#this has been a post by jewels

[jewelsisanoldman]

When I say let’s go thrifting I do not mean those overpriced y2k pop ups I mean The Granny Thrift™️

[pocketscribbs]

Worth a shot

[frobby]

Nothing is stronger than the bond between a girl and a piece of media they brushed off 10 years ago that they now realized is the greatest thing ever made

[moeblob]

You know, I'm sorry for another story time but my life has been very stressed lately and today I got a huge boost. SO.

As some of you may know, I moved states at the end of July and have been here since August 1st basically. Social anxiety is a struggle but I'm making it. And there's this easy to reach by walking convenience store and almost every time I walk there I walk past a gem store. And I think to myself almost every single time "I love the store has a bouncer". I didn't say anything to him at first! But one day I got brave and proceeded to make an absolute FOOL of myself as I am on my way back from buying some sodas and ask him "are you like the store bouncer?"

The man looks at me and smiles and gives a little chuckle and says pretty much yeah? And then I say more awkward things and then promptly leave feeling very embarrassed. I purposefully AVOID that lil corner for a couple days and then finally feel brave enough to walk by cause it's ... like. Literally right by my destination. Man isn't even outside that day and I think phew! I can't be creepy if I can't talk to him!

BUT THEN I SEE THAT HE IS DIRECTLY INSIDE CHATTING TO A WORKER. And he sees me. And smiles and stops whatever conversation he's having and exits the store to say hi. (I am definitely beaming, like a normal person, because I apparently am NOT creepy enough to this man more than a foot taller than me who could easily kick my ass if he wanted) So we just chat. For maybe ten minutes? It's very nice! We have a Very Normal Conversation! I feel better about the first interaction because I had a second interaction.

So now............ today. I am once again wandering around and on my way to lunch when I pass the gem store and I'm like "hello again!" to the gem store bouncer. We begin to chat again and he mentions a pendant they recently appraised that he likes and I, thinking this entire time that the store was ONLY appointment only and I would never be allowed inside, am casually mentioning "yeah, I was born in June and we have three birthstones and like.... none of them are dark enough for me. I mean there's pearl which I'm not a fan of and then moonstone and another." And so he's saying they have a sheet inside to show birthstones so we walk in together to find out the mysterious third stone.

And the sheet only shows pearls. And I'm like "this is a crime against June babies" and then I somehow start talking to one of the female workers and I'm saying "yeah I just kinda like walking by here and seeing the bouncer" and she looks at him and is like "oh I like that." and I admit I have no other idea what to refer to him as (I don't know his name at this point anyway) and she's like "most often security guard."

Ah. Yes. Like a normal person would think. Security. Yes. Not "gem store bouncer". She then leaves to grab a coffee from across the street and I leave with the bouncer and somehow we get into talking about wearing mostly black and how he's pretty goth and then I mentioned a sweatshirt my aunt sent me once saying "I'm only wearing black until they come out with something darker" and he grins and says it's a life motto. Then the woman returns with her coffee and he tells me to tell her what I said, so I repeat it and she looks me dead in the eye and says "that was made for me. Also I love that you called him a bouncer it's hilarious".

I now observe that he (all black suit black shirt black tie) and her (black sweater with black/white striped pants n black shoes) are indeed somehow the gem store goth club. And then she heads back in and he says he's sorry they don't have any cookies to offer me, they normally have cookies in the back for employees, and I'm like "ah no it's fine thank you".

And then I left feeling like I was somehow allowed to join the Cool Goth Club at the gem store.

Anyway, sup, my new favorite person is the goth bouncer at the gem store and he makes me smile so much when I see him.

[remythologise]

scientists have finally discovered the point at which slow burn needs to end and that point is 13 novels and 10 in-canon years later

[biancabelairs]

weekly post abt how raw is painfully boring now

[southsidewrites]

Caesar's face was solemn as he nodded again. “And my final question, Emerald. When we last spoke before the Games began, you said that you hoped to come back a victor in your own right. Do you feel as though you’ve done that?” “I do.” She nodded, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I do, Caesar. Whoever my mom may have been, however much she was with me in that arena, I made it out on my own. If that doesn’t make me a victor, I don’t know what does.” “How very right you are.” His wide grin returning, he rose, helping Emerald to her feet and holding her hand triumphantly in the air. “The victor of the 72nd Annual Hunger Games—Miss Emerald Bellona!”

The final chapter of Part One of the Capitol's Jewel is now available on AO3. Part Two is coming soon!

[folkloreweasley]

Incomparable

fandom: Bridgerton

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

summary: you don’t fit in quite well with the rest of the ton, but you still manage to catch the eye of the Viscount

note: this is for the girlies with resting bitch face, warning this is a fem!reader as much as i prefer a gender neutral reader, the heteronormative regency society just doesn’t allow it

this was already once posted before on my since deleted blog by my same current name but has been slightly edited :)

It was only one of the first balls of many and you were already regretting your unfortunate position as a newly presented flower of the season. You never thought you had what it took to be this year’s diamond, nor its ruby, nor its pearl, or any jewel for the matter. In your eyes you didn’t have the effortless glimmer that Daphne Bridgerton had last season nor the graceful steps of this season's ingénue, Edwina Sharma.

