burn and that was more than enough. If the failures were that bad, seeing you agree to attend the party with someone would probably have finished him off. He wondered which insufferable git you’d given in to, which one you’d been stood up by.

Curious, he leaned forward and asked loud enough to get your attention- ‘where’s your date?’

You slid your eyes away from the dancers and faced Luke. He was toying with the stem of his glass. Your throat tightened, and your face warmed uncomfortably. ‘I don’t have one.’

‘What?’ He asked incredulously.

‘Loads of people came alone Luke.’ You said replied quietly, keenly aware of the sudden silence of the conversations between everyone else at the table. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘I know, I just thought you would’ve put someone out of their misery. Every guy at camp must’ve asked you.’

‘Almost every guy.’ Chris whispered into his drink, rolling his eyes.

‘A few asked, yes.’ You murmured.

‘And you came alone anyway?’

You could’ve sworn Chris was wincing now, and Clarisse had the good sense to find the lights strung above the tables incredibly interesting all of a sudden. Silena however, looked like she was about to explode. You didn’t even know where to begin, your cheeks weren’t warm anymore, they were burning.

‘Yes.’ You ground out, hoping he’d take the hint and keep his mouth shut for once.

Luke went to speak, but Charles cut in before he could begin. ‘We should go dance!’ He declared, slapping his knees over-enthusiastically and standing so quickly he nearly toppled over his chair. The others rose with murmurs of agreement, eager to get away from what was becoming an increasingly awkward conversation.

‘You guys go ahead,’ you said, rising from your chair ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’

You hoped no one would mention that you were already outside, surrounded by fresh air, and thankfully no one did. Silena gave you an apologetic look but you shook it off. The lights suddenly seemed much too bright, and the table of your friends was starting to feel like an audience to your embarrassment. As they all walked towards the fire you began in the opposite direction, lifting your dress slightly to allow your feet to travel quickly towards the cabins.

Luke felt Silena’s hand meet the back of his head in a swift slap before he could reach out to stop it.

‘You are as dense as old bread Castellan!’ She hissed as he cradled his neck. The boys were looking at him disapprovingly, but Clarisse was just glaring at him like she was sizing him up for a fight.

‘Chris where’s my knife?’ She asked coldly, holding her hand out in her boyfriend’s direction.

‘Woah- what did I do?’ Luke exclaimed, which earned him a hard flick right in the centre of his forehead. Whoever said Aphrodite’s children weren’t vicious fighters was beginning to sound like a goddam liar, he thought.

‘Do you know how many guys she turned down for tonight?’ Silena continued, ‘almost every guy at camp! And do you know why Captain No Clue?’

Luke just stared blankly until she let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Because she was waiting for you to ask her! I was hoping you’d pull your finger out by the end of the week but you didn’t, and you let her come alone.’

He flinched. Silena’s face tightened and her dark eyes flicked to Charles. Something unsaid flashed between them before she turned her gaze back on Luke; her anger was gone, replaced with something strangely close to pity.

‘You wanted to ask her, didn’t you?’ She asked- carefully. Her eyes were beginning to crinkle like she was about to burst into tears. She dashed forward and forced him down into a tight hug. ‘Oh Luke, I’m so stupid!’

Clarisse rolled her eyes. ‘Daughter of the goddess of love and you didn’t see this one coming? Even Chris figured this one out!’ She chided, then added sweetly in his direction, ‘no offence babe.’

He thought of every moment he’d spent with you; the hours of sparring sessions under the heat of the summer sun, the picnics out in the strawberry fields, sneaking between your cabins in the middle of the night to swap stories of your lives before all of this. He’d known the risks of falling for you, and he’d done it anyway. He’d thought about telling you a hundred times. He had thought about telling you that he didn’t want or expect anything from you in return, that he just needed you to know how he felt because it was torture to suffer it in silence. Over the months he’d managed to convince himself that you didn’t feel anything close to what he felt for you, and had resigned himself to living in the wake of your existence.

Luke’s heart stumbled, taking all the confusion and doubt with it, he blurted, ‘I should go after her,’ and started after you, his pulse pounding in his ears.

Even at a fast-paced jog, he only managed to catch up with you when you were rushing up the stairs to your cabin, the skirts of your dress billowing out behind you.

‘Wait up!’ he shouted through heavy breaths.

You didn’t let him continue and just increased your pace, rushing to get to the door. If you could make it inside and shut him out, perhaps he wouldn’t see the tears that had begun fall. A small part of you ached to stop and turn to him, but you knew what was coming. Silena would have tried to intervene once you’d left, and he was probably coming after you to let you down gently. You weren’t sure you could survive that.

‘Gods will you slow down!’ Luke yelled, ‘I want to talk to you!’

‘Don’t bother,’ you said bluntly, ‘I know what you’re going to say.’

‘Oh yeah? What am I going to say?’

He’d taken the Athena cabin steps two at a time and was right behind you now. You could hear his ragged breathing, had he ran here? He must really want to get it over with, you thought bitterly. ‘Does it matter? Just go back to the party Luke, they’ll be missing you.’

‘It matters to me. I don’t want to be there if you’re not.’ He said softly and reached out to grab your hand. His fingers grazed your own, warm and steadfast- patiently waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t, you couldn’t bare it.

As you turned to face him fully you realised you were close enough to share breath. In other circumstances you might’ve stared up at him with longing; now all there seemed to be was the awful sinking feeling that you were about to lose him.

You opted to not meet his eyesight, and instead studied the scuffed wood of the cabin porch beneath your feet.

‘Then why didn’t you ask me to go with you?’ You managed to ask. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin like a brand. ‘I thought we were friends Luke, I thought that would be enough to get you to tolerate me for one evening so neither of us had to go alone.’

‘That’s not..’ he took a deep breath before he continued. Now or never, he thought, and opted for now.

‘I didn’t ask you because I didn’t want to go as your friend. I wanted to go as your date. I knew you’d say no, because every guy here was chalking up how to ask you themselves and I couldn’t- I couldn’t stand it. I’d prepared myself to see you with someone else tonight and it caught me off guard to see you alone. I had all these things I wanted to say to you, about how beautiful you looked, but I panicked and said some really stupid stuff back there. And i’m sorry, for all of it.’

It was your turn to take a deep breath, and without thinking your fingers tightened around his own. The air was too tight, humming between your bodies, between your joined hands.

‘Ask me now then.’ You dared.

He was silent for long enough that you dared to look up and meet his eyes. You were sure your expression was mirrored on his own: shock, longing, and then something like amusement.

He was smiling like a kid on Christmas at your offer, broad and unrestrained. ‘You want me to ask you to go to the party with me? Now? After I’ve just poured my heart out?’

‘If you don’t want to that fine.’ You teased, a small smile returning to your face. ‘What was it you said about every guy at camp?’

Luke let out a laugh and took a step closer, ‘I don’t care about the party. Go on a date with me. Tomorrow, today, hell let’s go now. I don’t care. Just go out with me. I’m not waiting another two years for this chance.’

‘Of course I’ll go out with you Castellan.’ You replied softly. You didn’t even have to think about your answer, you’d been preparing it for months.

‘Really?’

‘Yes really.’ You laughed and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

With a sudden burst of confidence, Luke leaned down to brush his mouth against your blushing cheek. You thought you might burst then and there as he pulled you into his chest to whisper in your ear, ‘you look beautiful. You are beautiful. Always. Even covered in sweat during sparring practice, or windswept from the chariot races. I can never look away from you.’

He was blushing too when he pulled away, leaving you staring up at him, breathless again. His smile was nervous as he said, ‘I want to do this properly, I’ll plan something great I promise. But for now, I would be honoured if you’d come back to the party with me, as my date.’

You quirked an eyebrow. ‘Will you dance with me?’

‘Of course I’ll dance with you,’ Luke said, wrapping an arm around your waist, ‘I plan to show you off in fact. I’m pretty sure I’ve just achieved the impossible as far as the guys here are aware. I reserve bragging rights.’

[thebestofoneshots]

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Summary: You meet Sirius and Regulus at a family vacation in the Caribbean, but things don't go as planned and you end up losing contact once the trip is over. Years later your family moves to England and you get accepted at Hogwarts where you finally meet Sirius once again, along with all of his friends. One of them with a mysterious secret, that you'll uncover as you embark on your own Hogwarts adventure. Mostly canon-compliant. This IS a wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it.

Read Gilded Constellations on AO3

Read the French Translation by @nagareboshi-chiyo

Paring: Sirius Black x Reader / Remus Lupin x reader / Wolfstar x reader

Chapter average: 5k - 6.5 k

Content: Smut in later chapters, Poly!Marauders, throuple, graphic descriptions of violence, MAJOR and minor character death (this is The Marauders Era guys, you know), jealousy, angst, pining, love triangle, LGBTQ+ themes, The Wizarding war 1.0, implied child abuse, possible proofreading errors, mental health struggles, hurt no comfort, hurt with comfort, period typical attitude, first war with Voldemort, canonical character's death, fluff, Requited Love, F/M/M, mostly canon-compliant.

Status: Ongoing (Weekly updates)

PLAYLIST

01 | Summer Breeze

02 | Escape

03 | Bitter Sweet Symphony

04 | Rainy Days and Mondays

05 | Good times

06 | Crazy Little Thing Called Love

07 | Peaceful Easy Feeling

08 I Fooled Around and Fell in Love

09 | The Fairy Feller's Master-Stroke

10 | Black Dog

11 | Do Ya

12 | You really got me

13 | Rebel, Rebel

14 | Maybe I’m Amazed

15 | No One Like You

Interlude (Q&A Event)

16 | Boogie Wonderland

17 | Tonight’s What It Means To Be Young

18 | Friends will be Friends

19 | Silver Bird

20 | Bad Moon Rising

21 | Fox on the Run

22 | Long Long Way From Home

23 | Hungry Eyes

24 | Peace of Mind

25 | I’ll get Even With You

26 | Hooked on a Feeling

27 | Can’t Take My Eyes Off You

28 | If You Want BIood, (You’ve Got It)

29 | With a Little Help From My Friends

30 | Bridge Over Troubled Water

31 | Strange Magic

32 | Come a Little Bit Closer

33 | More Than a Feeling

34 | You Belong to Me

35 | Chill of Desire

36 | Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

37 | Gimme, Gimme, Gimme

38 | Let the Good Times Roll

39 | Running With the Pack

40 | Hot Stuff

41 | Urban Adventure

42 | Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

43 | Sympathy for the Devil

44 | No One But You

45 | Hold The Line

46 | Comfortably Numb

47 | Let Me Take You Home Tonight

48 |

49 |

50 |

51 |

52 |

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BONUS TRACKS:

Your Theories, The Note, The Costumes, Sirius and the Chimney, Sirius and Vix after the bad moon, Evans and Vixen, Remus and Vixen at the infirmary, Remus holding Sirius at DADA, Remus and Sirius’ height difference, the FOXSTAR picture, Art by @nineloseteeth, We're going French,

Leave a comment telling me if you want to join the tag list

A/N: Most Poly!Marauders fics are oneshots, where the relationship between characters is already established, and they're all happy and pleased with it. No issues, no drama, but I WANTED the drama. Couldn't find it, so I set myself up to write the story behind the stablished relationship. I wanted to know how they started dating each other, the jealousy, the will they won't they, because getting into a poly relationship can't be an easy task, and I wanted to explore that story. If you're interested: Welcome to Gilded Constellations!

[steddielations]

Dom Steve Fic Recs

Strange as Angels (soft dom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie hasn't been able to get himself off in months, and now he's high, sweaty, and horny, thinking about the very man sitting in his room in nothing but a wife beater and a pair of tiny athletic shorts, and he thinks he might die. Steve notices. Of course, Steve fucking notices, what, with all the squirming Eddie's doing. Steve offers to help get Eddie off. As friends do. (As long as those friends are completely in love with each other.)

Like The Hero Who Never Ran (dom awakening series) by callmejude

While Steve and Dustin are searching for survivors, they're surprised to find Eddie alive, hiding out in Rick's cabin. Steve takes up the task of caring for him while staying in his trailer.

Genius Loci (dom bottom, magic steve) by @sayesayes

It’s 1986, and Steve falls in love with a boy who is leaving. It’s 1990, and Eddie comes back home. The fic where Steve is a selectively mute, homesteading, truck-driving witch with head injuries and also somehow it's canonverse.

(Don't) cream your pants (soft dom steve awakening series) by @corrodedbisexual

“Don’t know how to cream your pants, huh?” Steve asks, unable to conceal a smirk. He hears a quiet whine as Eddie seems to try and make himself disappear inside the couch. “Want me to show you how?”

Gilded (dom steve, blindfolds, ice play) by @cheshiredogao3

Steve and Eddie are looking forward to a weekend all to themselves, but it doesn’t go as planned.

Trouble Looks Good On You (wip, spanking, kink discovery) by me indelicate

It happens like a fever dream. The first time Steve gives Eddie a swift smack on the ass, it’s obviously just an old jock habit that’s stuck with him. It wasn’t meant to have Eddie’s knees going weak, or turn his blood hot under his skin, or give him a brand in the shape of Steve Harrington’s hand, or— Nope, because Eddie’s not even into that. But then, it happens again. Or, Steve keeps accidentally awakening Eddie’s new kinks.

You Make Me Feel Like I Am Whole Again (wip, dom top and dom bottom steve) by @munsonkitten

Eddie has never felt like his body belongs to him. It gets worse after he's nearly mauled to death, left with scars and healing wounds, a lopsided chest, and more trauma stacked on top of everything already wrong with him. Steve Harrington finds out Eddie's trans by accident after the bats, and Eddie finds out Steve's surprisingly okay with it. More than okay with it.

Bite Through These Wires (soft dom steve's strap game series 🤭) by @steves-strapcollection

“Wouldn’t you be Ken, though?” Steve had hoped Eddie would ask a question like that and he had to refrain from punching the air and ruining his punchline. “I come with all the coolest accessories, so clearly I’m still Barbie,” Steve retorted, his voice going just a bit deeper as he leaned closer to Eddie.

Relax (Lay it Back) (soft dom yoga instructor steve) by @wynnyfryd

Five times yoga instructor Steve teaches Eddie how to chill the fuck out, and the one time he learns his lesson.

Melt Me On Your Tongue (soft dom, bathing) by me indelicate

“This okay?” “Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.” “… you’re crying, Eds.” Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob. “No one’s ever done this to me before.” He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really. Eddie's never had a Steve before.

Kiss Me (Beneath the Milky Twilight) (pleasure dom steve, virgin eddie) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Eddie has never been kissed. Steve apparently would very much like to volunteer to fix this.

Getting Lost in the Dark is My Favorite Part (wip, masochist virgin eddie, kink discovery) by queerontilmorning

After his near-death experience, Eddie decides it's time to get rid of his pesky virginity and heads to a gay bar. It leads to some... realizations... for both him and Steve.

You're a Sweet Shot of Kerosene (When I Threw it Back, it Poisoned Me) (wip, mob boss steve) by @gorgeousgreymatter-x

Whatever fucked up shit Eddie’s father had inadvertently roped him into simply by being what he was — a shit-stain excuse for a sperm donor who preferred sticking a needle in his arm to taking care of his family — well, Eddie’s pretty sure it’s about to be him that pays that price. And maybe Eddie’s delirious, because by the time it’s apparently his turn and they’re dragging him down some hallway (and yeah, it’s not like Eddie’s not trying to put up a fight, but it feels almost performative at this point considering he’s pretty much hogtied here), the only real thought he has when they deposit him on yet another cold, wet tile floor is this: Uncle Wayne is gonna be so pissed at me if I get shot in the head tonight.

closer to you (soft dom steve) by @natesfwl

“C’mon baby, where's my little rockstar?” Steve spanks him, groans when he feels Eddie tense up around him from the impact, “Perform for me.” “You let me penetrate you” Eddie stutters out the line as he lifts himself up with his knees. “There you go,” Steve whispers, watching as Eddie fights to keep his eyes locked onto Steve’s when he sinks back down. or the really self-indulgent fic of steddie fucking to the song closer by NIN.

Destroy The Silence (drummer steve) by @artaxlivs

Steve becomes the drummer for Corroded Coffin and Eddie can't handle his thirst

Trouble and Temptation (series wip, businessman dilf steve) by @heartharps

“Come on, Harrington. I’d lay you badly but I’d lay you gladly.” When Steve looked up, he was glaring, as stern and serious as ever. “Eddie, let me remind you that as far as I'm concerned, nothing has ever happened between us other than of a professional nature.”

Sting, and Other Brainworms (series with switching) by @riality-check

“Do you need to go down, baby?” Eddie gets like this, sometimes. Stuck between overwhelmed and incredibly bored. Steve watches until he remembers that they have a way to fix this. Eddie calls it a hard reset. Steve calls it fucking him until he can’t see straight.

Edification (sadist steve) by aristal

“Alright Munson.” She bares her teeth and grins like a wolf. “Tell the class: what’s your biggest sexual fantasy?” A slow smile creeps into his features, and his dark eyes flash. “Oh, you’re asking the good questions, Wheeler.” He takes another long pull of his joint, dragging the moment out for dramatic effect. Steve doesn’t care. He wants to know the answer. He needs to know. Eventually, Eddie blows out the smoke, eyes a little hazy as he grins at the ceiling. “I’ve always liked the idea of being slapped around and choked in someone’s car.”

In My Boxers, Half Stoned (dom bottom Steve) by eddywow

"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

Insatiable (public, skirts, cages) by @cheshiredogao3

When their club ritual is rudely interrupted, Steve and Eddie make a point of proving their bond—rather publicly.

Done Deal (series with switching) by @morningberriesao3

Steve Harrington doesn't have any money with him, so he offers to pay Eddie Munson some other way.

Lovebite (sub vampire eddie) by hellcore

It shouldn’t feel so good, being tasted.