Of course, you had prepared all your life for this moment like every upper class girl. Knowing all that you should to be presented into society. You sat through the pianoforte lessons and even tried your hand at singing (which was a terrible mistake). You learned to embroider from your mother, much to the dismay of your aching fingers which always manage to burn and go numb far too quickly for her liking. You read all the textbooks even though you much preferred novels, never understanding the point of your tutors' comments about men wanting to marry educated girls. Quickly learning as you grew older and more outspoken that gentlemen like to know a woman is well read, but hardly ever that they use that knowledge in conversation.

But somehow, even after the painstakingly long hours at the modiste getting fitted for new dresses and the even longer time you spent getting into them, none of it was enough. Not the lessons, not the newly dropped hem, not the hours of sitting for your hair to be expertly styled and bejeweled by the finest gems your family had to offer. Still every other lady and her mama have had to comment on how you are so far from even the realm of possibly being considered a diamond. You heard their whispers through the silk and lace of their folding fans as clear as the night.

‘They barely graced the Queen with a smile,”

‘They’ll definitely grow to be a spinster with that face,’

Oh, but this wasn’t only from the women, of course not, they just have the decency to try and say this behind your back. You are well aware of how men love to grace you with their opinion, despite you caring very little for it. They always have the audacity to say these things straight to your somber face as if it would do you any good.

‘You know, you would be slightly prettier if you smiled,’

‘If you would smile, you would seem much more amiable,’

and most recently,

“I am sure more gentlemen would ask for a dance if you didn’t look so miserable, my Lady,”

You had been approached by a well-respected gentlemen named Mr. Hastings when you had escaped your mother’s disapproving clutches to find solace at the refreshments table. Drinking lemonade desperately wishing it were wine. He asked you to dance. Much to your misfortune you couldn’t fain a full dance card as the one clutched in your gloved hand was mockingly empty. This left you enduring a dreadfully boring conversation about his horse, how much it had cost him, how much it is actually worth, and just how incredible this horse was. You quite frankly wished to be anywhere else. As would anyone else you’re sure, but while they may have hid that behind a polite smile you showed your boredom evidently in your downturned lips.

But what would be the point in hiding it? You were tired of the facade that enwrapped these balls and society. Everyone was smiling, but was anyone truly happy? Even then who is happy and just goes around smiling like some loon. You were having a terrible time parading around the room with your mother’s stern grip on your arm showcasing you like a piece of meat, or a show pony— or to be terribly on the nose, Mr. Hastings prized horse.

Then once you had finally escaped her and found peace hoping to blend in to the wallpaper, you have been made to endure small talk and dance with a man you had little interest in. All while he made you listen to his horrendously dull conversation and he had the nerve to ask— no, to want you to not look miserable. This man who looked like molding swiss cheese and only spoke of his horse.

“I beg you pardon, sir?”

“That you look as if you are attending a funeral, my lady,” he says as he spins you following the choreography of the dance, “It is only polite that you smile as we dance.”

His own obviously fake smile is painted across his face, all thin lips and no teeth as he eyes you expectantly waiting for you to obediently heed his suggestion—or more likely it was a sort of social command. Polite society would have deemed you to be all smiles and perfect wit, to ease yourself out of this treacherous conversation you were wormed into with a poised grace or give in to his orders with a sickly sweet smile because it would be rude not to, no?

But no, indeed. You were not going to give in. No matter how many whispered or backhanded compliments you received only on your first night into society. You had seen how your female cousins and older friends had broken their backs to bend to the whims of society. Left behind forgotten ideals to suit their new suitors to get the ring and the wedding that would never even scratch at their fanciful girlish dreams of prince charmings and knights in shining armor. You would not let society break you.

“Well, I would smile if I was having a nice time. Maybe if you said something funny I would laugh or if the conversation was pleasant,” you had stopped dancing now, tired of this day and all the niceties and manners you were to follow.

You stood before him with your jaw clenched and your brows furrowed absolutely seething, “But you are far from pleasant. All you do, sir, is speak of your race horse and how much it is worth to you. If you care so much about your horse, I wonder why you ever wish to marry when all your attention seems to be going to your insipid horse!”

“Why you rude, intolerable girl—”

You didn’t care any more about the staring eyes of the ton or the gasps from appalled mamas. You would have welcomed all of Mr. Hastings angry words to at least hear something real for the first time all day. But instead he is cut short as the figure of a man approaches your side.

“I beg your pardon Mr. Hastings. How dare you raise your voice to a lady, have you no honor or decorum?”

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton stood before the two of you. Chin tilted upwards and shoulders set back in an unspoken challenge with the less titled man in front of you.

His question goes unanswered, but he continues nodding to you, “I believe the Lady makes a very agreeable point, sir. You speak entirely of your horse and nothing else, this would bore any with a brain in the ton.”

You almost would have laughed if you weren’t so shocked. What exactly was the Viscount doing? You hardly ever spoke other than short introductions and nods exchanged while you were in the company of his sister and your friend, Eloise.

But there was not a moment to think on this further as the scene that was forming around you was all too captivating. Mr. Hastings, who it should be mentioned once more felt so prideful of his horse, can be seen visibly shrinking shoulder hunching forward slumping as if he were a little boy who lost a game. He clears his throat, “Well then, I shall take my conversation elsewhere.”

Before he could turn to leave the eldest Bridgerton son stops him, “Sir, you have forgotten to apologize to the Lady,”

Mr. Hasting freezes in his place turning to eye the man and you bite your lip fighting the laugh that threatens to erupt at the odious man whose eyes widen and mouth becomes agape like a fish out of water.