* The next few don't have the tag but in my opinion they have dom Steve vibes and I want to include them here (:

Cyclical (wip, time loop fic, rimming, switching, lots of smut with plot) by @cuips-not-cute

steve keeps finding himself back in the boathouse where everything started, wrapped up in the arms of a boy who can’t stop dying. he's desperate to rewrite the timeline, trying everything he can think of to fix it. including falling in love.

Dirty Words by @morningberriesao3

Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.

Memorize My Number, That's Why I Got A Phone (phone sex) by queerontilmorning

while on tour with Corroded Coffin, Eddie makes an important phone call to Steve.

My Right Hand Man (spanking, kink discovery) by @entanglednow

In which movie night takes an unexpected turn, and it's surprisingly easy to just let it happen.

Shot Right Through (pierced eddie) by @entanglednow

Steve overhears a conversation between Eddie and Robin, and then spends a few weeks trying to think of anything else.

Pleased To Meet You (demon steve) by midnightdrive

Eddie accidentally summons a demon who is bound to fulfill his every wish. He, somehow, gets more than he had bargained for.

[cassieuncaged]

Batstarion (Astarion x Reader)

Summary: You share some time with a certain Ascended Vampire in bat form.

TW: none :)

WC: 1 K

A/N: just a fluffy oneshot inspired by Pani-artz Batstarion series, that’s all :)

Long, leathery wings stretch across the tufted cushion, a flurry of squeaks escaping before you whisper an evocation.

“Amicus animalis,” your fingers trace his tiny body, getting lost in the snowy coat that covers him. “You may speak now, love.”

“Lord,” he corrects in that buttery voice you delight in so much, though it’s difficult to take anything serious when Astarion lounges about in bat form. White pinpricks appear from behind an upturned snout, his menace evaporated as beady eyes muster any intimidation. “I am your lord and you will regard me as such.”

“Oh?” You bring a finger up to one fang, releasing a droplet that’s offered to the bat. A tiny pink tongue laps at it lazily. “It’s I who sits upon your throne; shan’t I be your lord?”

“Do not mock me, pet,” he seethes, though that pink noses nuzzles against your finger before sharply latching. He sips though it feels more like a tickle when he’s in this form, “I’m ghastly.”

“You’re adorable.” You coo, scratching beneath a fuzzy chin as he likes. When you stop, you noticed his batty expression has softened, tiny features relaxed. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” he sighs, wings twitching against either of your thighs, cartilaginous sinews loosening as his claws dig into your breeches. “Turn me."

“Isn’t my lovely face enough?” You jest though some truth is hidden in that; after all, it’s been almost a year since you’ve last seen your own reflection. Now you chat with the bat form of your lover and closest confidant. Were you finally losing what was left of your mind?

“Don’t be naïve,” he tsks, sinking into the tufted velvet. “I’d like to look upon the audience.”

“The hall is empty, my love,” your eyes fall on the empty benches as wings threaten to flap. “Patience, I’ve got you.”

One hand slid beneath his warm belly, enjoying the heat you no longer wrought. Then he was carefully scooped and turned so that beady little gaze to see the ornate room that often clamored for the attention of the lord regally displayed upon the dais. Then a content chirp echoed through the vaulted ceilings as his body spasmed.

“Imagine if all the citizens of Baldur’s Gate saw you now, my lov…, my lord.” One finger began stroking from between tiny coned ears to the root of a wiry tail. His fur was so luscious and soft, not unlike the curls so carefully manicured atop his head, “Commanding with such ferocity propped upon the lap of your consort.”

“I suppose it would be quite the sight,” he chuckled, making her shiver like it always did. “Baldur’s Mouth would have quite the story. ‘Decrees heralded by rodent’; I think it’s silly enough to make the front page.”

“Think yourself popular, do you?” you teased, enjoying the moments he was seemingly relaxed and docile; they were so far few and between these days.

“Darling, I know I am.” He wriggled playfully against the cushion before pinkish hued wings began to flap. It was always mesmerizing to watch him float, expecting him to morph back into himself with a cloud of smoke. But he remained as he was, eyeing you expectantly. “The sun has long set; let’s peruse the palace gardens.”

The velveteen cushion was tucked upon the seat of the gilded throne as he began to glide to the far end of the hall, leaving you practically sprinting to catch up. Boots clacked against the marble floor, robes swishing around sure legs as you raced down the aisle. He paused, wings flapping in place as your place was taken beside him.

“Do keep up, dear,” he chided, little teeth clicking as he gracefully dove through the opened oak doors and down the decadently decorated hallway. “We haven’t all night. Oh, wait; we do don’t we?”

Your chuckle mingled with his, allowing the flamboyant bat dart to through the ornate glass doors that servants obediently wrenched open. It was a treat to watch him dive through the hedged archways, dipping down to bury his nose in a budding rose that practically glowed beneath the full moon.

“Pick one,” he encouraged, “Put it behind your ear.”

Doing as asked, two red pinpricks watched diligently as the petals hung over the shell of your ear. Then, it finally happened, fluffy white bat dissipating into a black mist before Astarion stretched out in front you, gently tipping your chin upwards.

“Beautiful.” He cooed before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Just beautiful.”

“Would ‘Batstarion’ agree?” you giggled, enjoying the quiet moments before the hammer inevitably dropped. He was so rarely this tender and you missed it terribly. Gently, he pulled your hand into his before drifting to the edge of the gardens.

“He loves flowers, that’s true.” He grins, wiping residual pollen from his own nose, “Though I’m unable to hold you with those bloody wings. Not to mention the language barrier.”

“I love the chirps,” you argued, enjoying the arm that instinctually wrapped around your waist, possessively. “It’s very cute.”

“I’m meant to be menacing,” he growls and you’re reminded of his other form, back elongating, jaw distending. You shivered at the thought. So you allow your fingers to dance across a strong cheekbone as his gaze fell upon the lights twinkling lights in the Lower City below. “How will I ever rule The Sword Coast if I’m not?”

“In due time, my love.” You reassured him, enjoying the caress of his cold breath against your ear. “This will all be ours. They’ll pledge fealty and you can rest upon as many velvet pillows as you please. I’ll even rub your little furry belly.”

“Will you?” then, when you expected his teeth to plunge into your neck but nuzzled against you again. A welcome change. “That’d be strangely comforting.”

[lovelytsunoda]

indecent exposure // liam lawson

summary: some men should not be allowed to buy gag shirts when they go to vegas. liam lawson is not one of them. or, the liam face-sitting fic i've been ruminating on for months and never wrote.

pairing: liam lawson x female! reader

warnings: 18+!!! SMUT!!! porn with very minimal plot if i do say so myself. lots of double entendres for common police charges (disorderly conduct, indecent exposure etc.), liam refers to himself as 'agent lawson' and makes us all cringe with laughter. the actual face-sitting portion of the fic is really only a few paragraphs at the end lmao the foreplay was too fun with all the cop jokes-

author's note: somebody should take both my library card and every british detective show in existence away from me because this is what happens when i watch too many episodes of anything with a hot detective in it. never mind the fact that i binged lauren layne's new yorks finest series last year when i was snowed in and my classes were cancelled for almost a week

there was nothing that y/n loved more than coming home from a long day at work and taking her dress pants off. and her high heels, and her bra. typically this would be followed by a pint of ben and jerrys and a few episodes of 'grace and frankie'. sometimes it would be followed by a feel good eighties movie, or by her boyfriend ordering takeout and ravishing her while they waited for it to arrive.

all of these were good options, as far as y/n was concerned.

"hey babe!" liam shouted, darting across the hall from the small gym space they'd set up, to the master bedroom. "look what i found in the closet...jesus. you look gorgeous." he stopped in his tracks, eyes fixed on his goddess of a girlfriend as she stood in front of the gilded mirror next to the walk-in closet.

"you saw be before i left for work." she laughed, taking out the small diamond studs in her ears. they were a gift from liam for their anniversary. "all i've done is take off my slacks and bra, and undo my shirt a little bit."

but it wasn't the lack of pants that was getting liam all flustered, nor was it the way the collar of her silk work shirt dipped down just a little too far, the hem not quite long enough to cover the area where thigh met ass.

no, it was the black prada glasses that delicately framed her eyes. the eyes that had so captivated liam from the moment they met.

"if you ever decide to get contacts, i'm leaving you. seriously."

he wasn't serious in the slightest.

"the way you look in those glasses should be a crime. you're gorgeous, babe."

facing him, she laughed, hands on her hips. "i thought you threw that shirt out!"

she groaned internally, looking at the tight-fitting black cotton shirt that liam was wearing, and the cracking white vinyl lettering over his heart. fbi. a gag gift he had bought in vegas. it was too tight despite it's age, hugging each and every one of liam's muscles far too tight, and looking deceptively erotic when paired with his dark blue jeans.

"so did i! isn't it great?" he grinned like an idiot, spinning in a little circle to show off the writing on the back.

female body inspector.

who the fuck came up with these things? on any random guy in the street, she would have gagged at the vulgar implications of the words. on her boyfriend? she only rolled her eyes.

"there's a reason it went missing in the move, babe."

liam shook his head, ignoring her words. "ma'am, i'm special agent lawson from the federal bureau of investigations. i've received a complaint about disorderly conduct on the premises. and now that i'm here i might have to upgrade that charge to indecent exposure, little lady."

"you're such a fucking idiot." she giggled, looping her arms around her boyfriend's neck before kissing him softly. "i love you."

"love you more." he rasped in between kisses, his hands travelling underneath the hem of her shirt. "what do you say the two of us make a case for disturbing the peace?"

"if you make one more cop-related come on, i'm walking out that front door and never coming back."

liam flashed a shit-eating grin, raking his bleached blonde hair out of his face. "so does that mean you won't consent to a frisk search?"

"i will humor you this one time." she laughed, taking a step back. "take it away, agent. but you do realize that the fbi don't get to make disorderly conduct calls? that's a beat cop's job."

"i seem to recall that you have a right to remain silent?"

she winked, undoing another button on her shirt, the fabric falling away just enough to give liam a glimpse of the soft flesh of her breasts. "and i don't recall being read my rights."

"hands against the wall, feet shoulder width apart, you beautiful smartass." liam laughed, waiting for her to turn slightly before playfully swatting at her backside. "then i can read them to you."

the wall was cold against her palms as she got into position, listening half-heartedly as liam attempted to remember the american miranda rights. he got about as far as 'you have the right to remain silent' and 'you have the right to an attorney' before he gave up.

"you know what, this isn't that serious. fuck the right to remain silent, you have the right to remain sexy as fuck. how about that." she could hear the playful annoyance in his voice, and couldn't help the smile that broke out across her face.

there was the liam she knew and loved. not one to mince words, even in the bedroom.

his smooth hands were a welcome presence on her body, travelling up her legs, over her hips and up the sides of her torso. torturously slow, his warm hands dipped underneath her shirt, taking her breasts in his hands, her peaked nipples between his fingers.

heat rose to her skin, adding a rosy sheen in the halflight. she sighed under his touch, her head dropping back to rest on liam's shoulder. liam smiled fondly, one of his hands reaching for hers, the other dropping to cradle her waist.

"you're beautiful." he hummed, kissing her neck gently. "i hope you know that."

this was a side of liam that only she ever got to see. on the outside, he gave off frat boy energy: the hair, the way he carried himself. the way he spoke. but just under the surface, was a man who was wrapped around his girlfriend's finger. one who loved shamelessly, and with his whole heart.

pulling away from the wall, the turned in his hold to face him, tangling her hands in his hair and kissing him deeply.

"if you can get that shirt off without tearing a stitch, you can keep it."

liam beamed, breaking from the embrace to scramble for the hem of the worn t-shirt. he had almost gotten it over his head when he heard the first few stitches begin to pop, fabric getting stuck by his shoulders.

"fuck!"

"need some help with that?"

"i think i'm good!"

somehow they ended up on the bed, both half dressed and pent up. she was soaked through her thong, despite her earlier attitude towards the t-shirt and further proving the point that her lover looked good in just about anything (or nothing, for that matter). she was needy, every nerve in her body reacting to the way liam's tongue probed her mouth, the way his hands touched her body. the way he moaned when she pressed up against the bulge in his jeans.

"babe," he mumbled in between kisses. "do you trust me?"

she cocked an eyebrow, brushing his bangs out of his face before looking down at him "should i be worried?"

"do you trust me, yes or no?"

"of course, li. of course i trust you."

liam nodded. "good. so sit on my face."

she paused, almost as if her brain was sending up error messages. she knew this day would come. liam lawson would eat pussy any which way. truthfully, she was shocked this day hadn’t come sooner.

it wasn’t that she didn’t want to. of course she wanted to.

“babe, how will you be able to breathe? I’ll suffocate you.” she protested, reaching for his hand. “I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“sweetheart, it’s okay. you won’t hurt me. and if-god forbid-I do suffocate, trust me on this, I wouldn’t want to go out any other way than with your thighs on either side of my head.”

and with that, liam took her hands in his, and guided her towards where he needed her most. she looked down at him with a soft smile, running her fingers through his hair.

"i love you." she whispered, moving her hands to the headboard and beginning to lower herself down to meet her lovers tongue.

she inhaled sharply as she made contact, liam's plump lips mouthing at her pussy, her grip tightening on the wooden headboard.

"i've got you, princess." liam's voice was muffled, but his words were reassuring as he ran a hand up and down her thigh. "just ride my face, darlin'. use my tongue to get yourself off."

feeling bolder than she was when she first sat down, she began to grind on liam's face, his nose bumping against her swollen clit with each movement. every bit of friction, every swipe of liam's tongue drove her wild, was like setting fire to her nerve endings.

"oh sweet jesus, god." she whined, fighting the urge to close her thighs together around liam's head, focussing on the way his hands gripped her thighs in a bruising way. she looked down at his face and moaned again, seeing the pleasure mapped out on her boyfriend's features.

"oh, i'm in heaven." he moaned, pulling her down further to plunge his tongue inside of her, rapidly flicking it inside and out.

her eyes rolled back as her hips bucked, grinding against the tip of his nose as one hand came down to clutch at his hair. tears of pleasure pricked the corners of her eyes as she cried out his name.

"liam- right there, oh my god, keep doing that." she whined, trying to move her hips faster. liam's face was soaked, the entire bottom half coated in her juices. there was so much of it, running down the sides of his cheeks and soaking into the pillowcase behind him.

she felt so good she could barely see, screwing her eyes shut. her pants and whines became closer together and more high pitched, the movement of her hips more frantic as she chased that feeling, that high.

"are you going to cum for me, baby?" liam asked, pulling his face away from her. she continued to drip onto his face, and he opened his mouth wide, catching some of her slick on his tongue. "come on my face. please, i want to be drowning in it."

and how could she say no to that?

she could barely keep her shoulders straight as she resumed her motions, fingers gripping liam's hair to keep herself steady. his hands grasped desperately at the flesh of her ass cheeks, squeezing and massaging as one of her own hands came up to grasp at one of her tits, teasing the peaked nipple between her fingers.

"oh god, liam, i think i'm coming!"

"i've got you, i've got you. just breathe-"

his last word was cut off with a moan as she began to gush, coating his face in her release. his moans were muffled by the weight of her body, but they were no less loud as he set about licking her clean.

her legs felt like jello and her body like mush as liam tried to sit up, easing her body back so that she was sitting in his lap, wet core right over top of the massive bulge in his jeans. liam was certain that if she moved at all while she was on top of him, he'd come in his jeans. totally spent, she slumped against him, resting her head on his chest.

he leaned down to kiss her sweaty forehead and she scrunched up her face. she looked adorable in her fogged-up glasses with her messy hair. and liam couldn't stop his heart from melting as she reached for the box of tissues in the nightstand and began to clean up his face.

"that was incredible." her voice was soft as she cleaned him up. "i had no idea you could do that."

"don't give me all the credit." liam laughed, playfully nipping at her fingers as she moved to wipe his mouth down. "you played a very large part in why i'm still hard right now."

she laughed, a big smile on her face as she looped her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him softly. with his large hands holding her in place, they kissed again. sweet, chaste and soft, with no intention of it leading anywhere else.

at least, not this early in the evening.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @httpiastri @libraryofloveletters @cartierre @lorarri @userlando @diorleclerc

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers (a teaser) ⟢

at age fifteen, you’re betrothed to a prince named jeonghan. at age twenty-five, you’re set to marry him. so, when your father gives you a chance to find love all on your own, you immediately take it. now if only jeonghan would stop fucking sabotaging every relationship you’re trying to get into.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 1k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, emotional romantic and sexual tension all in one lmao, angst, smut (in the future scenes, this teaser is sfw!)

★ NOTES; so my blog won't die in my absence nd slight inactivity from writing, i decided to leave you guys a snippet of the third n last part of my royalty series <3 as always, content in my teasers are not final and can be subject to change so heads up on that!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

It’s several hours past midnight when you hear three gentle but firm knocks on the door to your bedchambers. 

Annoyed, you stare at the collection of unopened gifts stacked high on your vanity. From delicacies from the neighboring kingdoms to the most expensive collection of cosmetics in Ancarra, your guests certainly knew how to curry your favor. But not even their lavish presents can dispel the pure vexation that’s been making your blood boil the entire evening. 

Not bothering to answer the door, you whisk yourself into the plush seat tucked underneath the dresser. There’s only one halfwit currently residing in the castle brave enough to disturb you in the dead of night, and with how terribly tonight’s festivities went, you’re in no mood to extend your hospitality to anyone—much less Seraphia’s exasperating, insufferable, scheming—

“Isn’t it a little too late to be testing out swatches, Your Grace?”

You try to ignore him. The way his silken dress shirt dangles half untucked from his trousers. The self-satisfied look on his face when he notices you fumbling with the cherry red rouge you’re applying to your lips. 

But try as you may, you cannot ignore Jeonghan when he reaches a hand in front of you, nimble fingers wiping off the excess color that you accidentally tinted just a few millimeters from your lip line. 

Not when his smoldering stare holds yours captive in the image reflected in your gilded mirror. Not when you can’t even find it in yourself to resist when he gently grabs your chin and forces your gaze to marvel at the man himself.

“Sulking again, Princess?” Jeonghan sneers and you want to hate him for it, but you can’t. “I saved you from a man charged with treason three times in a single decade. Why are you pouting at me like I took away the love of your life?”

“Because you’ve made it your life’s purpose to make mine miserable,” you snarl, putting as much venom into the words as you can. “Minghao isn’t a traitor. If he was, he wouldn’t be sitting on top of the Rènxìng empire. He wouldn’t even be daring enough to show his face here for the sole purpose of courting me.”

He sighs as if meaning to be sympathetic, but you’ve long seen past the ruse. “Poor little thing, still being played like a fool all because you abhor the idea of one day becoming my wife. Tell me, didn’t you find it odd, how persistent he was in pursuing a woman who’s already spoken for?”

“I am not spoken for,” you interject, trying not to crumble from how his thumb lightly dabs at your lower lip. “Not by you. Not by anyone. Father gave me a choice—”

“Yes, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Ancarran Princess who’s chained to a troublesome foreigner. So troublesome that she had to beg on her knees just to get the king to reconsider,” Jeonghan coos, face inching ever-so close to yours.  

“But as it turns out, all the other men you’re trying your damnedest to replace me with are even worse fiends than I.” 

Your lungs burn as if they’ve been set aflame and Jeonghan is merely adding more fuel to the blaze. “You’re despicable.”

“And you, Your Grace, are much too gullible,” he chuckles, each breath fanning hotly against your skin. “I’d say just give it up and surrender, but you’ve been fighting against me since we were children. Putting an end to our very interesting relationship in such a boring way wouldn’t make good for the history books, no?”

All of a sudden, you remember something that Soonyoung told you in passing. How Jeonghan is someone who cherishes his loved ones deeper than one would otherwise expect. He loves his homeland. He loves his family. Above all, he loves his people.

With how he keeps reeling you back from all your attempts to escape your engagement, any other person would assume that he loves you just as much.

But how are you supposed to believe that someone like him is capable of love when all he does is thrive off your misery?

“This new rouge you’re testing out,” he murmurs, as if it’s remotely acceptable to just shift the conversation after what he just told you. “It’s the kind that takes days to remove once it dries, no?”

“In what way does it concern you?” you grit. 

The despicable prince simply hums. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’m quite curious about its actual longevity.” 

You can practically hear your heart stutter to a stop when he closes the distance even more—only a hair’s breadth separating your mouth from his. You’re clueless as to how it happened, but you suddenly find your fingers coiled around the front of his shirt. Looking for purchase. For solid ground.

But you should know better than to anchor yourself to someone as unpredictable as Jeonghan.

“If someone were to ruin it in the next ten seconds, would you even be more furious than you are now?” he whispers and you can feel the ghost of a smirk against your lips. “Or would it garner the opposite effect? Would you finally melt into their arms? Would you let them tear all your defenses asunder?”

Your pulse is roaring in your ears and all of a sudden, you can’t remember how to breathe. His intense stare is pinning you in place no matter how badly you want to escape. The scent of expensive champagne lingers on his lips and you find yourself craving for a taste. 

But you can’t. You can’t want that. You can’t want him. 

This is the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember. The man you’ll be cursed to sit beside in a throne room forever if you don’t do anything about it fast. 

You know these facts perfectly well, and yet…

Your eyes flutter closed as you hook your wrists across the back of his neck, letting your arch-nemesis fall deep into you.

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

want to be added to the taglist? leave a reply <3

[zapreportsblog]

Yandere Caius X reader

Caius is quite protective and strict when it comes to the reader. That includes, not leaving the castle grounds and only speaking to kings including himself and the guards only.

One morning reader opens their eyes and sees that it’s snowing outside. Readers eyes immediately lights up as she sees the white and cold sky.

And so the reader decided to have a little fun and dresses up for the cold air to play outside in the backyard where the flowers usually go and where Markus usually takes his daily strolls, Caius DID say to stay at the castle grounds.

As she went outside and started playing and making a snowman, Caius on the other hand was furious that the reader might’ve ran off somewhere and was about to have Demitri do a search only to hear the readers soft laugh.

As he goes outside he sees reader making a snowman with a bright smile on her face making Caius calm down and gets distracted from her.

When reader noticed Caius was watching she decided to have a bit of fun and throw a snowball at him, which Caius decided to play readers game and throw one back.

After a while Caius notices that the reader is cold so he brought them back inside and to the kitchen to make them a hot chocolate.

This is just fluff with a dash of protectiveness❤️🤭

You guys are out of control, we all know yandere Caius would lock us up in a tower 😔🤌🏾

❝caius, knows best❞

✭ pairing : yandere caius volturi x reader

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : (y/n) is the mate of caius, and let’s just say he pretty much controls her every being but it’s only because he wants her to be safe. After all Caius knows best.

✭ authors note : l swear you twilight fans come up with the most interesting ideas but girl, yandere Caius? Oh nawwww

✭ twilight masterlist

Deep within the ancient halls of the Volturi castle, (y/n) found herself ensnared in the web of Caius's possessive and overprotective nature. Ever since she had been discovered as his mate, her life had become a series of intricately woven rules and restrictions that bound her to the castle grounds.

Her every move was under scrutiny, and Caius's strict demeanor ensured that she adhered to his expectations without question. The rules were clear—she was to remain within the castle's walls, her interactions limited to the kings and the guards who patrolled the grounds.

It was a life of isolation, one that (y/n) had grown accustomed to, if not resigned to. Her connection with Caius was undeniable, the mate bond pulsating between them, and she could sense the depths of his possessiveness that knew no bounds. His protectiveness, while suffocating at times, was also a testament to the intensity of his feelings for her.

Days melted into nights within the castle's walls, and (y/n) found herself navigating the elegant chambers with a sense of grace and poise that had become second nature. The castle's grandeur was a stark contrast to the confines of her restricted world, a world where Caius's gaze lingered on her every move, his eyes a blend of adoration and caution.

When she did interact with the other members of the Volturi, (y/n) treaded carefully. Her conversations with Aro and Marcus were measured, her words chosen with precision. She had learned to navigate the complex dynamics of the ruling coven, understanding that her presence in Caius's life meant she had a role to play in their intricate balance.

But there were moments when (y/n) longed for a taste of freedom, a chance to explore the world beyond the castle's walls. She would stand by the towering windows, gazing out at the moonlit landscape, her heart yearning for a life beyond the confines of her gilded cage.

Yet, Caius's presence was a constant reminder of the love and devotion he held for her. He moved through the castle with an air of authority, his gaze never leaving her for too long. His actions, while controlling, were also infused with a tenderness that he reserved only for her. In his arms, she found solace from the constraints of her existence, a reminder that she was cherished and valued.

As the days turned into weeks, (y/n) began to find a delicate balance between her own desires and the expectations that bound her to Caius. The world outside the castle may have remained elusive, but within its walls, her love for him bloomed amidst the thorns of his possessiveness. And while her heart yearned for more, she knew that she was at the center of a love that transcended time and boundaries—a love that was as unyielding as the ancient stones that formed the foundation of their world.

Bundled up in warm attire, (y/n) stepped out into the snowy morning, the chill air tingling against her skin. The grounds of the Volturi castle were blanketed in pristine white, the snow creating a serene landscape that stretched out before her. Her eyes lit up with childlike excitement as she gazed at the glistening world that had transformed overnight.

With every step she took, her boots left a trail of footprints in the snow, evidence of her playful exploration. The cold air felt invigorating against her cheeks, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh as she spun around, her arms outstretched like a bird in flight.

The garden area, usually a burst of color from the blooming flowers, was now a canvas of white. (Y/n) could almost imagine the flowers peering out from beneath the snow, as if waiting for the warmth of spring to awaken them once again.

As she ventured deeper into the garden, she noticed a small bench tucked beneath a tree. The sight brought a fond smile to her lips, knowing that Marcus often sat there during his strolls. She imagined him here, surrounded by the beauty of the snow-covered landscape.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, (y/n) moved to the bench and began to shape a snowball with her gloved hands. The cold, powdery snow compacted easily, and soon she had a perfectly round snowball in her grasp. Looking around with a playful grin, she took aim at a nearby tree and let the snowball fly, watching as it hit the trunk with a soft thud.

Her laughter echoed through the air as she continued to throw snowballs, each one finding its mark with unerring accuracy. She was lost in her own world of winter wonder, the joy of the moment washing away the constraints of her usual routines within the castle walls.

Meanwhile Caius paced back and forth, his expression dark and brooding. "(Y/N)," he muttered under his breath, "where in the world have you gone?" His anger boiled within him, his thoughts spiraling into worst-case scenarios. Had she run off? Abandoned him? The very idea gnawed at him like a relentless storm.

Just as he was about to call for Demetri to track her down, a faint sound reached his ears. Laughter. His head snapped toward the courtyard, disbelief warring with relief as he spotted her there, a mischievous grin on her face. The intensity of his emotions, from fury to exasperation, was replaced by a curious mixture of irritation and fondness.

Caius' gaze locked onto her as she gathered a handful of snow, her intent clear in the sparkle of her eyes. Without warning, the snowball whizzed through the air, narrowly missing his shoulder. The audacity! A rare, almost incredulous smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

He brushed the snow from his shoulder, his movements deliberate. The tension that had weighed on him began to unravel. In a swift and fluid motion, he crouched to pick up his own snowball, compacting it in his hand. With a calculated toss, he sent the snowball sailing toward her.

Her startled gasp and the way her eyes widened fueled his determination. He was not one to shy away from a challenge, after all. As the snowball hit her arm, a startled laugh escaped her lips. Caius' heart raced as he watched her reaction, the atmosphere between them shifting palpably.

What started as a playful exchange quickly escalated into a full-fledged snowball fight, each throw accompanied by a burst of laughter and an occasional yelp. The tension that had filled the air earlier was replaced by an electric energy, a connection formed through their shared antics.

Caius' stern facade cracked further with each throw, revealing a side of him rarely seen by anyone else. And as for (Y/N), her eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and genuine affection, finding joy in the simple act of playfulness.

Amidst the flurry of snow, their laughter intertwined, forging a bond that transcended the usual formalities. Caius had played her game, and she had matched his intensity. In that moment, they were not the stern leader and the confidante, but two individuals allowing themselves to revel in a carefree moment, where laughter and snowflakes danced in harmony.

As the snowball fight between Caius and (Y/N) continued, a playful spirit seemed to envelop them both. Laughter echoed through the courtyard, and even Caius found himself caught up in the exhilaration of the moment. Yet, amidst the joy, he couldn't help but notice the way (Y/N)'s cheeks had turned a rosy hue, and how she shivered every now and then.

His concern for her well-being surfaced, overriding the playful rivalry that had taken over. Caius stopped in his tracks, mid-throw, and eyed her carefully. "Are you cold?" he asked, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. (Y/N) chuckled, brushing a few snowflakes from her hair.

"Just a little," she admitted, her breath visible in the crisp air.

Without another word, Caius walked over to her and held out his hand. She looked at him, puzzled. "Come," he said, his voice soft yet commanding. "Let's get you warm."

Inside the castle, the contrast between the chilly courtyard and the cozy interior was striking. Caius led (Y/N) to the kitchen, where the warmth from the fireplace enveloped them in a comforting embrace. He motioned for her to sit at the large wooden table while he went about gathering the ingredients.

As he set a pot of milk on the stove to heat, his movements were efficient and precise. Caius rarely engaged in such domestic tasks, but the sight of (Y/N) sitting there, wrapped in her own thoughts, spurred him to act.

Soon, the aroma of cocoa filled the air as he stirred the mixture, the chocolate melting into the milk. He poured the steaming liquid into two mugs, the clinking of porcelain breaking the silence. Sliding a mug in front of her, he met her gaze with an unspoken question.

(Y/N) looked up at him, her eyes softening with gratitude. She wrapped her hands around the mug, savoring the warmth that seeped into her fingers. "Thank you, Caius," she said, her voice a hushed murmur.

He inclined his head, acknowledging her thanks with a nod. For a moment, their eyes held, a connection forming between them that went beyond the snowball fight and the jesting banter.

As they sipped their hot chocolate, the tension that had been present earlier transformed into a different kind of energy—an intimacy forged in the simple act of caring for one another. Caius watched as (Y/N)'s expression softened further, the lines of her face relaxing in the flickering firelight.

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the warmth of the kitchen and the shared understanding between them, Caius and (Y/N) found themselves in a space that was both familiar and yet unexplored—a space where vulnerability and camaraderie intertwined, leaving an indelible mark on their connection.

[inky-duchess]

Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: Tea

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI. I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

Today will be focusing on the rules of tea with this time period.

Tea was a staple in society, not only as a comforting beverage but as a social gathering beset by strict rules. Etiquette at tea is not only important for guests but is a sign of respect to one's host.

High Tea vs Afternoon Tea

You're reading both terms and you're thinking high tea is the formal version and afternoon is informal. In fact, no. It is the opposite. High tea was actually served far later, about 6pm/7pm and focused on more savoury, substantial dishes. High tea was more of a lower class tradition, designed to fill the stomachs of hungry workers. The word "high" is derived from the tall tables used. Afternoon tea is served at 4pm, designed to fill the gap between lunch and dinner. Afternoon tea is served at low tables with all the guests seated and involve a lighter meal, more nibbles than anything.

Hosting and Attending Tea

Tea is an event that happens every day, it's not an excuse for a snack, it's a ritual. One can have tea served in one's own home or at the home of a friend. One must be invited to tea, one can't just show up and expect to get fed. Tea was typically served in libraries or drawing rooms and done times outside in the gardens if weather permits. One had to dress for tea usually in comfortable but appropriate clothing. Men would wear suits, women would wear tea gowns or a simple gown - keeping their hats upon their head, if they are visiting. Tea was not poured by the footman but by the host or if it is a large party, by one assigned guest. The hostess or designated tea pourer would serve themselves last.

The Tea Set

Tea sets are highly coveted and much remarked upon at tea. One would usually inherit a service (that's what the collection was called) or be gifted it at one's wedding. Services would all match and most households had different kinds, the best usually reserved for important guests.

Teapot: the tea pot held the hot water and tea leaves was was usually made of china and decorated.

Cups: the cups were generally low, shallow.

Saucer: a small plate for the cup to rest on

Tea cannister: where dried tea leaves would rest until needed.

Sugar bowl: was a small container made of china with a cover to protect the sugar from moisture.

Milk jug: a container for the milk

Slop basin: was a porcelain dish used for disposing tea leaves left behind with the dregs of tea.

Tea spoon: small spoon used to stir tea

Side Plate: small serving plate used for food.

As you might have noticed, other than a tea spoon, cutlery is not listed. There would be a spoon for jam and a knife for a scone, most food was designed to be eaten with one's hands.

There is also one instrument not listed here and it's the most recognisable thing at afternoon tea.

The Tiered Tray

The tiered tray is a set of trays stacked upon one another holding on each one, a different course. Sandwiches and savouries were served on the bottom (Favourites include smoked salmon, cucumber, cress, egg salad sandwiches), scones on the second and sweeter delights served on the top (sponge cake, macaroons, pastries etc). One would begin ay the bottom and work one's way upward.

Making the Perfect Cup of Tea in the Edwardian Era/Belle Epoque/Gilded Age

Disclaimers: Let's make one thing clear. Tea is not prepared one way for all. Tea is culturally important across the world and every culture has their own rules about how tea is consumed and served. There's no one right way.

I will be discussing the English way of brewing tea in this post.

As mentioned before, tea is held in a cannister before use. Tea leaves were added to the hot water and lightly stirred.

Controversially for most people, milk was commonly added first.

One would then set a strainer in one's cup, tilting the pot. The strainer will catch the leaves and leave your cup almost tea-pulp free.

With the tea added, one could add in sugar. The trick is not to make a show about it or be too loud. One simply should gently turn your spoon from the 6 o'clock position to the 12 o'clock position. Also, the spoon rests on the saucer when not in use and doesn't stay in your cup.

When drinking your tea, put your pinky down. That's an American myth. Simply lift your cup to you, lifting the cup to your mouth by the handle. Saucers are not lifted unless your cup is far away. Don't slurp it, there's plenty more where that came from.

Etiquette at Tea

Afternoon tea is for light conversation, do avoid heavy topics.

Listen attentively when being spoken to.

Don't talk with your mouth full or stuff your mouth. Typically everything should be polished off with 2-3 bites.

Gloves should be removed at tea because one is eating with their fingers.

If one is leaving the table to go to the bathroom or a breath of air, simply turn to your neighbours and excuse yourself. No explanation needed.

Napkins should be removed from the table and set across one's lap when one is sitting down. When finished with tea, set it beside your plate before you rise.

Also you daub, not smear.

Don't cut your scone but break it.

Don't lick your fingers.

Don't bang the spoon on the side of the cup.

Also there's no dunking biscuits into your tea. It's just not done at afternoon tea.

Never thank the staff for fetching anything - or at very least, don't be overhead doing so.

Always say your goodbyes to the hostess and compliment the tea, even if you had a rubbish time.

Also most importantly, never criticise somebody else's manners. That's the height of rudeness.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the diamond

lilac, chapter seventeen

a/n: idk if I should say i'm sorry or you're welcome. i guess it depends on what kind of day you're having as you read this.

summary: “did you really think a little bit of paperwork could stop me? Could stop us from being together?”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, dark, angst, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, kidnapping, crying, violence, cliffhanger

word count: 1717

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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You didn’t recognise the opulent apartment you now found yourself in. Not that it really came as a shock. You properly only knew of a fraction of the properties Preston’s family owned. 