“My apologies,” the words seem to clog at his throat and so he says nothing else. Nodding, “Lord Bridgerton...” and your name before meekly making his way through the crowd, his head down avoiding the gazes of the onlookers.

At this point most of the ton had gone back to their conversations around you, though there were still some lingering eyes as the dance floor had been oddly shaped as you and the Viscount remained standing in part of the appointed area. Anthony notices this and leads you further into the crowd.

Once he finds an agreeable spot he stops turning towards you, “I actually do wish to counter your statement, my lady,” he begins. You expect for a moment to be met with some stern lecture from a man who seems to think he’s entitled to an opinion of you as if he were your father (who you also do not think should have an opinion, but alas it is only 1814). Anthony surprises you however as instead he grins and says, “I actually believe Mr. Hastings would marry his horse if the Queen would allow it.”

And you couldn’t help but laugh, despite all your pride and pettiness to not grace this event or anyone in it with any pleasurable countenance. You laughed loudly tilting your head back, jeweled neck on display even letting out a small snort against your will. When you finally compose yourself, giggles dying down at the thought of Mr. Hastings in a horrid muddy green suit with a horse in a wedding dress, you can’t fight the smile that falls on your lips. Although unnatural to you, the light hearted joke and your vivid imagination make it easy. It lasts for a few seconds before you become very conscious of it as you let your lips fall back to their usual place.

Though if anyone was truly looking for it— which Anthony was— they would see the slight quirk in your lips as you told the Viscount, “It looks like you’ve gained the honor of making me laugh, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“I relish the title, my lady,” he says and you can tell he does from the smile that meets his ears, all teeth and pushed back cheeks. You acknowledge that this might be the realest encounter you have had since your debut. Anthony Bridgerton smiling from ear to ear was a sight to see.

He continues, “But I do have to disagree with the comments I have been hearing tonight. Smile or no smile you present the ladies looking to wed this season with quite the competition.”

“Me? Hardly, did you not hear my Lord, my countenance would never get me a marriage proposal,” you say fiddling with the hem of your gloves at your wrist.

“I would disagree, I think any reasonable man in attendance would be foolish to not see how incomparable you are, my lady.”

Incomparable.

You fight it like you had once your laugh, but you feel the heat spread to your cheeks and the nerves that begin to twist in your stomach. You didn’t need it, but the compliment was well appreciated after a night such as this one.

Giving you no time to compose the fluttering in your chest, Anthony adds, “Any lady who manages to be bold enough to tell Mr. Hasting how insufferable his horse talk is, ranks high in my book.”

“Well you might be the only one, sir,” you try to be as brave as you feel and dare to smile at him, but his gaze causes you to look away bashfully. That is when you notice your mother approaching and wishing not to make a fool in front of the Viscount you excuse yourself, “I do believe my mother has just been informed of the scene I have caused, so if you’ll excuse me.”

But before you can turn to go he calls out your name placing his warm bare hand on your own gloved fingers making you turn back to him.

“Would you save me a dance?”

And despite yourself, Anthony Bridgerton manages again to make you smile, “Of course”.

[targaryenluvs]

Can you make a fic with a dark coriolanus x reader

Post Lucy running away where he stays a peace keeper for some time and he helped reader avoid being picked for the games and he abuses his power as peace keeper against reader whom he helped and holds it over her head (she has no family but her friends are like family) and he does all types of fucked up stuff to her sexually and he fetishizes her for being a woc (reader is a woman of color) and he fetishizes her skin or something and he keeps saying all creepy stuff and he then marries her (after convincing her no one would want her after him) and parades her around and shows off to capitol ppl who also fetishize her and she becomes basically his property with a creepy nickname and you pick the ending

BROWN JEWEL

pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!poc!reader

summary: he was a lifeline and you’d grabbed on in hopes to avoid the reaping, but you were coriolanus’ obsession and he was not going to let you go.

warnings: obsession, abuse of power, nc touching, threats, forced marriage, fetishisation of skin color?? non-con (p in v), public sex, pregnancy, forced marriage, jealousy of infants? kisses, kinda stockholm/reader gives in

wordcount: 3.1k

a/n: audibly gasped reading this rq (i did change it around a bit since some of it i was unsure of how to write and if i felt comfy doing it) i went off track for sure

this was your last year for being involved with the reaping.

just tomorrow then you'd be in the clear for the rest of your life.

you had friends who relied on you, and their families which were practically your own. you’d been raised with them after your parents passed and you owed them your life. you were an amazing hunter and your game kept them going. you were skilled with hunting, medicine, literate because of your best friends mother. you helped them all in so many ways and you knew they needed you.

through your older years, you began to realise you weren’t exactly the same as your friends. their light skin and light eyes in contrast to your darker tones were always a reminder of your unshared bloodline. yet they never treated you any differently.

you had to live for them.

so it was how you ended up in the tree line by the peacekeepers barracks. hoping to bribe one into pulling your name from the bowl before it was placed infront of the justice building. what you didn’t expect was for a soldier to find you first.

“what’re you doing here?” he spoke from behind you as you stumbled to get up. “i... i wanted to talk to someone, to try and uhm, get them to do something for me.” he exuded confidence with his chin in the air and his grip on his gun. he obviously thought he was better than you. “what do you want me to do for you?” you sighed, “i was hoping, to get my name taken out of the reaping bowl.” he tilted his head, a smirk on his face and you wanted to peel your skin off with the way he was looking at you.