With gilded details and tall windows, you did however recognise the view as the familiar twinkle of the New York City skyline sparkled back at you. 

Scarcely breathing, you didn’t dare to even shift as you sat on the edge of a bed, its red silk sheets burned the nerves across your legs and worsened the nauseating sting at the back of your throat. 

Turning back to face you, Preston stepped up close and said, “Let’s get this off of you, shall we?” before he slowly peeled off the tape covering your lips, but as soon as he had rid you of it, you reeled forward slightly and spat directly in his face. The angry dollop slid down across his forehead and over the still freshly pink scar that split his dark eyebrow. But, to your horror, instead of getting angry, all your action did was conjure a dark chuckle deep within his chest, “I missed you too, doll,” you watched him reach up and wipe the saliva away before his fingers drifted down into his pocket and produced a switchblade that he promptly popped out with a flourish. Sucking in a sharp breath, you braced yourself, expecting for him to strike, only he didn’t. The knife instead sliced the tape constricting your ankles and then through the ones at your wrists, “there,” he shot you a bone-chilling smile, “much better.”

Glaring back at him, almost in disbelief at the measures he’d evidently be willing to take, you shuddered, “I-I have a restraining order against you.” 

“You do,” he nodded matter a factly, “why, did you really think a little bit of paperwork could stop me? Could stop us from being together?” your frame jumped jaggedly as you felt his touch slither up your sides, “we’re soulmates, you and I. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can keep us apart,” he breathed as he leaned in closer and pressed his lips to yours. Staying as still as you possibly could, the sting of tears rolled down your cheeks as he soon leaned back, a sour look now tainting his features, “kiss me back,” he growled through gritted teeth, “we haven’t seen each other in two months, so kiss me the fuck back. Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

Choking down a sob, you willed your lips to meet his again, trembling fretfully as you gave him what he wanted, the forceful feeling of his tongue invading your mouth forced a petrified whimper to escape your lungs, one that he mistook as praise as one of his ring adorned hands came up to clasp your jaw possessively. 

When he finally pulled back, leaving just a sliver of air between you, a question left your quivering lips.

“Preston, where are we?”

“Nowhere important,” his dark eyes trailed one of the tears rolling down your face, “don’t worry, this is just temporary till the morning. Gosh, you look so beautiful when you cry…”

“W-what’s happening in the morning? Where are we going?”

“To this little island my dad’s got in the Caribbean. You’ll like it, trust me. It’s got some of the bluest water you’ve ever seen,” he smirked before briefly turning his head to the rough-looking man posted by the door as a guard, “hey, go fetch me a drink.”

“Right away, sir,” he complied. 

As Preston turned his gaze back to you, his head began to shake as it washed down the length of your body, “what is this dress you’re wearing? You know I hate you in green on you.” 

“I-I’m sorry. I could go change if you–” 

But your sentence crumbled into nothing as you felt the cold tip of his knife trail up your leg, “oh, there’s no need for that, doll,” the blade scraped over your skin, up the slit where your wrap dress had parted like a curtain over your thigh, never hard enough to actually draw blood, but just enough to rip up a layer or two of flesh. He continued after he reached the top of your thigh, dragging it up your velvet dress till he slipped it under the knot that held your garment closed, and cut clean through it. The slash didn’t automatically cause the dark green fabric to fall open completely, but Preston didn’t hesitate to unwrap you like a birthday present, “damn..” he groaned as he pushed the dress open, revealing your lack of undergarments beneath, “would you look at that… you’re not wearing anything underneath this… ” you squeezed your eyes shut as he then grazed the tip of his knife over your skin, from the peak of your breast to low down on your stomach, he trailed it like he would his wicked tongue, in some sick and twisted up way caressing you with the weapon, “tell me, doll, just why aren’t you? I’d love to think this is all for me, but you didn’t know we’d be reunited tonight, so who is it for?” rage gradually began to harshen his tone, “who?” as you found yourself unable to form any words at all, “is it that guy? What did you call him… Frank? Have you been whoring yourself out to Frank? Not wearing anything underneath your dresses and making it easy for him to just slide in and use what belongs to me?” nicking the curve of your waist, he then shook you as he barked, “answer me!” successfully drawing a shrill scream from your lungs as you squeezed your eyes shut even tighter. 

Just as you feared he’d give you more than just a shy scratch, the double doors to the bedroom creaked open and in stepped the guard. Without another word, Preston’s presence disappeared. 

Cautiously fluttering your bloodshot eyes open once more, you saw as the guard settled back into his place and Preston clutched a stout crystal glass, hastily downing the dark amber liquid before slamming it onto a side table. Trying your best to cover yourself back up, you watched as Preston folded up the switchblade and stuffed it back into his pocket. 

Letting out a deep sigh, he then dipped his fingers into his dark suit jacket, and from an inner pocket, fished out a small velvet box.

“I got you a new ring, by the way,” he huffed, opening it up as he stepped back to where you sat, “this one’s bigger, like I promised.” 

Sitting down on the crimson sheets beside you, he seized your trembling hand and slid the extravagant band into place, gripping your palm painfully as you glanced down at the massive diamond hauntingly glimmering back at you.

“You like it?” 

The silver felt as if it burned your finger, like it had been dipped in hot searing acid mere seconds before sliding into place over your knuckles. But still, you just offered him a shaky nod as more tears dripped from your chin. 

Lifting your glare from the colossal rock, you looked over at the guard and attempted to subtly catch his eye. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Preston swiftly noticed as his gaze never strayed far from you, “are you really so stupid that you think one of my guys will help you get away from me? Seriously? No amount of crocodile tears can get them to betray me,” locking his fingers around your jaw, you felt his hot breath graze the shell of your ear, “they’re loyal to me, to the Humphrey name,” casting his glace towards the guard, he snapped his free fingers, “hey, you! Look at my fiancé,” and to your horror, parted your ruined dress, “isn’t she beautiful? Answer me.”

“Yes, sir,” his reply had a military, nearly robotic lack of feelings to it, but nevertheless managed to still scratch Preston’s itch.

With his right, inked hand, Preston groped your breast firmly, “these gorgeous tits,” before sliding his unwanted touch further down your trembling body, “this round ass and this tight fucking cunt, all belongs to me,” he growled, before stretching his palm out towards the guard, “give me your lighter,” to which the harsh man swiftly obeyed, “I want everyone to know so, no matter what happens, no matter if you lose your ring again or what, I want everyone to know,” peeling his extravagant pinkie ring off, the swirly H that was embossed on it indicated it was his family ring that he now held in his grasp, harshly commanded the guard, “hold her still,” before he flicked on the lighter and held the flame under the seal, heating it up till the metal nearly glowed. Tuning out your screams of searing agony, Preston pressed the scorching crest to the very top of your exposed thigh and branded you like you were just a stock animal, “there,” he waved a hand for the guard to let go of you, “that should do the trick.” 

As you shuttered in pain, Preston drew you in so close that you ended up in his lap, your spine pressed up against his chest and a horrifying hardness determined beneath your bottom.

“What do you think, doll? Should I let him stand there and watch us fuck?” he rocked selfishly below you, “maybe tonight will be the night I finally knock you up–” 

His vile words were cut short as a series of gunshots suddenly went off on the other side of the door. 

“You,” Preston waved to the guard, “go see what’s going on.”

Pulling out a gun, the man then slipped out only for the symphony of struggle to fill the apartment further. 

“Shit,” you heard Preston mutter in alarm before he conjured his knife once more. 

But when the scuffle abruptly stopped and silence washed over the luxurious apartment, only a moment passed before the grand double doors slammed open and in the threshold, with a gun firmly trained in Preston’s direction, stood the blood-soaked visage of Frank. 

Moving just as fast, Preston shifted behind you, hauling you up to your feet and holding you to him like a shield as you felt the razor-like edge of his blade press against your throat.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[amyrlinegwene]

It’s become really apparent to me how TV has changed based on the shorter seasons.

I feel like so many TV shows want to tell really in-depth complicated plots, but they’re only given eight episodes (sometimes less). And this can work if you have a smaller cast, or you are very strict about who the core cast is, for example in succession, the core characters are the family unit and the secondary characters—the people who work at the company— are not given a similar level of focus, the actors do a really great job of conveying who those characters and what their motivations are, but they still leave you wanting more because ultimately, you know, you might get a hint of something in the script that you can’t go into in depth.

I think the problem is trying to fit a really complicated plot(s) in an eight episode season that also has an extremely large cast of characters that they want to focus on. I see this in Wheel of Time, I saw it in The Gilded Age too.

And one of the main ways I feel like the stories really suffer is that you don’t really get to sit with a story or the implication of things that happen like you do if there is a longer season. For example, there’s a lot of cutaways right after dramatic event instead of seeing peoples’ reactions and afterwards reactions are implied, or perhaps you skip an important scene altogether, and then just tell people that it happened. 

And I think there’s choices that you can maybe make as a writer or a director once or twice for a meaningful reason, but sometimes it happens so often it really feels like it’s only to save time. You didn’t want to see the character having in that emotional reaction for more than two seconds because you don’t have enough time the episode to focus on them, now you have to go to someone else’s plot. Or you skipped over that explanation/event to just have the character have already found out in the next scene because you know if they were to have that scene, it would take up at least a couple minutes because of course they would react to strongly to that news. But now they have known for hours/days etc so their reaction is stale and can be implied with a withering look or a long sigh and a quick mention to let the audience know that something happened.

When you have a large ensemble cast in a short season, there simply isn’t time to give everyone a meaningful plot all the time or there isn’t time to examine everyone’s deeper characterization as a result of their plot; this often ends up with audiences wanting more and writers relying slightly on stereotypes or character tropes to help round out the character in audiences minds.

I really hope the strike helps reverse the trend of shorter and shorter seasons for television shows, because while not every show needs to be more than eight episodes, many shows would benefit from the ability to have more time to tell their story. It is wild to me that a 12 or 13 episode season for a drama series is now a long season to me.

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | epilogue

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 4,8k

❱ summary: Dating Thranduil Oropherion and the PDA that comes with it

❱ warnings: none

❱ an: here we go, one last night in this story✨️ title once again taken from hoziers "abstract" // also: are any of you interested in a official hobbit/thranduil taglist?

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

THE MOMENT I KNEW I'D NO CHOICE BUT TO LOVE YOU

The evening welcomed you with a chilly embrace and whispered breezes danced through the coat you clung to, drawing it closer as you emerged from the car.

Your head lifted, attention drawn to the imposing building before you. Unbeknownst to you, your jaw subtly fell, lips parting in a muted "Oh" that almost escaped notice, barely reaching your own ears.

"It's quite a sight, isn't it?" Next to you, Thranduil closed the door to the passenger seat of his car after he had helped you out.

He handed the keys and a few notes of cash to a young valet, whose eyes widened as if he were to drive the Batmobile. The boy rushed to the driver's side of the car, the keys turning on the ignition, and the motor purred smooth like a cat.

You barely noticed it, only felt the vibrations of the car starting. Your eyes were glued to the building in front of you. "It's beautiful," you whispered in awe.

The Imladris Opera House lit up the sky's deep and endless midnight blue.

A washed-out white stone façade rose high up in front of you, its architectural features of multicolored marble friezes, columns, and lavish statuary were illuminated by what must have been hundreds of hidden lights. On either side of the left and right avant-corps two gilded angel figures reached their hands towards the center of the building where a glass dome made the highest point of the palace.

Frozen on the spot, you could not take a step on your own until you felt the gentle push of Thranduil's hand on the small of your back. Looking away for just a second, you glanced at him, shot him a bright smile, and let him guide you towards the building.

The weeks had swiftly slipped away, and it hardly felt like an entire season had passed since that fateful night spent cuddled together.

Late summer had given way to autumn, a season dedicated to delving deeper into each other's lives. Evenings were spent on his couch, sipping wine and sharing every detail about the paths you had walked before finding each other. The world transformed into a canvas of colors, with flaming red and orange leaves falling during your walks, and the glow of candlelight casting a warm ambiance as you lost yourselves between the covers.

Your friendship with Legolas grew impossibly stronger, too, with entire weeks now spent at their house. Clad in long sweaters that grazed your knees, you chatted day and night, studied from breakfast to dinner, enjoyed late evening snacks, and repeated the cycle the next day.

Time blurred into a mosaic of tender touches, lingering kisses, and laughter beneath the sheets.

Before you knew it, Thranduil had once again invited you to the Opera, and once again, you had gladly accepted.

As you got closer, the building grew and grew until you had to let your head fall into your neck trying to explore the intricate details you could only see up close, like the elaborate roses carved into the marble columns.

Thranduil caught your wandering looks and his hand slipped from your back to intertwine his gloved fingers with yours as he leaned down a bit.

"It is said that the architect only accepted the project in exchange for the hand of the king's one and only daughter- who was promised to a prince at the time." – Thranduil's voice reached a dramatic cadence, purely for effect – "No one else dared to take on the tasks of building this Opera, the king had ludicrous ideas of combining multiple styles into one that no other architect thought themselves sane enough to try."

You leaned into his side, your hands brushing against the expensive fabric of his knee-long, black woolen coat. When he started talking, explaining the history of this marvelous building you were so close to entering, his voice fell into the passion that you so adored to watch.

No building, even one as breathtaking as the Imladris Opera House, could be more fascinating than watching Thranduil explain something to you that he cared deeply about.

In the golden tones of the cast iron streetlamps flickering their lights, Thranduil's eyes had taken on a fascinated glitter. It disappeared when he noticed you staring up at him, a quick shadow passing over his usually composed face. "Excuse my rambling," he said and you pouted in disagreement.

"Don't apologize," you shook your head, "you know that I enjoy listening to you" And with a quick movement, you rose to your tiptoes, sneaking a peck onto his from the winter air cold lips. In a low and hushed voice, you murmured: "Talk architectural to me" and felt the blood rush into your cheeks when his eyebrows rose on his forehead.

His eyes crinkled at that, the corner of his mouth twitching in that tell-tale smirk that he reserved for those innuendos that passed between you two, ever since the slip of your tongue on the night he invited you to the Opera in the first place.

He planted a gentle kiss on your temple, his lips pausing briefly before he spoke again. "Okay, then, but feel free to interrupt if I start to bore you."

You nodded with enthusiasm. "Absolutely, don't worry. Although everything you say is interesting to me, you know that."

"I'll hold you to that when you start grumbling about your university papers and ask me to help you understand them," he teased.

"Uhmm– that has nothing to do with you," you rolled your eyes, not intending to mock him but to emphasize the sheer annoyance coursing through you at the thought of your coursework. "It's just that my brain ceases to function if I have to read another dull statement from some politician who kicked the bucket centuries ago and contributed nothing positive to society."

Thranduil chuckled and gently lifted your hands, placing another kiss on your knuckles. "I adore it when you're resolute about highlighting all their wrongdoings instead of doing what's required of you," his lips brushed against your skin, setting ablaze the areas he touched. "My firecracker."

You grinned and gave a playful tug on his hand. "Come on, then, enlighten me with the story behind this building."

Thranduil then began fulfilling your ask and since you had a few moments before you had to enter, he pulled you along the walls.

Whenever he talked about some fascinating architectural features ("There are multiple styles but the ones standing out the most are these elements of the Renaissance, Baroque and Neoclassical"), his long fingers pointed towards them, using statues to explain his statements.

You walked along the front façade until you could peek around the corner and he showed you one of the two pavilions- the other one was on the right side of the building, another mathematical symmetric design choice ("Which points to the architect's inspiration by the renaissance").

After that, you turned around again to walk towards the main entrance, where, feeding into your nervousness, a larger crowd had formed a line. Thranduil's hand in yours gripped you tighter as you approached those fashionable men and women who, in your mind, must have seen right through the smile you now wore more so as a mask than out of pure joy.

Despite all the dates planned leading up to this, starting with coffee dates turning into evening dinner outings at restaurants that you felt comfortable with until you let Thranduil choose some that he wanted to take you, you felt like a fish out of water.

Yes, Legolas had helped you select clothes that fitted the occasion, ones you already had because Thranduil would disapprove of you buying an outfit that served as a costume rather than what you felt comfortable with, but right now, staring at the elegant hats and lavish dresses, nothing seemed like the right choice.

Thranduil must have noticed that you grew quieter, answering what became a monologue rather than dialogue, with nods and "Hmms". He didn't say anything out loud, nor did he stop talking, probably relying on the whispered reassurance that you had given him one evening when he had fallen into a monologue such as this one, raving on about a book he had read when you'd admitted how much it calmed you to hear him speak.

You let him tug you under his arm, resting your cheek against his side while you slowly shuffled forward in the line.

Coming closer to the double doors opened wide enough to let golden light fall out into the night and bathe those entering into its nearly godlike shimmer, the storm inside you ebbed into a breeze, scarcely shuffling through some thoughts that your mind couldn't let go just yet.

Considering what you have gone through, this date shouldn't scare you. This was Thranduil beside you, the man who held your heart carefully in the palm of his hand as much as his arm secured you right now, he would make sure that this night would play out like you wanted.

"When we enter you will see–"

You interrupted Thranduil with a gentle nudge of your head against his chest. The smile that now graced your mouth was soft and real again, something Thranduil immediately caught onto.

"Thank you," you said without further explanation; it wasn't needed.

"You are welcome, my dear," Thranduil leaned down again, hovering over your lips as his eyes took you in as if to make sure to imprint your smile into his memory, before closing the gap between you.

There was no hesitation in the way he kissed you, his lips parted as soon as you lifted your chin higher to meet him and a barely audible but deep and sensual hum spilled into your mouth. One of his gloved hands cupped your cheek to angle your head and his thump stroked over your jaw. It fell open with the slight pressure performed from the finger, inviting him in to deepen the kiss.

Only the clearing of a throat behind you reminded you that you were for one in public, close to making out like teenagers, and second standing in line.

While you pulled away from Thranduil, your head flushed beet red, and muttering: "Sorry, I'm so sorry, yes, sorry, we will move", Thranduil looked awfully pleased with himself as he lifted his hand to wipe away some lipstick that had stained the corner of his mouth.

He shot you a wink as your eyes flittered over the deliberately slow movement of his thumb and you rolled your eyes, cheeks flaming hot.

You rushed to close the gap that had formed while you and Thranduil had been all over each other, giving the woman and her grinning husband another apologetic nod and smile. You pulled on the red scarf that Thranduil wore around his neck.

"You're impossible," you murmured, casting him a scornful glance, then burying your face in a cold hand, "Oh God, how embarrassing"

Thranduil's chuckle at your attempt to hide your heated cheeks and probably reddened lips only showed you how little he regretted the kiss.

"Darling," he began, still grinning widely and clearly proud of his talent for unraveling you in public like that, "If it bothers you too much, I'll restrain myself. However," – he leaned in, whispering the next words in your ear – "look how everyone looks at us. They envy me for standing beside you, for not having the most exquisite person in one of their arms."

You raised your head just in time to see a young man a few meters in front of you hastily jerk away and, promptly, dropped his ticket. When he stood up again after fishing for the paper on the ground, he looked back at you, then at Thranduil and oh, there really was something like envy in his eyes.

And because Thranduil was Thranduil, a cocky asshole at times, he smiled at the boy while his arm dropped to your waist provocatively.

You only rolled your eyes, yet this public display of affection and possessiveness had your heart flutter in your chest.

Heart pounding through your rib cage, his large hand holding you to him, you muttered something through your teeth.

Thranduil raised one eyebrow interested. "Could you maybe repeat that, I did not understand what you said."

"I said," you took a deep breath, huffing out air that dissolved into a white cloud, "–that I do not mind the kisses."

A grin filled with satisfaction spread across Thranduil's face at that, dimples carved out into porcelain skin. The hand on your waist held on tighter and it took a simple tug of him for your body to turn into his again, a simple twitch of his lips for you to kiss him.

This time though, you made sure to have it last no longer than a quick peck as the line moved and just when you separated, the crowd in front of you cleared.

"Good evening, Mister Oropherion! I haven't seen you in a while," a young woman greeted Thranduil, and overcome with shock you stared at your partner.

"Good to see you again, Sigrid", Thranduil winked at you, mouthing a "Later" when he noticed your bewilderment. Delving into the depths of his black coat, he retrieved a golden card – the Opera's emblem gleaming in the lantern light – as Sigrid waved her hand.

"Ohh, you know I don't need to check your card, Sir!"

Thranduil laughed and the card disappeared in the pocket of his coat again. "I know, I know. I also know that your boss wouldn't like you skipping formalities just because it is me" – his mouth curved into a smirk, "ah and I have someone to impress tonight"

Sigrid leaned forward, a hand next to her mouth, to faux a whisper: "He may seem like an arrogant ass, but I can tell you– he is secretly a softie"

"What?" you faked a gasp, turning to look up at Thranduil who, to your surprise, blushed…blushed!

He playfully swatted your hips and shot Sigrid a warning look: "What have I ever done to you that you must embarrass me in front of the lady?" He sighed, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him, "Was it the time that I thought Legolas invited you over to…what did you call it, my love?" as if in deep thought, Thranduil lifted a hand to scratch his perfect chin, "Netflix and chill?"

"Oh my god–"

"Thranduil!" you cried, laughter bubbling up your throat before you could stop it. Out of pure condolence for the girl, you started shoving him into the entrance hall, away from the girl whose face turned beetred as she fumbled to stamp the tickets of the next couple.

"It was nice to meet you!" you huffed out, wrangling with the tall body of Thranduil who was snickering to himself, making it not easier for you to handle him.

"We should chat some other time! Legolas, some boys and I have a movie night once every while, you could join"

The invitation was clearly not enough to help the poor woman, Thranduils high-pitched laughter (so unusual for his usually deep and honeyed voice, that pure sound of his laughter) would probably haunt her for the rest of the evening given the look on her face.

However, she nodded frantically. "Sure, I will have Legolas send you my number," then she smiled, "Have fun tonight! You as well, Sir!"

"I'm sure we will," you called back and there was a phrase like "If you could behave the rest of the night" on your tongue, at the sight of the entrance hall however, it slipped away.

The hand that you had used to direct Thranduil fell and he used the opportunity where your mind stopped working, to take it back into his. If you weren't so busy staring at the interior of the Opera House you would have teased him for being so touchy tonight, yet there was nothing leaving your lips of that sort.

"Wow," you breathed out.

The red carpet you stopped on trailed further into the hall, ending shortly before a large ceremonial staircase of white marble with a balustrade of red and dark blue marble, which divided into two divergent flights of stairs leading to the second floor which overlooked the foyer through wide open curved outward balconies. Golden candleholders with what must have been hundreds of candles decorated the columns, lulling you into a trance with the flicker of their flames.

A finger trailed over your temple, sliding down behind your ear and your neck, and it came to rest with the rest of the hand on your shoulder. "For years I have gone in and out of these halls, impressed by their beauty. Now, with you standing right here, all the gold pales." Thranduil's words sent a shiver up your spine and you tilted your head to stare at the ceiling.

"There is no need for flattery," you said, wide eyes wandering over the balconies on which women leaned onto the balustrades with sparkling glasses of wine, to the grand staircase where the crowd trailed upward without a hurry, "You already have this girl speechless."

Thranduil's lips delicately brushed against the shell of your ear, as his hands leisurely traced the contours of your side.

"What a shame, though I would hope you will find your voice again," his voice bore semblance to a velvety purr, "–for I am genuinely interested in garnering your perspective on the private balcony, affording an impeccable view of the orchestra, that I had readied for us."

As your head swiftly turned to fixate on him, his rosy lips formed, in a manner not surprising anyone, that typical smirk that left you marveling at the intriguing resilience you had maintained in resisting its captivating allure. Every time you saw it, especially now with his icy blue eyes waiting, provoking a response, you were contemplating how you had never fainted at the sight of it before.

And the worst part was, that he knew what he could do to you with one single smirk, or just, and it was embarrassing to admit but you couldn't help but fall for it every time, one strategically raise of an eyebrow.

No matter how bewitching his smirk was, however, you were much more hooked by what he said.

The questions toppled over themselves in your head, a "WHAT?" knocked down a "You are kidding, right?" and then there were the big "Why?!" and "How?" that you were hung on.

Most of these questions resolved themselves; there was no need to reiterate what had already been sufficiently explained. Thranduil was undeniably wealthy, almost absurdly so in his own estimation.

This fact had been glaringly apparent from the outset when you only knew him as Legolas' father, the owner of a law firm that represented politicians and celebrities, often requiring him to work late. He indulged in whiskey from opulent bottles and drove the most extravagant car you had ever sat in. The first time you visited Legolas at their home, a gathering of Thranduil's colleagues celebrated his ascension to CEO, filling the mansion with the strains of piano music and the gentle clinking of delicate crystal glass flutes.

If it hadn't been clear, Thranduil's habit of spending a lot of money with and for you (whether it was in the form of gifts such as books, a new coffee machine for your dorm, or simply the dates he took you on) was explanation enough.

The man had been greeted by name at the entrance and like a few people, all dressed in fine clothes like him, he didn't have a ticket, he had a member card.

So you swallowed your questions, took the arm he offered you and let yourself be led through the beautiful and tall halls of the opera.

Why not savor both this gift and the delightful company of the man you've fallen for?

If it wasn't obvious that Thranduil was showing off a bit, come on, he had kissed you right in the middle of the grand staircase and grinned at every man staring at you on your way, it became more than clear when you walked down the hallway to the private rooms. Another boy in uniform opened a door as soon as he saw Thranduil walk up to him, greeting him by name just like Sigrid did.

Behind the door, you let out the quietest "Holy shit" afraid that the swear would taint whatever holy atmosphere vibrated around you.

The air was filled with the low murmur of people talking, shuffling towards their seats and you, you looked down on all of them.

Literally.

Beneath you a sea of stools stretched onward, a moving mass of hats and pinned-up hair.

You took a careful step forward, coming up to the balustrade, you laid your hands on the red velvet that cushioned the balcony.

Just like the other balconies on your left and right, beautiful wooden panels were creating an archway under which you stood, with roses and delicate swirls painted golden.

You had a clear view of the stage, up on the fourth floor as you quickly counted in your head. The stage was covered by maroon curtains that draped over each other instead of just framing the sides and ended in gold ornaments at the seams.

The dome, which you had seen from the outside, was hidden behind a slightly curved ceiling, the only telling of what rose into the sky behind it. Nevertheless, the ceiling was a view all of its own.

A piece of art.

Up there, a dark sky had been painted, sprinkled with tiny golden dots of stars and hanging perfectly centered not just to the painting but to the whole room, hung an enormous chandelier, dripping with crystals that reflected the light of the lamps, honey golden liquid broken down into a thousand shards and bathing everything in a spectacle of imitations of stars.

Thranduil stepped up behind you again. He slung his arms around you, pressing his front against your back to rest his chin on your shoulder. Silver hair fell over you as he nuzzled your temple with his nose, brushing and tickling the sensitive skin of your neckline.

Slowly he took on to unbutton your coat, his nimble fingers pushing one button after the other through the holes.

"Is this the time to tell you that I practically own this balcony?" his voice rolled over your body, words spoken close enough that you felt his lips form them.

"Yeah," you breathed out "I figured."

"And do you know what that means?" he asked while opening the last button.

You shook your head slightly so as not to knock him away.

"It means," he unfolded himself from you to pull away your coat. You turned and watched as he hung it next to his own, it looked small in his large hands. Your fingers dug deep into the velvet behind you, eyes locked with his. "It means we can come here whenever we want as well as leave whenever we want"

It wasn't what you had expected to hear, yet you let out another deep breath, basking in the residue of tension and heat that had lapped at you both and transformed into something softer, much more meaningful than desire.

"You are the most fascinating man I have ever met," you mused, tilting your head to look at him. Thranduil was dressed up in smart black (and snug) pants and his white blouse wore a stark resemblance to the one a character you had gushed over in a movie had worn.

That he had maybe chosen the article for that exact reason made your heart flutter in your chest.

He sauntered closer to you again, hands clipped together in his back and when he leaned against one of the two chairs, the only furniture except for a small table, it was nothing but graceful. He regarded you through hooded eyes, an expression in them that was so full of infatuation it should be too much for a relationship this young, this fresh but you had been ready to plunge into this deep and far ever since you had met him.

"I promise this is just to impress you," Thranduil smiled, and lifted one corner of his mouth higher than the other and it made him look almost shy.

"Mhmm," you hummed, stepping closer to him and when you reached out to cup his cheek, he leaned into it. His eyes bore into yours, the ice-cold blue melting every bone in your body into a puddle. "I think," you whispered and looked from one eye to the other, "you don't need anything to impress me except for yourself." Raising to your tiptoes, you smiled against his mouth "Thank you, Thranduil. This is the best gift anyone has ever given to me"

As you looked up at him through hooded eyes, his gaze became soft. His lips met yours in a gentle but playful kiss, one where he nipped at your lower lip and throat and did that low purr of satisfaction. It made your head swim in the best way possible, let all thoughts come to rest.

When the lights dimmed a short while later, you found yourself cuddled against Thranduil's side, his arm around as natural as everything had become between you.

The music swelled- the tunes of a piano mixing with the violins and cellos, increasing into the playful introduction that you had come to listen to whenever Thranduil drove you anywhere.

You allowed your glance to flee from the orchestra to Thranduil, watching his side profile next to you.

"I am so lucky," you whispered. It should have been spoken far too quietly to be heard in a room that was filled with a dozen instruments orchestrating the most gorgeous music.

Thranduil however, turned his head as soon as you said the words.

"You say you are the lucky one yet here I sit, unable to believe you are truly with me," he said and reached out to trace a finger over your temple down to your cheek. "There are so many things I would like to tell you, my darling"

You watched him, silently inquiring him to continue.

He sighed and the corner of his eyes crinkled in soft delight. "It's just– I feel so much more ever since you came into my life and while it's close to overwhelming– well, and I do mean that truthfully and wholeheartedly positive, it made me realize how much more enjoyable life is when I can share it with someone I l–like"

"That doesn't sound like something that's 'just' anything," your wavering voice betrayed how collected you wanted to sound. Feelings as hard as the waves during a storm crashed inside you, lapping up your throat trying to break out of where you dammed them away to.

"No," Thranduil shook his head "No, I dare say it's not just anything. It seems to be everything. You, you wonderful girl, you are everything"

Your breath hitched, caught in the mix of emotions in your throat. Fingers carefully lifted to intertwine your hands, coming together in your lap. He waited, you figured, he waited for you. He always waited for you. The music faded into the background as you reached for him.

Reaching and waiting, daring and yearning, teasing and loving.

He was the fine threat that pulled on your heart, tugging on it in the same rhythm as it beat inside your chest.

"Thranduil?" you fiddled with his fingers, tugging on them to have an outlet for everything rushing through you, leaving you restless with the want to scream your feelings into the world.

"Yes?" He sounded hoarse, unusually so, and it urged you on further.

"The moment I met you I knew you would take my heart and whisk it away." Grappling with the challenge of expressing just how much of an impact he had on you, you thought back to every big movie scene, every lovesong that you finally understood the lyrics to.

All of them felt bland in contrast to the cocktail of feelings that he evoked in you, the emotions that came from loving this man.

However, he beat you to it, articulating what had occupied your contemplation.

"I love you," Thranduil's voice resonated, gaining a steady cadence. "I love you. I realize it might be soon, and time lies ahead of us, but I wish to spend every moment with you, fully aware of the depth of my feelings."

A violin's sigh, a cello's resonance, a gasp.

"I love you too, Thranduil. So much."

Thranduil inclined his head, a golden aura enveloping his silver-blonde locks that cascaded around you like the rich, heavy red curtains.

At that moment, he resembled the Swan, exuding grace and elegance. His long, fair eyelashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones, and as he leaned in to kiss you, a profound sense of being utterly cherished and loved enveloped you, much like the crescendo of the music all around.

taglist [closed]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax @tigereyesf @seththetinydemon

[wingedblooms]

Secret, slumbering land

This meta is a continuation of theories (forbidden secrets, blooming dreams, bright as the dawn, and heart of the night court) about Elain’s connection to Wyrd and the land. This new thread focuses on the gentle healing land and lake that the sisters visit in their stories. Maasverse spoilers below, so please proceed with caution.

It seemed like a secret, slumbering land that time had forgotten. (acosf)

Both Feyre and Nesta visit a turquoise lake nestled in the mountains. Because their description is the same, this theory operates on the assumption that it is the same place. And since things come in threes in this series, Elain may visit this magical lake in her own story. When I reread the scenes with previous visits, I was struck by the language Sarah used to describe it—secret, slumbering, forgotten—and the clues those words might hold for Elain and Wyrd, the Stone Mother.

Secret

During the first visit to this lake, Azriel teaches Feyre to fly and shares their court philosophy on training, which is connected to a legend about Nephelle (more on that later). During this scene, Azriel is bathed in blinding sunlight and his shadows are gone. His appearance is stark and clear, readable.

In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More human than I had ever seen him. “There’s no chance that I’ll be able to fly in the legions, is there?” I asked, kneeling beside him as he tended to my skinned palms with expert care and gentleness. The sun was brutal against his scars, hiding not one twisted, rippling splotch. (acowar)

@offtorivendell connected his appearance to the bonus chapter ages ago, and it is still one of my favorite metas. In that bonus chapter, we learn Azriel’s shadows are also prone to vanish around Elain.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around.  The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible.  A thing of secret, lovely beauty. (Azriel’s bonus) 

He tells us he doesn't need to rely on his shadows to read her, so his deep trust and vulnerability might be the only explanation for his shadows' behavior, but they can also sense power and respond to it as power themselves. For example, if someone's power is related to music, they might sing or dance in response. What power, other than the revealing light of Truth, might cause them to vanish?

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was.  The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. (Azriel’s bonus) 

The Faelight reveals Elain's secret, lovely beauty: she glows like the sun at dawn. What do we know about dawn? In nature, dawn restores the light and awakens the earth. In the Maasverse, it is also associated with healing magic. And when we return to the lake in Nesta’s story, we learn it was once connected to healing. Healing light is bright and warm like the dawn; it has the power to pierce the darkness and outrace Death itself. It is pure life in its rawest form.

Sarah has repeatedly connected Elain to rebirth and renewal, especially in relation to Azriel: in his presence, she's the lovely fawn, vibrant spring behind her. Standing before Death. Even the headache tonic, a lighthearted remedy, serves as potential hint for this secret, lovely beauty: 

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.  I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. “Brilliant,” Cassian said.  Elain smiled again, ducking her head.  Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.” (acofas) 

Elain’s gift awakens life, veins of emerald, in the earthy brown and gray within his soul, just as she does in her own garden. It is no coincidence that Elain, who is most radiant in healing hues, glows like the sun at dawn in the dead of night. And Azriel is stark and clear before her just as he is about to finally allow himself a taste of pure life, of healing. In the wake of Elain’s healing presence, we even glimpse Azriel’s emotional scars through his internal dialogue. On healing journeys, lingering scars are faced and overcome rather than avoided. Some wounds require deep trust as the healer, patient as a gardener, walks the road with them on that journey. 

Slumbering

On our second visit to the lake, we learn the surrounding land is inhabited by ordinary faeries who prefer solitude. This immediately made me think about Elain, content and beautiful in her simple gardening dress, and Feyre’s comment about her clinging to Azriel for some peace and quiet. It would be fitting for them to come here in their story, to find joy and love and healing here together. And if I were to hand select a place for Rosehall, where someone like Azriel's mother could find solitude and healing, this would be it.