“come closer.” and you did, stepping into the moonlight. he found you to be gorgeous, glowing. “i’ll do it.” your eyes widened as you smiled, “thank you!” and he took a step closer to you, “but what will i get in return?”

and that’s when you should’ve run for the hills.

at the reaping ceremony, he coincidentally placed himself right next to your row. his stares were harsh on your back. your hands were sweating and you couldn’t think straight until that name was called, and it wasn’t yours.

“we’re safe.” your friend whispered into your ear as you smiled at her, “yeah, we are.” but for some reason you weren’t convinced. the peacekeeper was on you like a shadow ever since the day before. on the walk home he was following you and you knew it, but if you confronted him you had no clue what he’d do to you. so you felt it best to keep your head down, and get home. you didn’t expect for him to barge his way in.

“what’re you doing?” your voice was shaky and you could feel the perspiration on you, for someone reason this man made your body go haywire and you wanted to leave. “why? can’t i come see the pretty girl i saved?” your head was facing downwards as you began to mumble, “my names only in eight times, my odds were low anyways. a lot of people took tessera.” you heard him click his tongue, tutting and shaking his head in disagreement, “seven.”

he was right infront of you now, and as he bent down to whisper in your ear, you froze up, “i don’t do things for free y/n. when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect.” he held your face in his hand as you asked, “what’s your name?” he smiled, “coriolanus, but you can call me corio.” and he held you to it.

every time you saw him he’d be unbelievably smug.

even your friends noticed, “he keeps staring at you, that peacekeeper.” you were having a night out, your senses flooded with music and laughter. but not too far away was coriolanus, downing his beer. you shifted around before slyly looking his way. “it’s probably nothing. you know how these peacekeepers are. i think i’m going to head home.” you kissed her cheek before making your way out and to your home.

you were only a few minutes away when you took notice of the shadow behind you, lurking. “y/n.” you stopped in your tracks and turned his way. “corio.” he grinned at the nickname you used. his expression should've warned you, his words rung through your mind.

an intoxicated man was a dangerous one.

"when i want something from you, and i do, i will come to collect."

corio held you against the shabby wall as his hands held you in place. your pants swamped at your ankles as he rutted into you harshly. “stay quiet for me yeah?” your hands shoved at his chest but it seemed to be pointless.

“please, please corio not here.” coriolanus couldn’t bring himself to listen to you, and he sure as hell didn’t care if someone saw. what were they going to do? you were his, you needed to realise that. the quicker you did the easier it would be for you. your cries and protests went in one ear and out the other, “shh, i’ve got you. don’t worry.” he cooed, ignoring your pleas.

you felt humiliated, treated like trash. taken in an alleyway like a whore, as coriolanus continued on. your legs felt like jelly and your weight rested on the wall behind. his hands came up to lower your shirt, your breasts spilling out. “fuck, you’re made for me. all mine.” he groaned as he felt your walls tighten around his cock.

“come for me baby. come on.” you didn’t want to, you wanted to run away from him but your breath was laboured as your head lolled back. but even with that he wasn’t done with you. he wanted more. he wanted all of you and he wouldn’t stop until he’d had enough. you weren’t sure if he’d ever get his fill.

your cheeks burned as you walked back to your home, cum-stained panties and shame filling you to the brim. acquaintances walked past, you smiled and waved with fake kindness. your feet dragged along, your legs shaky and hands trembling. you wanted to drag the walk out as long as possible.

coriolanus could tell, but he couldn’t do anything yet. so he grit his teeth and walked with determination.

he’d punish you later.

and it was all you knew. almost every night corio crawled into your home, took you all over the house till dawn. and in return you were able to provide your family with everything they could want.

dana has a cold?

the medicine was at the front door hours later.

peter hurt himself at the mines?

a first aid kit was ready to be picked up by noon.

not a single person around you was hungry, sick or uncared for. all thanks to coriolanus. your friends were able to infer where all your resources came from, but you’d never asked for their aid.

you just wanted to help them, in any way you could.

what you didn’t anticipate was coriolanus in your home, tossing your nicest clothes into a suitcase. the jewellery he’d bought, shoes etc. “what’s going on? why are you packing my things?” he didn’t respond, he just kept packing, moving around the room and throwing in things he deemed important.

“we’re leaving, back to the capitol. you’re coming with me, now help me pack.” you grabbed his wrist in a moment of anger, forgetting your place. “let. go. now.” he demanded as you retracted your hand, “i’m sorry. but, you need to talk to me. i’m not going to the capitol corio, this is my home.” you should’ve known he was going to hate your words.

he grabbed your wrists, fingers digging in as you cried out in pain. “you are coming with me, otherwise i am more than happy to hurt you. all the supplies for your friends? gone. you know i won’t hesitate to hurt them. so if you want them to be taken care of, you’ll listen to me. now pack your things and shut up.” he spit out as you pulled away from him.

you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

the capitol scared you to no extent. the prying eyes, the excessive, almost wasteful, wealth and resources. you felt uncomfortable in your own skin. the people of panem viewed you to be a rare phenomenon. as if darker skin was unattainable. it was nothing like district 12, and you knew you’d never fully fit in. but corio wouldn’t let that be.

coriolanus thrived under dr gaul. overtime he’d been provided with an apartment and inheritance courtesy of the plinths and he was happy to indulge his sweet girl with whatever she could wish for.

the most expensive silks, finest jewels. you felt like a little porcelain doll, with multiple faces. you were bound to crack.