He knew these mountains well enough from flying over them for centuries: shepherds lived here, usually ordinary faeries who preferred the solitude of the towering green and brownish-black stones to more populated areas. The peaks weren’t as brutal and sharp as those in Illyria, but there was a presence to them that he couldn’t quite explain. Mor had once told him that long ago, these lands had been used for healing. That people injured in body and spirit had ventured to these hills, the lake they were now two and a half days from reaching, to recover. Perhaps that was why he’d come. Some instinct had remembered the healing, felt this land’s slumbering heart, and decided to bring Nesta here. 

-

She’d never seen such a view. It seemed like a secret, slumbering land that time had forgotten. […] The mountains watched her, the river sang to her, as if guiding her onward to that lake. (acosf)

The mountains here aren't brutal and sharp, but they still have a powerful presence. Like the third sister. The mountains watched Nesta like a protective seer, and the river sang to her, as if guiding her onward to that lake, like Elain’s scent. Her scent is a sparkling river, a promise of spring, that guided Nesta to her. And what did Nesta find when she reached the source of that scent? Elain’s sharp angles, once like the Illyrian mountains after she was Made, were now replaced with softness. She glowed with health and her smile was bright as the sun. She also smells of jasmine and honey, which are soothing scents and herbs that have healing properties. 

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf) 

In the span of a few pages, we're also told twice that this land is slumbering. Since it was once used for healing, it would make sense for healing magic to be at the core of its slumbering heart. Remember, the rawest form of healing magic is pure life and we just learned that Wyrd, the Stone Mother, was once blossoming with pure life. Elain’s wyrdcrown seems to mirror Stone Mother's creative powers in the form of sleeping buds:

She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind…Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. (acowar)

This imagery of Elain’s power has always reminded me of the darkness of creation and rest Yrene receives guidance from while she bathes in Silba’s Womb, which she calls the slumbering heart of the earth. In the tog series, Silba was the goddess of healing and gentle deaths and Elain shares many connections with the healers who honor her. So, it’s possible slumbering simply means the land reflects the restful and restorative healing power of those who once lived on and fed the magic of the land. 

Slumbering or sleeping can also indicate dormant magic, which is something we’ve seen in both tog and cc. In tog, Dorian has raw magic and he can shape it into different things—phantom hands, shifting, healing, etc. His raw magic is sleeping in his heart before he explores it. 

“You have power in you, Prince. More power than you realize.” She touched his chest, tracing a symbol there, too, and some of the court ladies gasped. But Nehemia’s eyes were locked on his. “It sleeps,” she whispered, tapping his heart. “In here. When the time comes, when it awakens, do not be afraid.” She removed her hand and gave him a sad smile. “When it is time, I will help you.” With that, she walked away, the courtiers parting, then swallowing up her wake. He stared after the princess, wondering what her last words had meant. And why, when she said them, something ancient and slumbering deep inside him had opened an eye. (com)

We recently learned the Asteri poisoned the waters in Midgard with a parasite to feed off of the magic of its citizens. This parasite warped their magic and it is described as dormant and tethered as a result:

The Asteri had infected the water we consumed with a parasite. They’d poisoned the lakes and streams and oceans. The parasites burrowed their way into our bodies, warping our magic. (hofas) - Somehow, a barrier had been removed. One that had ordered him to stand down, to obey … It was nothing but ashes now. Only dominance remained. Untethered. But filling the void of that barrier with a rising, raging force— (Ithan’s magic, hofas) - Tharion withdrew. Lidia shook with rage and power. Tharion could feel it shuddering around him, rising up like a behemoth from the deep. What had that antidote woken in her? What had been taken during the Drop? And what had lain dormant, all this time? His water seemed to quail at it—like it knew something he didn’t. (Lidia’s magic, hofas) - Warm, bright magic answered. Healing magic, rising to the surface as if it had been dormant in his blood. He had no idea how to use it, how to do anything other than will it with a simple Save him. […] He willed that lovely, bright power to keep healing Ketos, though. (Ruhn’s magic, hofas)

Similarly, the Asteri pooled and imbued their magic in Wyrd to warp her purely creative magic. 

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced…those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. (hofas) - Those of us who ventured here found ways to amplify that power, thanks to the gifts of the land. We pooled our power, and imbued those gifts into the Cauldron so that it would work our will. We Made the Trove from it. And then bound the very essence of the Cauldron to the soul of this world.” (hofas)

Is it possible Elain’s sleeping buds, as a mirror of Wyrd’s original magic, represent what remains dormant, tethered?

“Or maybe it’s dormant, as the Cauldron is now asleep and safely hidden in Cretea with Drakon and Miryam. Her power could rise at any moment.” A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken. (acosf)

In the scene above, Cassian and Rhysand are discussing Nesta’s powers. We learn that they aren’t dormant, which makes sense; they seem to represent the magic that the Asteri imbued into Wyrd to become a tool of death and destruction. That magic might be feeding off of Wyrd’s creative powers like a parasite and keep her half-awake, like the Fae in Midgard and, perhaps, the healing land: 

It was all so still, yet watchful, somehow. As if she were surrounded by something ancient and half-awake. As if each peak had its own moods and preferences, like whether the clouds clung to or avoided them, or trees lined their sides or left them bare. Their shapes were so odd and long that they looked as if behemoths had once lain down beside the rivers, pulled a rumpled blanket over themselves, and fallen asleep forever. (acosf)

Ancient, half-awake, behemoth. These terms are also used to describe Wyrd. The word behemoth in particular is associated with a primordial chaos monster in mythology and may be yet another potential hint that Chaos is Hel’s name for Wyrd.

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. […] “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

-

As they walked up those steps and entered a space that was a near-mirror to temples back home—indeed, its layout was identical to the last temple Hunt had stood in: Urd’s Temple. […] “The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again. (hofas)

-

But the Cauldron. As if some great sleeping beast opened an eye. The Cauldron seemed to sense us watching. Sense us there. (acowar)

@silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I believe Wyrd saw Elain as a kindred spirit and gifted her the language of creation with the hope that she could be the key to her freedom, her healing in body and spirit. Those original creative powers could include a deep connection with the earth (earth magic), divine sense (seer abilities), fluid form and movement (travel and shifting), and healing, pure life and world-building power. Elain might already be testing the boundaries of that creative magic, learning to shape it into different things (explaining her mysterious appearances).

Elain may also need to bring her sisters together to help Wyrd. They represent the three faces of the Mother together and have been marked by her from the beginning of the series. When Feyre physically healed the Cauldron with the help of Rhysand, she cupped her hands and became the first face of the Mother. Nesta became the second face of the Mother when she healed Feyre and Nyx with the Trove. And the healing lake appears to hint at Elain's role, the third face of the Mother:

Nesta cleared the hill that Cassian had mounted ahead, and a sparkling, turquoise lake spread before them. It lay slightly sunken between two peaks, as if a pair of green hands had been cupped to hold the water within them. Gray stones lined its shore. (acosf)

This is our first earthen depiction of the Stone Mother. Someone with green fingers or a green thumb is skilled at gardening. Gardeners provide gentle order to pure, blossoming life with their green hands. And we already know, thanks to Rhys and Feyre, that Elain won’t hesitate to get her hands dirty—stained green, even—for a pretty result. 

When Elain's creative magic rises in her story, will it flow like a sparkling river, unfurl like a bloom, to awaken the soul of the earth? Could it soothe Azriel’s icy rage and bring true spring and healing to Ramiel, softening its sharp angles when its heart, Wyrd, is finally restored? Only time will tell.

Forgotten

The land is also described as a place time had forgotten and, as I mentioned earlier, it's where Azriel shared the story of Nephelle—the one who had been passed over, who had been forgotten—while he tended to Feyre's wounds after a fall during flying practice.

Nephelle, who had been passed over, who had been forgotten…She outraced death itself. […] And yet her too-small wingspan, that deformed wing…they did not fail her. Not once. Not for one wing beat. (acowar)

Nephelle wanted to be a warrior, but was turned away due to her small wingspan. So, she made herself indispensable as a cartographer and excelled at finding the most geographically advantageous positions for their armies. And now that hofas has been released, we know earth magic can be used to locate the best geographical locations:

…those with earth magic were sent ahead to scout lands [...] Not only the best geographical locations, but magical ones, too. They could sense the ley lines—the channels of energy running throughout the land, throughout Midgard. They told the Asteri to build their cities where several of the lines met, at natural crossroads of power, and picked those places for the Fae to settle, too. But they selected Avallen just for the Fae. To be their personal, eternal stronghold.” (hofas)

Those with earth magic are deeply connected to the land and their creative power flows freely in places where the natural magic in the land is untethered. Is it possible Nephelle excelled at finding the best locations because she possessed earth magic? And could that come into play in the next story if Elain possesses earth magic as part of her creative powers?

Despite being perceived as weak, Nephelle outraced death itself with her small wingspan to save Miryam. Her miraculous rescue inspired the Night Court's philosophy toward training: 

I raised a brow. Azriel shrugged. “We—Rhys, Cass, and I—will occasionally remind each other that what we think to be our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history.”  “The Nephelle Philosophy.” (acowar) 

We saw this philosophy in action at the final battle with Hybern when Elain raced against death itself and appeared out of nowhere with Truth-Teller to protect her family. Like Nephelle, she was and still is passed over, forgotten.

Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. (Nesta's memory of Mama Archeron, acosf)

-

"Go back to Feyre and your little garden." (Nesta to Elain, acosf)

-

Elain said, "Then I will find it. I might require some time to...reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today." "Absolutely not," Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. "Absolutely not." "Why?" Elain demanded. "Shall I tend to my little garden forever?" When Nesta flinched, Elain said, "You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater." "Then go off on adventures," Nesta said. "Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron." (Elain and Nesta's exchange, acosf)

-

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…It sucked the life from her. (Cassian's observation, acosf)

These quotes hit differently with the release of hofas. @offtorivendell and @willowmeres seem to be on track with their theories that the warped magic of Hewn City affected Elain's creative magic. What if she reflects the magic of the land around her, and when that magic is warped or tethered, her physical appearance mirrors it? Is this another sign she will be able to use the language of creation to unearth Prythian’s secrets, forgotten by time? And maybe, like the legendary Nephelle, the things that Elain is viewed as weak for—her little garden, a symbol of her care for and connection to the land, and her appearance, a reflection of what was forgotten—actually become her family's biggest strength.

[satoru-is-the-way]

SPOILERS FOR AVATAR 2!!

Avatar! Rick Quaritch x Na'vi Reader 

"Given Enough "

Series Master list

Tag list: @anyzandy   @kneelingforvillains @dioriez @mylovelyreblogs @dinobae-replyacc @the-wanderer-2022 @zootsutra @voodoogoul

Let me know if you want to be on the tag list.

Chapter 1 - The Invader

Colonel Rick Quaritch shamefully tucked his tail and flew off. His mission to kill Jake Sully failed drastically. Now it's just him flying out into the wilderness of Pandora. His body is weak and needs to rest. Rick landed on a nearby plot of floating land,' Ayram alusìng' as Na'vi called them. However, this was not the Hallelujah Mountains. Quaritch had no clue where exactly he was. He grunts, removing his Queue from the Ikran. He slides off the mountain banshee’s back boots landing on the ground beneath him. The Colonel glanced around for any natives lurking in the trees or behind the bushes around him. The cost seemed clear enough to let his guard down. Little did he know a female Na'vi had been monitoring him long before he entered her tribe's domain. 

(Y/n) (L/n), the clan leader's firstborn. Her people were known as the Kamimaljuyú. The air tribe. They lived in the Ayram alsuìng and built their home there. Humans learned very little about their kind. Due to the terrain, it served as a natural shield against the sky people. Their technology did not last beyond a few miles before rendering them completely useless. The Kamimaljuyú made minimal contact with Sky people and preferred to keep it as such.

(E/c) orbs gradually examined the Avatar before her. She caught subtle differences between her people and the lab-grown organism. Their Avatar features included:  eyebrows, a pronounced nose, a stout physique, one extra finger, and a toe. Their entire race intrigued (Y/n). How did it make sense to leave their dying world only to bring their problems here? Humans would not change their way of life. Not even to save their race. They rather force their ways on others while avoiding the real problem. She could not allow him to stay here much longer. (Y/n) feared Quaritch might bring others. The Kamimaljuyú knew about the sky people’s return but had no involvement in such a meaningless slaughter. They were after the mighty Jake Sully, not her people.

Her chest rose and fell, soaking in the air around her. With a graceful hand, she retrieved an arrow from her quiver. (Y/n) placed the string between the nock before pulling back. Her accuracy could rival any hunter in their village because she never missed. Everything around her accounted for; the distance, position, and wind speed. She let go firing her poisoned lace weapon. Suddenly a gust of wind hit the trajectory changed. Her eyes widen as the arrow lands right at the Colonel’s boots. She then felt a strong presence, Eywa. Maybe the path for this Avatar is not death. The great mother is never wrong. 

Quaritch leaped up glancing in the direction the arrow came from. “Come on out. I might go easy on you.” He growled despite not being in the physical condition to fight. (Y/n) rolled her eyes before slowly emerging from the nearby bush. Her arrow is out as a precaution. 

“You look ready to collapse at any moment now, demon.” Her ears go back hissing as a warning. “I take it you couldn't handle the Na'vi as you thought? You may have an Avatar body but your skills and technology are no match for our spirit." 

Quaritch looked over the native female. He could not deny she was beautiful. The Colonel normally had no attraction to women of their race but. Her eyes, face, lips, and hair all came together perfectly. "You-you." He stutters before collapsing. The last thing he saw is (Y/n) rushing over to his body before everything went black. 

---

Quaritch had no idea how long he was out. He woke up surrounded by thousands of Navi. He hissed looking frantically for a way you. However, he is bound and helpless. What choice did he have? Why did she not kill him? What did they want? He instantly could tell the leaders apart from the other Navi. ‘Oh, shit’ He thought realizing the pretty native woman is not just anyone. It was their daughter. How lucky could he get? It brought flashbacks of Jake Sully meeting Neytiri. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. If Jake became one of them perhaps he could? Seduce the princess into falling in love. Oldest trick in the book. A mission he would be willing to extend if that meant killing the whole Sully family while Jake watched.

“Why have you come back to Pandora after Toruk Makto sent you flying back?”

“We come back in peace. Not all of us agree with what happened to the people all those years ago. Earth wants to make admins.” He looked down with sorrow as the lies spilled off his tongue. “I had gotten caught in a nasty fight with the water tribe. I tried to explain but they did not want to listen.” Quaritch looked up directly into (Y/n)’s eyes. 

“How can I trust the sky people? The last time ended in bloodshed for both sides.”

“I will do anything.” 

“Father…” He glanced at his daughter. Originally Cualli held great anger when (Y/n) returned from her hunt with this demon tied to her Ikran. That anger changed as (Y/n) told him Eywa gave her a sign not to kill the Avatar. “Yuum, leti' impidió ti' le flecha perforara u puksi'ik'al. In wojel ba'ax Eywa Ma'atech u equivoca.Yaan jump'éel plan ti'. In wojel jach jaaj.” (Father, she stopped the arrow from piercing his heart. I know Eywa is never wrong. She has a plan for him. I know it to be true). Quaritch listens closely not understanding this language. He knew about the Kamimaljuyú. They were one of the largest tribes on Pandora and preferred to stay isolated from the other Navi. It was mentioned in books their numbers are greater than the stars in the sky.

The people chatted amongst themselves. They had a right to be scared for the sky people. Other clans had not been so lucky with the alien invaders. Eywa had blessed them all this time. Now his daughter has brought the invader right into their home. His wife, Inez, placed a hand on the wounded Avatar's chest closing her eyes. The Navi went silent waiting for her judgment. “We have avoided war for over 30 years. We kept the sky people at a distance. Eywa has blessed us with protection. Now the great mother has given my daughter a sign. This Avatar has great spirits around him. Evil and good alike battling over his heart. Eywa now brings him here for reasons we do not know. In time she will guide us to find his path, his destiny.” Her voice traveled loud and certain of her communication with Eywa. (Y/n) sighed in relief he would not be harmed as of now. Cualli stepped up raising his staff. The crowd bowed down waiting for his final verdict. With a gesture (Y/n) walked to her father kneeling down.

“My daughter has been spoken to by Eywa. Told to spare his life for now. As we wait for his purpose my daughter will take on the responsibility of tending to his invader. He could be a threat or an ally. We have yet to learn his heart. Eywa sets everyone on two paths. It is his choice of which path to take. Rise, my daughter.” He spoke. (Y/n) rose to her feet ears back. She is left in charge of this man? “You are going to show him our ways. Teach him right and wrong. Then I will pass judgment on him. If he passes the test he will be welcomed as one of us. If not you will kill him yourself. Do you both accept?” 

Quaritch held back his smirk,” I accept.”

(Y/n) sighed deeply,”Je'el in wóotik” (I accept.)

“Then go your time starts now,” Cualli announced

“ Ma' in falles waal.” (Do not fail me, daughter.) Inez whispered already knowing this will not work and (Y/n) will once more disgrace their family. (Y/n) nods looking at Quaritch.

“Follow me.” She instructed as the villagers went back to their daily tasks. She huffed once arriving at the edge of their first village. “You will have to wear our clothes, eat our food, and learn our language.” (Y/n) growled.

“I am not going to run around in one of those thongs or whatever you call them” He adds. Without warning (Y/n) pulls her knife out cutting his shirt. “You will change for this role. You will have to make accommodations or else my father will kill you.” She looked over him. “No boots, no guns, no shirt, but your pants can be cut short enough to still allow for mobility. We are air people there is still forest on our land. So we know how to climb the trees, and swing on the vines, and you will also need to learn our language.” 

Quaritch sighed taking his cut shirt off. He kicked his muddy boots off and growled cutting his pants mid-thigh length. He did not like this one bit.  “Is that better for you Princess?”