by the time coriolanus snow rose to be the president of panem, all the fight in your body was a distant memory, a shell of your former self. "you have everything you could ever wish for," according to your husband, "but you still think of them." his words were filled with disdain but held an ounce of truth.

your heart yearned for home. for peters terrible cooking. for dana’s flower crowns. nights out with your friends singing your heart out before sneaking out to the lake a certain covey had let slip on. a simple life.

but it all felt to be out of your grasp, far in the back of your mind.

presidential campaigns, parties, shopping, and super rich kids with nothing but fake friends. it was all your new normal. the residents of panem tolerated you for being the first lady of panem, admired you for your looks, and despised you for your background.

you’d never felt more alone.

you found solace in your children. ciron, your baby boy. only five years old but undeniably bright. he was ahead of most children his age in studies, able to remember so much in such a small mind. he was the spitting image of coriolanus. the old coriolanus. curly blonde hair, striking blue eyes. but his kindness, his care for others? that was all his mother. he was the perfect mix, and a huge mommy’s boy. the second he learned something knew he rambled on about it, only to you. he loved to play with your hair, curling it around his fingers.

“now we match mommy!” he smiled as you picked him up, resting him on your hip. “now i’m almost as pretty as you baby.” you teased as you attacked him with kisses on his face. he squirmed in your arms, small hands coming to cover his face. the noise seemed to wake caroline, her squeals and cries echoing through the home.

“shh, we have to be quiet okay?” ciron nodded as the two of you made your way to her nursery. it was caroline’s first birthday today, and coriolanus had spared no expense on your account. the celebration was to be held at your home, filled with people who couldn’t care less. but you just wanted to give her what you never had. a party at the presidents house was rare, and a lot of the hadn’t seen you in a while.

caroline was all you. darker skin than ciron, olive like. brown eyes and dark hair.

during your pregnancy with ciron, coriolanus showed you off to the people. you were regularly seen out and about, at parties, shopping, walking etc. coriolanus took any opportunity to parade you about to the people of panem. something out of their reach but so sweet, so beautiful. you despised it, being seen as nothing more than his property.

“she’s a fine girl you have coriolanus.” grandma’am spoke as she pinched your cheeks, “just have to take the district out of her.” as if you were an animal to be dissected.

“are there any more of her type?” the man joked as coriolanus’s hand tightened on your waist.

you’d always loved yourself, your hair, your skin color, your body. but it all seemed to be under coriolanus’s ownership the second you’d allowed him to take you to the captiol. no one cared about you. no one bothered to help. they just admired and touched when they could.

so you’d plead with him, begging him to let you rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. he surprisingly agreed, letting you confine yourself to your shared room.

and with cirons birth, you felt hope. his wide eyes, consuming all he could with his sight, his tiny fingers wrapping around your finger. your heart swelled with joy at his face, your saving grace.

coriolanus wanted to pry him from your fingers. for the next few weeks your attention was purely on the boy and coriolanus began to feel neglected. he was already traumatised from his own mothers passing, his sister taking her life. with the announcement of your own pregnancy the thoughts poured in.

would the baby take you too?

would he be forced to listen to your screams?

would he have to raise the baby he despised?

he hadn’t even met your child yet and he'd already made his mind up. the baby was no good, an heir was needed of course but at the cost of his wife? would he pay the price?

your screams of agony and pain clawed at his throat. he felt sick, bile rising as he forced it down. coriolanus would not be seen as weak. but he couldn’t help himself, your hands clutched onto his as a lifeline. your pleas for aid, and coriolanus could do nothing. helpless.

the finest doctors in panem, machinery and medicine yet it all seemed useless.

to you it was worth it, the second you held him in your arms. all the pain in the world if it meant you’d have him as the outcome. one of the nurses placed a pair of scissors in his hands, urging him to cut the cord as coriolanus masked his disgust.

snip!

tigris cooed over the baby as lethargy hung over you like a cloud. “isn’t he the sweetest coriolanus?” all he managed was a nod, his focus on you.

his strong wife, who’d given way to new life. your eyes were fluttering close as you murmured, “ciron.” the doctors and nurses gleefully agreed, “what a fine name!” the head doctor announced as he held him in his arms, a nurse taking him away to be cleaned.

and after all that, you were pregnant once more. another child for the happy family but another nuisance in his eyes between yourself and him.

all you ever cared about was the kids.

“has caroline eaten?”

“is ciron awake?”

“is his teacher here yet?”

“coriolanus, i think we need to take ciron shopping again. he’s growing so quickly!” he knew he should’ve been happy. but all he wanted was for you to be his again. you were always too tired for him, already asleep with ciron by your side, taking his place.

or you were breastfeeding caroline, meaning that he was sure he wasn’t going to get to feel you up that night. too sore, too tired, not in the mood. he couldn’t catch a break.

-

you’d decided to have caroline and ciron match. baby blue, how sweet!

it’d only been about an hour in and you’d had enough. these people never really moved on. the same comments about how special you were, how lucky you were. compliments stuffed down your throat you were sure you’d gag.

you grounded yourself with caroline, clutching onto her as coriolanus made the rounds. “anna!” you shouted out to one of your servers. “yes, mrs snow?” you refrained from rolling your eyes at the last name, “bring the cake out, now please.” she wasn’t sure, “mr snow said-” you smiled at her, “caroline’s getting fussy, better if we blow the candles out now so i can feed her and get her to bed.” she scurried away to get everything in order as coriolanus found you.