“Don’t call me that!” She hissed tail slapping him. “You are going to fail…Eywa sees something in you and I do not know why. It’s getting late supper will be soon then I will show you where you will rest.”

“With you, I hope.” He smirks moving closer to (Y/n). She growled and turned away with a sway in her walk. The Colonel knew this is going to be fun. 

Chapter 2

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 13

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 7.7k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* References to past sexual encounters, a dash of angst, light gambling (friendly wager on cards), Reference to the Civil War, family drama/angst, brief mentions of blood drinking, tooth rotting fluff. Summary: Off on an adventure to Gilded Age New York City, the train ride has as much excitement in store as you could possibly have expected from the entire trip. Notes: A short but emotionally impactful chapter this week, my loves! Please enjoy a glimpse at a Pullman sleeper car. They're honestly pretty beautiful and comfy and I'd love to travel in one 💚

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12

Your breath is even, making your chest rise and fall slowly against his cool body. Wrapping around him as if you are afraid he would leave this bed while you rest. Even in sleep, your blissful sighs are soft and content, worn out by the endless hours Max had wrung orgasm after orgasm out of you. Learning your limits and everything that you like and dislike when a man has his tongue buried in your warmth. His own smirk is self-satisfied and slightly smug from the number of times you had called out to the gods because of the pleasure.

Hours later, after sleeping the morning and even some of the afternoon away and having an afternoon tea that is the equivalent of a Gilded Age light lunch, Mr. Taylor is loading your trunks onto the carriage that Emmanuel has arrived in to take you all to the train station. While your mother is saying a very sweet goodbye to her own mother, you and Max are standing just at the doorstep with Yayo.

“When you return we will discuss your intent to return home,” he tells you quietly, keeping his choice of words intentionally enigmatic. “For now, enjoy yourselves. I understand the Vanderbilts have offered you their guest rooms so you do not have to stay anywhere as impersonal as a hotel?”

Max smirks slightly and nods. “We have accepted the gracious invitation and will be a sterling example of the Brown name.” While Max is not using the same last name, he understands that his sire has vouched for him and any scandal would fall back on his reputation.

“Enjoy yourselves.” What Yayo has not told you is that he had given Max something of an allowance to be used while you are in New York, making sure that the group of you will be able to dine, shop, and travel as you see fit for your five-day trip. You’re even taking Renee with you, as you and Annie will doubtlessly need the help dressing for your many outings and dinners, and it would put a strain on the Vanderbilt’s staff if they had to supply two young ladies with a suitable maid for almost a week. Emmanuel’s valet has been instructed that he will also be dressing Max during the trip. It’s all…extraordinarily overdone, in your opinion. But as vacations go? It might be the single most luxurious one you’ll ever take in your life. So you intend to enjoy it.

“We intend to.” You assure your grandfather after he shakes Max’s hand and places a very paternal kiss on your cheek. “Thank you. I know this means the world to Annie.”

Max watches the exchange between you and your grandfather with soft affection. The knowing glint in the elder vampire’s eyes was telling and he had been subtly warned to take care of both you and your mother while off on this trip.

“And be sure to call on the Astors just to be polite.” He urges. The Astors and Roosevelts had been welcoming to you at the ball after finding out that you and Max were considered family.

“We’re having dinner there on Wednesday.” Getting that invitation had been thrilling as all hell. Just about as thrilling as when Max came to you seconds later to excitedly tell you that the Vanderbilts had offered you lodging. Max had been very popular last night.

“Very well.” Max’s sire nods seriously and glances at your soulmate. “We will see you when you return.”

Still in an extremely good mood from last night and from this morning, you lend your grandfather a smile before stepping away from the door to get into the carriage. "Enjoy having some peace and quiet."

Cookie slides up to her soulmate’s side and wraps her arm through his with a sly smirk. “We will.” She promises as she winks at you.

The carriage is large enough for the four of you to pile into, and the clear sky of the day means that Renee and Emmanuel's valet happily sit with the driver. The chilly October day is still sunny this afternoon and by the time you reach the train station and are loaded on board, the pinks and purples of sunset streak the sky through the windows of the Pullman car to light up the green and bronze colored interior brilliantly.

“This is niiiiiice.” Max knows none of the others will get the reference, but you will understand the tone as he examines the interior of the carriage with great enthusiasm.

Barely managing not to snort when you laugh, you have to cover your face and clear your throat to get your composure back when Emmanuel looks at you both quizzically. “It is exceptionally luxurious. And very kind of you to share your car with us.”

“This could feel like the elegant parlor in a home.” Max offers, reaching out and touching the pillow that it sitting in a cushioned chair.

“We have teased my mother that she spent more time styling the family’s car than she did choosing names for us all,” Emmanuel jokes, looking around the space with pride. “It is rather splendid though, is it not?”

“I think you could comfortably live in something like this.” Max is fully aware of the future, but it’s still a nice thought. Traveling by rail and touring the country is far more romantic than driving in an RV.

“Perhaps we should.” A squeeze of his hand makes him more than aware that you’re teasing, but you still wink playfully. “Travel the country in a Pullman car to decide where to live? It sounds positively luxurious.”

Max arches a brow at Emmanuel teasingly. “Happy wife, happy life, that’s my motto. Sounds like I might be ordering one from you. What all can go into one?”

The look of delight on Emmanuel’s face is like Christmas two months early, and you can’t help but laugh to yourself as your mother’s soulmate embarks on an obviously passionate listing of all the perks and practical benefits of long-term train travel in these cars specifically. “I think he enjoys talking about his family’s business,” you observe to Annie wryly.

“He is very proud of it.” She murmurs back, pride on her own face as she watches the two of them discuss business. “His dream to is run the company one day after his grandfather passes.”

“I’m sure they will be very proud to have him take over.” Knowing that the man will not survive that long makes you swallow your regret, but there is nothing you can do about it. History cannot be changed. If you interfere to spare your mother’s heartbreak, you will literally never be born.

"With the right woman by his side." She giggles quietly and bites her lip as she nearly vibrates with excitement. Emmanuel had asked to speak to her father just this morning and she's sure that a proposal is coming.

“Give him time.” Not having vampiric hearing, you’re unaware of what happened downstairs this afternoon while you were getting dressed to leave Newport. “Do not be disappointed if he takes a little time.”

"He spoke with father." She leans into whisper in confidence, breaking out into a large, happy grin. "I have a feeling that we will be engaged by the Astor's ball!"

“That will be quite the souvenir to return home with from the city.” It would be a wonderful thing for her right now, obviously, but you dread the idea that she might take your new found friendship so straight forwardly and do something like ask you to be in her wedding party. Something you would have to say no to.

"I think I might die!" She giggles dramatically and collapses against your arm. "He is just so perfect. And I've decided that I will ask him about his scars tonight."

“Then we might have a very eventful trip indeed.” She’s so happy and it’s intense and infectious and so very sweet — you can’t help but hug her as she stands beside you. “I would ask if you are excited to see the Vanderbilts again but I think you must have spent a lot of time with them.”

"Despite my father thinking little of their plans to tear down the cottages and build a bigger home, he quite likes them." She shrugs. "They have been very kind, especially when in social gatherings."

“With six children, I can only think the house must be very crowded.” There were so many times as a child that you had wished for that many siblings, but as an adult the idea of giving birth to six kids makes you want to carry a bottle of Advil out of fear.

"I cannot even imagine." Annie shakes her head and bites her lip. "I don't think I would want that many children myself."

“Neither do I.” Ah. Interesting to know after the fact that you were an only child because your mother very reasonably didn’t want to put her body through that. That sounds very much like your pragmatic mother.

"Although, mother assures me that father has the most delightful pain tonic to help with the pains." She sighs softly. "I was never lonely like some expected me to be as an only child."

“Then you were very lucky.” Before you can say more, which is probably for the best, the conductor comes around to ask the four of you to settle in for the beginning of the journey. There is a table and set of four chairs in the center of the car for you to sit together, and Emmanuel reaches into his pocket to pull out a deck of cards. “Shall we amuse ourselves before dinner?” He offers, putting the deck on the table before holding Annie’s chair out for her to sit comfortably

"Absolutely." Max has learned how gentleman play cards in this time and finds it fascinating.

"Shall I pour you ladies a sherry to enjoy?" Emmanuel asks, motioning to a bar cart set up in one corner.

“If we could have tea?” Annie quickly asks the gentleman before he leaves your car all together. He nods politely and exits. “I…have noticed that your wife does not often partake, Mr. Philips. I would not wish my dear friend to feel left alone.”

“It is true, my wife does not enjoy the taste of alcohol.” Max agrees. “It is not a bad thing, I find that the taste is rather bitter myself and dinners are far more reasonable with tea than a bottle of wine.”

“Then we will all have tea.” Emmanuel offers, once Max has you settled at the table. With the four of you sitting it’s a very happy atmosphere and Emmanuel begins to shuffle the deck.

Max shoots you a grin as he leans back and watches Emmanuel. “Aficionado, hmmmm? We’ll see. Perhaps we might have to make a wager if you are as good as you imagine you are.”

“How much?” The other man chuckles, feeling lively at the proposition.

“How about a nickel a hand?” Max asks, raising a brow playfully. When he had been a broke college kid, it had been quarter poker, but five cents is particularly generous in this time.

“That’s a very friendly wager, Max.” It makes the other man laugh again, and he nods. From the depths of his coin purse he is sure to unearth as many rounds’ worth of nickels as ever he should need. “A nickel a hand it is.”

Max grins and pulls out some bills to exchange for the nickels and divides them but between all of you.

"I'm afraid I'm not much of a card player, but I'm happy to try." Modern poker, or Go Fish, or even a game of hearts on your laptop while you were in college was all fairly standard. But bridge has proven difficult for you to pick up, if a few nights of sitting at the card table with you mother and grandmother are anything to go by.

“Don’t worry.” Max reaches out and pats your hand. “Why don’t we keep the rules simple?”

"Just regular poker will do." Annie's grin is mischievous and instantly you're back at the dining room table with your parents on Sunday afternoons while they played cards and you did homework or colored or read a book. It seemed to be the only time you weren't twirling around the house like a sugared up cyclone.

He arches a brow at your mother and grins. “Regular poker it is.” Emmanuel laughs as he starts to dole out the cards to everyone. “Aces high, Jokers bust.”

It might be the most relaxed and most pleasant way to pass an evening that you’ve had in ages. No television to sit around, not all of you sitting individually on your phones. Just a card game and a pot of tea and friends. Although, it is particularly entertaining to watch Max realize that your mother is an exceptional poker player, which is definitely not what he had anticipated.

“Renee had a sweetheart in the war twenty years ago,” Annie explains through giggles at the table after she wins yet another hand. “He taught her the game after they played it at their camps so often, and she taught me.”

“Really?” Max has always been interested in the other vampire, wanting to know her story, but she’s surprisingly closed mouthed. “They must have had fun playing cards.”

“It was about one of the only fun things they did have.” Annie agrees, swallowing a sigh. “He was a part of a medical unit. The poor man survived the entire war and then succumbed to a fever barely a year after the surrender at Appomattox Courthouse. She accepted being turned rather than continue to suffer, but her sweetheart refused.”

“That’s sad.” Max frowns slightly, not even able to imagine the loss of her lover. “Was he her soulmate? Or first love?”

“Renee’s soulmate was her sister.” Pausing at the appearance of the night’s second tea tray, Annie thanks the steward who brings it in and waits for them to leave before continuing. “He was her first love. But her family didn’t approve. She left home to be with him and still lost him, poor thing.”

“Her sister?” Max tilts his head curiously, knowing about platonic soulmates but he’s never heard of siblings who are soulmates. “Twins?”

“Indeed.��� Annie nods, moving to pour tea out for everyone but you beat her to it. “It seems there was some sort of rivalry between her family and his, and except for her sister, they couldn’t see to forgive her for choosing him. They still exchange letters, but the post takes time.”

“Did her twin also become a vampire?” His eyes cut over to Emmanuel but the other man just looks up from his cards curiously. The subject of the undead obviously not phasing him at all.

“Martha wasn’t hit with the same fever that took Johnson and almost took Renee. She’s still back in West Virginia with their family.” Annie stops long enough to thank you for her cup, and fixes Emmanuel’s for him at the table. “They’re God-fearing people, Max. Renee still hasn’t told her sister how she survived the fever. She’s afraid Martha will cut her out, too.”

“No doubt, it would be better if a visit didn’t occur.” Max snorts, still bitter at the lack of relationship with his own parents.

“They would likely notice that she has not aged in twenty years.” This time Annie shakes her head, sipping her own tea to steady herself. “I am sure you know, but most vampires are forced to cut ties with their mortal families at one point or another.”

“Lucky for me, I cut ties before then.” Max huffs with a sardonic grin.

“And know you have a whole other family.” It’s very clear that Emmanuel sees only the silver lining as he sits back and smiles. “And it grows beautifully. Your sire, his family, and now your wife.”

“My wife is worth everything.” Max isn’t just playing to his audience, he means it. Taking your hand that isn’t wrapped around your card and kissing it softly.

While the ring is burning a hole in Emmanuel’s pocket, this is not the right time. He has already planned out when and where to ask Annie to be his bride, and a train car is not at all grand enough for such an important question. “You are very lucky to have found each other,” he observes instead. “To find one’s soulmate is a genuine blessing.”

“Yes.” Max winks at you and then glances at where Annie is fidgeting slightly, looking worried and eager all at the same time. “What about you, Mannie?” He asks, leaning back. “What kind of marks have you made to lead your soulmate to you?”

“Wherever she is, she has remained a mystery to me.” Which is a terrible disappointment, if he’s honest. He had always dreamed of something dramatic and romantic like seeing a shared mark on a lady’s arm at a ball. Since meeting Annie Brown, though, he has been glad that that never happened. The love he feels for her is far too deep to deny. “I have no marks from my soulmate. Only somewhere in the world, she wears the scar on her leg from when I fell off my horse as a boy.”

Max can feel the way Annie’s heart nearly leaps in her chest and your own hand squeezes his tightly. “Interesting. Which leg? I have to say that I am unfortunate enough that I don’t have scars either. Different circumstances, of course.”

“Of course.” Emmanuel chuckles lightly, not thinking anything of it. “It is my left leg. A rather unsightly mark, too. I ought to apologize to the lady for bestowing it on her if I ever were to meet her.” There is a deeply felt — a dearest hope — in his heart that it could be Annie. But he has been too afraid to ask and be disappointed.

She inhales sharply, eyes wide and hopeful and her cards are all but abandoned in her hand. “I am sure it’s not too bad.” She volunteers. “Just a mark slightly larger than the palm of my hand?”

“With a…” He swallows thickly, and suddenly Emmanuel cannot look away from the woman beside him for anything in the world. “A curve on one end…like the top of a cane…how could you…?”

Nodding almost frantically, Annie leans in and drops the cards to grab her beau’s hand. “Please tell me that this is the mark you are describing?” She begs. “Please tell me you are my soulmate.”

“It cannot be.” He has never thought that he could be this lucky. That the woman he had fallen in love with so quickly has found it in her heart to love him back is one thing. For her to truly be the other half of his soul is something truly remarkable. “Are we really to be twice blessed?” He clutches her hands tightly, knowing that to ask to see her bare leg is entirely out of the question but knowing that she recognizes his mark means the world.

Max smirks and looks over at you as you watch your mother look like the sun is shining just for her. “Should be in one of those romance books, hmmm?”

“We should give them some space.” If you don’t, there’s a chance that you might not be able to contain yourself, and that you might give something away by shedding tears instead of being happy for Annie. Watching your mother discover her soulmate is a gut punch that you hadn’t quite expected.

“Come.” Max senses how emotional you are and stands. “Shall we see our sleeping berth?”

You nod, trying your best to keep yourself composed while he helps you up and leads you to the two single-side beds on the far end of the car. Pullman cars aren’t equipped with doubles for married couples, but you’ll barely be a foot apart.

“Interesting sleeping arrangements.” Max ticks a brow up before he turns to you. “Are you alright, Queenie?” He asks, rubbing your arms gently. He knows this is a shock for you.

“I didn’t expect to be here for the reveal,” you admit, tucking into his side and letting yourself drop down onto one of the mattresses indiscriminately. “I’m okay. It’s a lot, though.”

“It’s okay to like Emmanuel.” He reminds you softly, dropping down beside you. “I hate that I would have loved to have him for the dreaded F. I. L.”

“He’s such a nice man.” A few tears break free as you bury your face in Max’s side. “And he makes her so happy.”

“And your father made her happy for the rest of her life.” Max wraps his arms around you and lets you cry. There’s no reason to chide you for it, considering that he feels emotional about it all too.

“I just wish there was a way for her to have it all,” you admit quietly. “Her soulmate, her second love, and her family. Everything that made her happy.”

“She gets to have you again.” Max comforts you softly. “Even if she doesn’t know that she should, she loves you. Just as you are.”

“I’m glad she doesn’t know everything that’s happened.” Knowing that Max will understand why, the best thing to do right now is just to stifle your tears with a handkerchief and try to recompose yourself. “And I’m glad that abuela doesn’t either.”

“I hate that we can’t tell them.” Max admits softly. “Let them change it.”

“I wouldn’t ever be born.” That is enough of a deterrent to keep you in line, but it still hurts your heart. “Or if I would be, I would be a different version of myself.”

“I love you, just as you are,” Max promises softly. “But if you could have not had the heartbreak, it would have been better for you.”

“It would have been better for you, too, love.” If you could have spared Max from suffering in any way you would have, but you squeeze his hands tightly and place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “But I love you, too. Just as you are.”

The skipping beat of his heart is fleeting and he turns his head to kiss you again, addicted to the sensation. “Too bad kissing other places doesn’t have the same effect.” He murmurs with a teasing grin.