“sweetheart. you can’t hide the birthday girl at her party.” you chuckled, “i know, i know. she’s getting tired, we’re going to have to get the candles out early. cirons already sleepy too, he worked really hard today. i’m so proud of him.” you beamed as coriolanus took a sip from his glass, “oh did he?” he sneered. you were about to reply but the cake being carried out took your attention. “look sweetie! it’s your cake!” caroline lifted her head from your shoulder as you pointed at it.

“come on corio.” he downed his drink before following along. maybe if he was nice you’d fuck him tonight.

the four of you were a picture perfect family, cameras shuttered as everyone sang for caroline. she rested on your side as ciron stood in front of coriolanus, his hands resting on his sons shoulders. a smile plastered on his face. “happy birthday to you!” you bent down with caroline to blow the candles out as everyone cheered.

for once, you felt happy.

you sat infront of caroline’s crib, rocking it side to side. it was around 12 now, the party packed up, ciron in bed sleeping soundly, and coriolanus in his study. it’d been a while since you and coriolanus had been together. your pregnancy with caroline was risky according to doctors and you were told to take it easy. it’d been at least two months since his last time with you, and god he needed release.

once you figured she was asleep you made your way to corios study. “corio? you busy?” you peaked your head through the door to find corio writing away. “come in.” you closed the door behind you as he rolled back in his seat, patting his lap as you plopped down.

“you want something?” you rested your head in the crook of neck, roses infiltrating your senses. “m’ tired, wanna sleep with you.” coriolanus was taken aback for once, in his eyes you’d deprived him of your presence for so long and here you were wanting for him. coriolanus would have to settle for now. he caressed your cheek, “alright, come on.” his arm lifted your legs and you interlaced your fingers behind his neck.

over your time with coriolanus you’d learned to like things about him, since there was no point in you hating him anymore. his voice in the night, whispering to you. his soft hands washing your hair. when he was relaxed, the two of you would bask in eachothers presence, reading silently. baths together, his hands raking through your hair, trailing over your body with care. and as the two of you slept together, in a tight embrace, coriolanus felt at ease.

his brown jewel, all to himself.

[artist-ellen]

Historical mermay Prompt 8: Meiji Era -> Aztec Mermaid (Tlanchana)

So the last prompt for Historical Mermay was supposed to be Meiji era but.... last year there was a historical Japanese mermaid and a late Victorian mermaid so.... I decided to switch this one out with a different historical mermaid that had been on my list.

Aztec mythology has a mermaid-like figure, which is very exciting for me, but there's a full backstory so strap in for some lore. The origin for Tlanchana isn't Aztec at all, but instead originates from an Otomi goddess called Acpaxapo. Acpaxapo is a benevolent lake goddess who is half woman, half water-serpent. When she was adopted by the Aztecs her aspect evolved to Tlanchana, a much more mysterious and dangerous deity who would drown men with her tail.

I had hoped to make some more references to the original Otomi influence in my illustration but I was having a devil of a time looking for specifically Otomi artifacts (Otomi is technically a collection of languages and is an exonym for the peoples who speak Otomi languages ((if I've even understood what I 'm reading correctly))...and English websites barely cover the big 3) so I eventually pivoted, since I haven't done any siren-like mermaids for this challenge yet and was interested in doing something a little moodier. A description of Tlanchana described her as wearing only jewels and that sparked a lot of creative joy. And looking at all the jade ornaments in pre-colonial jewelry.... I dove right in. I kept a very serpent-like design for her tail, and made all her ornaments in jade... a series of necklaces, her nose jewelry (which I took some creative liberty with after looking at goddess depictions), and ear plugs. I wouldn't say she is accurate, there's a lot of artistic license salt in this stew... but I think she turned out pretty cool.

(And if you just had the thought that this is the most i have written in a description for ages... it's because this one had... new? research. Example: I've drawn redesigns with Ottoman fashion 3+ times, I don't have much new to say for the Ottoman mermaid. I've talked and researched a lot less on Aztec mythology so I had things to say.)

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

[jewelsisanoldman]

Where am I from? Oh just this little town, you probably haven’t heard of it… Transexual Transylvania? Ring any bells?

[pomefioredove]

Can we have kalim's ending for the yuu auction as well? I was pretty excited for his outcome

of course of course!

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: a kalim ending type of post: short fic characters: kalim additional info: yuu is gender neutral, this is maybe a little short, hi kalim :)

"Problems don't just go away when you throw money at them, you know," Vil says. The tone of his voice is sour, and he's making no effort to hide it. "You'll have to actually take some responsibility."

Leona rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut it. They're not a pet, they can handle themselves. You're just butthurt it wasn't you,"

"And yet, here you are, still moping just the same," he snaps back. "Kalim, congratulations. I'm sure the prefect will- where'd he go?"

Despite their best efforts, Kalim hadn't heard a single word of the other housewarden's well wishes (and warnings).

He was gone before they'd even started, in fact.

Even with all he'd had prepared beforehand- the new room, the uniforms, all of your favorite foods- there was suddenly a list a mile long on his mind.

First, he had to get you.

Then, he had to show you around your new place.

Then, dinner.

Followed by dessert, of course.

(Maybe a light appetizer to start? Why hadn't he thought of that already?!)

And then he'd treat you to an evening of your favorite songs, laughter, and fun.

So on, and so forth.

Kalim may be a little oblivious at times, but your poor condition at Ramshackle is no secret to anyone. He'd been talked out of helping more than once before- and, so, this was his chance.