"I was kind of hoping it would," you admit, cheeks immediately burning hot with the reminder of this morning. "It certainly makes my heart beat faster, though."

“I know.” Max leers and his tongue swipes over his lips in satisfaction. “I felt it. Every stuttering, skipping pulse as it throbbed through your sweet little pussy.”

"Max!" You may be on the other side of the train car, but there is still a chance that Annie and Emmanuel might hear him if they ever come up from the way their heads are bowed at the card table.

“What?” He huffs, grinning broadly at your embarrassment. “We’re married.”

"Yeah..." Huffing right back at him, you glance over at the other couple seriously. "And my virgin mother is in the same room," you remind him as quietly as possible.

“She might not be by the time this train goes home.” Max reminds you. “Not the way those two smell right now.”

"Oh gods, I did not need to know that." You poke his side and all but shudder. "I know it's a hundred years too early but she's still...her."

“Mommy had to have some sex.” He teases softly. “She had you. And she’s really old to have been a hundred-year-old virgin.”

“It’s just not something I’ve ever thought about.” There was no need for you to. Not up to age eighteen. And then your parents became frozen in time in your mind’s eye. “You’re right, it’s just never something I’ve spent time on.”

“One day, our kids will have the same revelation.” Max hums. “Unless we are just freely sexual around them and they groan and roll their eyes, talking about horrible their parents are.”

“I know what Yayo said, but I’m trying not to get too excited about the idea of kids,” you admit, eyes dropping from his to your hands in his lap. “Just in case.”

“I know.” Max’s grin drops into a more serious expression and he covers your warm hands with a cool one. “If we don’t, we don’t. It’s not the end of the world. We’ll adopt a little shit and spoil them rotten if you want.”

“You’ve never mentioned having any vampiric children.” And you’ve never asked, so it’s not entirely on him. “I take it I’m not a stepmother?”

“I’ve—”Max frowns and blows out a useless sigh. “All but one was destroyed when— when I was.” He admits quietly. “But I don’t look at them like kids. Or I didn’t.” He snorts. “He’s in California for some fucking reason.”

“You have a son?” He may not look at his vampiric offspring as a child but you certainly do, and your eyes widen immediately. “I don’t even know where to start. I—tell me everything.”

“Okay….” He snorts and shakes his head. “It’s not a very long story, but I’ll tell you.”

“Short stories can still be interesting,” you remind him, finding yourself aghast that he just hadn’t mentioned it.

He shuffles slightly, embarrassed by his past behavior. “The guy who ruined my life? I got a job for the company he worked for.”

“Right.” Trying to conjure up every detail of information he has given you about that situation, you nod along with his explanation. “The telesales company.”

“Yep. I sold myself to management, using the vampirism as a business model. Convinced them sales would increase if they had a workforce of the undead. The company was going under and they were desperate for any Hail Mary.”

“So you…sired people at the office?” It seems more than slightly outrageous, but companies have surely done crazier things out of desperation.

“Yeah.” He huffs quietly. “I wanted to prove there was a better way, better reason to be a vampire.” He huffs. “And get revenge on that little annoying fucker.”

“So one of them is still alive?” The term makes you cringe, though, and you slump apologetically. “So to speak.”

“One, yeah.” He frowns slightly, bothered by all the people destroyed because of his selfishness more than he realizes. Maybe that was why he never truly fought against his punishment as he thought of his confinement to the Newport house. He felt as if he deserved much worse. Realizing now that you were all your grandfather had actually cared about.

“Hey.” One hand flat on his chest brings his attention back to you and you tilt your head at him quizzically. “What just happened in there?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Max snaps back to you and bites his lip.

“You disappeared into your own head.” Unconsciously mirroring him, you bite your lip too. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. I already pried.”

“No.” The best way to make Max open up is for you to blame yourself for something, even something small. “I just— I realized how many people died because of me.” He admits, wondering if that would change how you feel about him.

“You’re literally a different person than you were then.” You remind him gently. “And you’re living a completely different…afterlife.”

“Still…..” max closes his eyes. “It was seventy-three people.”

“Which is why you drink from donors now and make business deals in ink instead.” It isn’t much comfort, but at least you can show Max that he’s changed. He’s become a better man since his afterlife got upended. “Speaking of which…” You take his hand in yours and squeeze gently. “You haven’t had any blood since we got here.”

“I know.” Max doesn’t want to admit that he’s starting to feel thirsty. “I’m alright.”

“You won’t be in another day or two.” And since the middle of that hunger and thirst will come during a trip away from the steady donor so helpfully supplied by your grandfather — under circumstances you absolutely don’t want to know about — you squeeze his hand again. “But I’m not going to let you go thirsty. I promise.”

Max shakes his head. “No, I’ll— I don’t want you to do something you aren’t comfortable with.” You had shown you were squeamish about it and Max has not brought it up again. You had flinched once when he was going down on you and that was enough to cross it off the list of things he would do with you.

“I’m more comfortable with you drinking from me than I am with the thought of you sharing something so intimate with a complete stranger,” you admit. “You said yourself how deeply the connection can be felt.”

“You flinched.” He reminds you softly, telling himself it’s ridiculous to be hurt by that when it’s a normal reaction to fangs.

“Because I was afraid it might hurt.” The sheepishness — the embarrassment — in your quiet confession is very clear, and your eyes drop down to your hands again because your fear hurt him and you don’t deserve to look him in the eyes. “Not because I don’t want to take care of you.”

“It doesn’t matter if you think you should.” Max sighs. “I don’t want you to ever do something you don’t want with me. If you’re afraid it will hurt, I won’t do it.”

“Max…” You hadn’t expected him to protest, honestly thinking he would been overjoyed at the offer. It just goes to show that you’re not quite as adjusted to this relationship as you thought you were. You had expected him to just take without any thought, but that isn’t Max. Or, at least, that isn’t Max anymore. “Will you at least consider it?”

“If you want me to.” He doubts he would, but your brow is knitted with worry and he hates that.

“I want you to. To consider it and to do it. But not until you’re ready.” And part of That sense to be showing him that you aren’t afraid anymore, so you will do everything you can.

“I love you, Dolly.” Max whispers, offering you his hand. “I just don’t want to fuck up and hurt you.”

“I’d rather have a little bit of hurt from a bite than be hurt because I’ve lost you,” you tell him honestly. Him not feeding is not an option, just like it’s not an option for you not to eat, either.

“You aren’t going to lose me.” Max promises. “If I had to eat someone, I would, just to stay with you.”

"You don't have to, though." Looking back up at him, your gaze is surprisingly steady. "And I can stay with you forever, too."

“Mrs. Phillips, are you proposing to me?” He’s grinning, but he sounds scandalized. “How terribly modern of you.”

“I suppose I am, in a way.” It wasn’t what you had meant to do — not strictly speaking — but at the heart of it is the same conversation. That you want to be with him. Just him. For as long as you possibly can.

“Makes sense.” Max tells you. “Since we are married.” He looks at you softly and reaches into his pocket. “You want to be with me? Forever?”

“I really do.” The certainty is extraordinary. Something you never truly thought would ever happen. It here you are, with his hand in yours, and you know in your heart that you will do anything in your power to stay with him.

Max decides that it might not be the most glamorous thing, but he slides off the bed and kneels down in front of you. “Dolly, Queenie, my soulmate…” He starts, his cockiness fading and there’s a naked, earnest expression in his eyes. “I never thought I would be able to have you. You are perfect, better than I ever dreamed and I am not even worthy of you, but for some reason, you want me.” He takes a small, leather box out of his pocket. “Will you roam the earth with me and experience eternity together?”

“Oh gods…” If someone had asked you the least likely things to happen to you in the entire world, this would have been on the list. Your soulmate, a happy relationship, engagement and marriage — all of these things. They were put on a shelf out a reach and you didn’t ever think your arm would stretch that far for the rest of your life. But here in this train car it’s Max that you reach for, tearing up and giggling softly and feeling your whole self light up brightly with “Yes!”

It’s pure relief that has Max grinning, thankful and happy that someone finally put him first. Someone, the most important someone, believed him — believed in him. “I want— here.” The normal suaveness completely leaves your soulmate and he opens the ring box nervously. Hoping you like your ring.

“Get up here,” you insist, pulling him up to sit next to you on the bed so you can kiss him before anything else happens. The little leather box holds a sparkling diamond set in gold and that is wonderful, but what you want more than ever is to hold onto this feeling of sweet, deep, honest love that’s pounding in your chest.

Like all the kisses before, Max feels his heart move and he knows that is because you love him, not because of the soulmate connection. He cups your face tenderly as he pours himself into the kiss, not putting on a facade for you, just being greedy for your affection.

In this moment it’s all you can do to be mildly cognizant of the fact that your mother is in the room, and even if she doesn’t know she’s your mother it’s still another two people who probably just heard you squeal at Max’s arms wrapping right around you. Thankfully the soft moan he drew out of you just seconds later was soft. Only for his ears.

You’re his. The realization makes his heart thump even more with your lips against his and he groans into your mouth. The scent of you utterly intoxicating and he will be able to have it forever.

It’s so easy to get caught up in him. Caught up in the way that you can always tell when he’s being playful, or teasing, or his most honest self with you just from the way he kisses you. His armor has been tossed by the wayside and all that is left for you to see is his whole heart — which is a privilege you never intend to squander. It’s only the sound of a throat clearing that brings you out of the moment, as Emmanuel glances across the train car with reddened cheeks.

“Oh.” Max is almost disappointed by the interruption, but he grins over at the other man. “I apologize. It’s wonderful kissing your soulmate, isn’t it?” He asks knowingly.

“Wonderful.” Emmanuel agrees immediately, knowing that you and Max are aware that he and Annie have shared more than dances. “We ought to celebrate.”

“Yes we should!” Max immediately agrees, popping up and reaching over and shaking the man’s hand. “How about I make the best hot chocolate you’ve ever had?” He knows the bar cart would have chocolate for the ladies and it will let everyone have something special without popping a bottle of champagne.

“Trust me. Say yes.” You assure them both when Annie looks to you curiously. You had mentioned this quirk of your husband’s before and it had intrigued her.

“Yes.” Annie agrees with authority, laughing all the while. She feels positively light as air and doesn’t want to waste a single moment of this joy.

“I’ll be back in a flash.” Max winks and shoots past all of you fast enough to make yours and Annie’s skirts sway.

“Forgive me.” You smooth your hands over her skirt before getting up and coming back over to the card table. “I seem to have gotten carried away.”

“You are married.” Annie scoffs, waving away your apologies. “I hope that I do not have a dull marriage. I want my husband, my soulmate, to wish to kiss me every chance he gets.” The eyes she makes at Emmanuel are not subtle.

“And I am sure he will. After you are married.” It’s obviously not something you care about — Twenty-first century dating being far different from nineteenth century courting — but you have to pretend. To act like a lady of this time and place. “If your parents found out that you anticipated your vows when I was supposed to be here to stop you, they would never trust us all out together again.”

Annie snorts and rolls her eyes. “I very seriously doubt my parents will mind. You are here to be a show of propriety, as well as dear friends.”

"My only thought is to make sure you are taken care of." Her hand finds yours as you reach across the table, and for a moment you just smile at each other. Just a small moment of sharing in each other's happiness means so much, and you end up shrugging as if you are dramatically giving in. When in fact you have no intention of intruding on whatever historically happened between your mother and her soulmate the first time around. "I'm glad that you're happy. Both of you."

“Thank you.” Annie tugs you close and pulls you in for a tight hug. “You have been such a dear friend so quickly. It feels as though we have always known each other.”

"Like family," you hum, holding yourself to just a smile and making sure your perceptive mother can't see past the necessary lies that have been told.

“Exactly like family.” She beams, happy you seem as like minded as she. “Perhaps we will be one day.” She muses. “Our children could marry.”

"Anything is possible." Is the enigmatic answer you go with, knowing full well that that particular scenario is not in the cards. But that's no reason to ruin your mother's joy. "Sometimes family can be the people you choose, too. Not only marriage and blood."

“Yes….blood.” Annie sighs slightly and then looks towards the soulmate she had just discovered. “My parents will be thrilled, absolutely thrilled.”

"Don't let anything steal your joy right now," you squeeze her fingers again before sitting back, hearing the sounds of someone walking toward the car and hoping that it's Max. "Not anything at all."

“Who is ready for the richest hot chocolate they have ever tasted?” Max asks as the door opens and a large tray is filled with a set of cups.

"I'm intrigued," Emmanuel laughs, watching your very proud soulmate come back inside with his tray. "Where did you learn such a particular skill?"

How does he explain baristas? Max grins. “My nanny taught me.” He decides. “She would make the most marvelous hot chocolate and I always wanted it, so she insisted I learn.”

“How marvelous.” Annie perks up enthusiastically and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the thick, creamy drink. “Oh, it smells divine!” It is an indulgence to be sure, but that is only because of her own mother’s sensibilities. Chocolate is a treat, not to be overindulged in.

Smiling, Max looks like the pet student who is being recognized for their efforts. The fact that he is a praise seeker isn’t new, but this time, having the approval of your mother is rewarding. Even if she doesn’t know about the familial connection.

You already know it’s going to be amazing, but watching your mother and Emmanuel take their first sips and then light up like kids in a literal candy store is amazing. “Your nanny must have been a witch,” Annie declares, sighing openly at the divine taste. “Because this is obviously magic of the most wonderful sort.”

“She must have been.” Max winks at you and leans in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “My wife married me for the recipe, but I have not given it to her yet.” He jokes. “She might run away.”

“Even if I had the recipe, I don’t think I could make it as well as you.” Your first sip comes with a hum on contentment. The chocolate in this time has less sugar, making it taste deeper and richer than when he would make it at home. “Part of the recipe must be love.”

“You know it is.” He hums indulgently and bats his eyes at you playfully. “Only the best for my love.”

The extremely unladylike snort from you causes laughter all around the table. This atmosphere of playfulness so far has been pervasive, like a wonderful warm hug. Right now you want nothing more than for that to last. To last for however long it is that you’ll be stuck in the past — because as much fun as you’re having? You do have to go home.

******

Even though there are two beds provided for you and Max, as any upper class Gilded Age couple would expect, there is only a curtain to give you privacy for the night. So when you crawl into the same bed together in your chemise and Max’s silk pajamas — apparently brand new and all the rage in America — you almost feel scandalous about it. Maybe that’s coming from the fact that you’re all but certain Annie and Emmanuel have crawled in together on the other side of the car, but you’re telling yourself that that’s none of your business. For now, all your focus belongs to Max…and the glittering ring on your finger as it catches the moonlight coming in the open window.

“Do you like it?” He whispers softly. He had worried because modern rings are larger, more simplistic, but he had hoped you would like the elaborate filigree and design on the ring.

“It’s gorgeous.” Tucking yourself closer in his arms, you tip your head back to kiss him. “I love it. How did you even manage to go find one?”

“Your grandfather took me to his jeweler.” He hums, proud of the fact that you like it.

“Conspiring with my Yayo, I’m very impressed.” It doesn’t actually surprise you at all, but you’re glad that they’re getting along in this time as well as in your own. Max’s own family predicament makes you so grateful that your grandparents have welcomed him with open arms. “It’s perfect, baby. I—thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” His body slots against yours perfectly and he pulls you closer. “I know that we aren’t actually….you know.” He lowers his voice so only you can hear. “But I wanted you to have a piece of this time when we go back.”

“Can you imagine?” A little giggle escapes you and you muffle it against his chest. “If I actually manage to get us home again and we just roll up into the house legally married for 138 years?”

He snorts, grinning into the darkness as he ignores the sounds coming from the next bed. It’s too quiet for you to hear, so he pretends he doesn’t either. “Not like we wouldn’t be married for 138 more after we get back.”

“And maybe more.” Who knows what will happen? You’re certainly not going to claim to be an expert on how the world works. Not after discovering that time travel is real.

“Maybe more.” Max nuzzles his nose against your cheek and smiles. “Are you having a good time with your mother, Dolly?”

“I am. I know it’s not the same but it’s so nice to just see her face and hear her voice again.” And if you could do the same for Max, you would do it in a heartbeat.

“I know, Dolly.” Max sighs sadly. “I wish I could have met your version of her.”

“She’s still her. Just less…Mom.” That doesn’t make any sense but you can’t articulate it any better so you shrug. “Though I guess I understand now why she always talked about going to the opera when she was little. That’s what people do in this time.”

“And you are going to get to experience that with her. In this time.” He reminds you, having already been informed that tickets will be waiting.

“If you get bored then just slip out of the box and go smoke cigars with Vanderbilt or something.” For all you know Max hates the opera. It hadn’t exactly been a point of debate when the Vanderbilts had announced their intention to takes you along to the brand new Metropolitan Opera House with them. “I won’t be offended, I swear.”

“No, I doubt I would be bored.” Max shakes his head. “It will be a fine study if the aristocracy in New York.”

“This is like the weirdest vacation in the world.” You snort at yourself slightly. At the odd memory that just popped into your head. “It’s Where in Time is Carmen Sandiago? the real game.”

“Now starring…Dolly.” He intones dramatically, like he’s an announcer. He grins in the darkness when you giggle.

“That will be your career if I can’t get us back,” you tease, light and laughing softly in the night instead of scared or worried. Somehow he makes you so sure that things will work out that you are able to breathe freely in moments like these. “A vaudeville announcer. And then we’ll get you into radio afterward.”

Max snorts softly. “Wouldn’t that be a hell of a note? Live a life back in time and reappear in our own timeline like nothing ever happened?”

“It’s all going to depend on how long it takes me to learn how to get us home,” you remind him gently. The fact is, this could be a very real problem to have, but at the moment it doesn’t seem like the worst sort of very real problem.

“Doesn’t matter how long it takes, my love.” He whispers, rubbing your back soothingly. “We have eternity and as long as I have you, I can live wherever, or whenever, we are.”

______

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