The gravity of technically owning a person who doesn't legally exist in this world hasn't crossed his mind even once. The way he sees it, he gets to host you indefinitely, take you on vacations with his family, treat you to the life you deserve after all you've done for everyone, and no one can tell him no.

Though, something still sits in the back of his mind, something that asks him to walk before running. A voice of reason.

If Kalim had a shoulder angel and devil, both of them would somehow be Jamil:

"I would advise taking it easy on them as they adjust. This whole spectacle must have been difficult for them. You're a good listener when you try. Now's a chance to show that,"

More than anything, Kalim wants to impress you.

Such a thought would make anyone else scoff- the gold and jewels and magic carpets aren't enough?

And his answer would be... well... no.

Kalim possesses many things. He has entire houses full of treasure, trinkets, fine silks, servants at his every whim... and yet, he's still missing something crucial. Something he's become more and more aware of since coming to NRC.

A bond.

Of course, he loves his siblings. And his parents. And the students in Scarabia. And the students in the other dorms. He might consider all of the above friends, but not at the emotional level he seeks. Jamil is a work in progress. But you- you're already well-acquainted, and friendly. You're a gracious guest, a great listener, and... well, you had the kind of bond he looks for with so many other people on campus.

Why else would everyone be lining up to pay to be your friend otherwise?

(That's how he saw it, anyway).

So, he listens. Makes an effort to, anyway. He even stops feeding Grim at dinner when you ask him to.

"Oops!" he says, offering the direbeast a gold-lined handkerchief to wipe around his mouth. "But it's good, right? Jamil's family recipe is always delicious!"

You quirk a smile at him. "I liked it. Grim?"

Grim mumbles something indistinct and crawls to sit on the other side of you.

"I'm glad! I remember you telling me that you miss it from your home- I can't believe some of our recipes are so similar!" he beams. "Maybe Scarabia will start feeling like a home to you, too, then!"

You laugh, a little awkwardly. "Aha... maybe. This is all just so sudden,"

"But... good, right?"

"Yes, good," you smile, tilting your head to the side. "It's a step up from being Crowley's errand-runner and sleeping in the cold, at least."

"Well, you'll certainly never be cold here!"

He laughs again, and a murmur of agreement ripples through the students in attendance, all the way down to the end of the long table.

"Ah... Kalim, this is nice. Really nice... I don't know how I'm going to repay you for any of this,"

"Pay? Like with money?" he raises an eyebrow. "You're my guest, and an honorary member of Scarabia now, so you don't have to do anything but relax."

That's not exactly what you meant, though you don't have the heart to explain what exactly Crowley's care had been like.

"...Right. But really, if you need anything done- I'll be glad to do it,"

He's quiet for a moment, thinking. "Well... if you're really bored, I'm sure you could find something to do. We have lots of board games,"

"No, I meant like, work,"

Kalim blinks. "Why would you have to work?"

You should've just let it go. Now this is getting embarrassing, admitting all that Crowley had you do when you had no say in the matter.

"You know... to earn my keep,"

"Earn your..." he squints. "You don't have to earn anything. Having you here is reward enough for me!"

Sometimes his oblivious nature can be a little comforting.

And even though it's dark, his positivity is as radiant as the sun... you can't help but return his smile.

"Alright, then,"

"Alright! Now..." he says, looking around the table. "Who's ready for dessert?"

[ot3]

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere

What is it, and why you should read it.

(Art by purple)

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is a currently updating webserial by author Lurina. It's one of my favorite things I've read in a long while and I'd like to convince you all to give it a chance.

My elevator pitch is this: A time-loop murder mystery directly inspired by Umineko, with a lot of similar vibes to the Locked Tomb Trilogy - partially due to it's meditations on grief and mortality and partially due to it's far-future magical sci-fi world where we follow a fucked up lesbian necromancer on a task she is determined to see through to the end. A deeply complex, unique, and believable world that plays hosts to one of the best interpersonal dynamics I've read.

In a future so far-flung that it is past the heat death of the universe, humanity has constructed a new society that is post-scarcity but not post-stratification. Utsushikome of Fusai is one amongst a class of prodigious young medical arcanists (essentially grad students) who are invited to visit a recently legitimized conclave of top-of-the-line researchers studying immortality. Accompanying Su is her best friend Ran, a fellow arcanist. Over the course of the novel we begin to slowly unravel exactly what ulterior motives have brought them to this conclave and how events in their childhoods and years of working toward their shared goal has warped their relationship into what we now see. This relationship is the crown jewel of Flower's narrative, and getting to peel back the layers of it as you read is a delight.

Like Umineko, Flower is a murder mystery that prevents itself with in-universe Rules that dictate the murders' parameters, meaning there's a lot to chew on for anyone who likes solving mysteries. For those that don't, like myself, Flower offers instead a richly developed world and plenty of open questions about the sociopolitical and metaphysical implications of its own worldbuilding.

Below the cut, I'll go into more detail about the series (without spoilers!) for those of you whose interest has been piqued.

The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere is currently ongoing, updating every few weeks. It's several hundred thousand words, so if you're looking for something substantial to keep you entertained, you've got it. As you might expect from the length, the pacing is decently slow. I don't see this as a bad thing at all, because within this pacing Lurina dripfeeds the readers enough new and interesting information at a regular rate that it never feels like your time is being wasted. But if you can't handle slow burns, I wouldn't recommend this one for you.

If you enjoyed the Zero Escape series and liked that they stopped solving murder puzzles to infodump about fringe science, I think you'll get a lot out of Flower. Characters are frequently interrupting their life-or-death scenarios to have lofty, philosophical and political discussions. It's a ton of fun if you like reading characters argue.

'People have to sleep.' 'People have to work.' 'People have to die.' But those were just vague rules, phrasing I'd used because it had been easier in the context of that conversation. What really mattered, on the day-to-day level, was the idea that it was all for something. If someone invented a elixir that made people not to need to sleep, it would, in retrospect, recontextualize all nights everyone ever wasted sleeping as wastes of time. Not something that occurred for some inherent purpose, but whims of circumstance, a tragedy of when you happened to be born. If you accepted that all unfair things in the world could be removed, if only someone knew how - fatigue, labor, death - then to exist in the world we had now, with all its grotesque imperfections, was to know that you had been violated by fate.

Along those lines it's just got a sense of humor I really enjoy. Pretty dry and cavalier. It manages to keep the mood light without feeling like it's undermining it's own stakes. I'm particularly fond of Su's penchant for telling incredibly depressing suicide jokes that just Do Not Land.

The peer pressure cut into me like a hot knife. I hesitated a little, biting my lip. "Well, uh, okay. I'll just tell a quick one." I swallowed, my mind quickly scrambling. "Okay, so, there's a woman who runs a dispensary for second hand goods. She sees a man come in who's a regular customer. He's kind of a mess-- Has a big beard, a bad complexion. He buys a razor, and tells her he needs it to clean himself up, because he has a date." I could see that I now had Ophelia's attention and that Kam was looking pleased with herself, but Ran was watching me, too. I could see the look in her eyes. It screamed at me, with such vividity that it could be sold at an art gallery: You better not be telling a suicide joke right now, or we're going to have a talk. But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion.

As I mentioned up top, the relationship between Ran and Su is just one of my favorite interpersonal dynamics ever. Period. The author is playing some insanely complicated 5th dimensional yuri chess and I am absolutely here for it as someone who likes characters who are deeply devoted to each other in a way that is deeply deeply fraught. I cant emphasize enough how obsessed I am with what they have going on.

Additionally, as stated, the worldbuilding in Flower is top tier. The author clearly understands how every part of her world functions, which makes the moral quandaries and politics presented all the more impactful because they're very believable. It's hard to talk about Flower's world without spoiling too much of the specifics that get slowly revealed, but it doesn't fall back on any typical sci-fi standard fare and feels like a breath of fresh air amongst recycled and repetitive worldbuilding tropes.

A lot of really fun side characters. Strong voices for all of the supporting cast (♥♥Kamrusepa♥♥) and even though not every character gets their own arc, they all clearly have plenty of interiority. Once again, another thing that makes Flower feel very believable despite it's absurdities.

Autism

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with anyone?" She eyed him. "Anyone who seemed tense?" "Saoite, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but half of our class is so autistic that they constantly seem tense. You might as well ask me to find a specific turd in a sewer." "Just answer the question, please," she replied flatly.

Guys it's really good just trust me I don't want to spoil you for the more intricate plot beats but they're doing some crazy shit here. It's never a bad time to support an independent author's project. If you're sick of corporate mass-media and stuff needing to be marketable, getting into independent works owned and supported by individual creators is a great way to push back against that. I highly recommend it.

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hiiii

Can you make another Alastor x Rarity reader like I love it sm and I need more 😭😭❤️

If you do thank youuuu

I definitely can! My dear @sillyalastor, here will be yours and @nenerobobot’s post for Rarity-reader and Al! I hope you both like our kinda short follow up to the Radio Demon and his Drama Queen!

Alastor- Diamond Trio

Alastor knows how much of a detail-orientated and fussy woman you are, and he knows fashion colours, stitching processes, habits, facts and more on the top of his head. He knows what is considered eggshell white and what is considered ivory white. That’s how much time he spends with you

Alastor has been teaching you some new recipes, ones that get a bit messy. Whilst, you’re very worried about getting food on you and is wearing about five layers of protection each time you cook with him. He finds it cute and cheers you on for you being so precise and careful with the measurements. You’ll stand there for five minutes making sure the water percentage is just perfect and he thrives off that

Alastor is not a fan of you being friends with any of the Overlords except Rosie, so when he finds out, you befriended a fellow fashionista Velvette. He is supportive of your wishes but he is glaring down Velvette and threatening her behind your back to not hurt you or he’ll hurt her. Needless to say… Al’s protective and he doesn’t tolerate any of your friends trying to ruin your spirits or your work

So that means, if anybody rejects your outfit choice and creation you made for them, even politely. Alastor will hunt them down. You’re generous and you should be praised for that generosity. Alastor takes everything you give him, if he doesn’t like it, he’ll merely ask for some additions. He won’t ever demand a new outfit or item

Now. How did you and Alastor meet, you ask? You met him at a grand gala. It mainly consisted of Overlords but some Sinners can be invited and you were one of those rare sinners brought over to this incredible party

Alastor had been quite intrigued by you, the moment he saw you. A gorgeous, classy, sophisticated sinner dressed in the most pretty, regal maroon pink dress he has ever seen. You had attended this ‘best night ever’ party in hopes to find your prince, the man of your dreams and when you ran into a prissy but handsome Overlord that screamed prince-like grace, you immediately latched onto him. Unaware that you’re actual prince is the one Overlord all the guests avoided like the plague

Alastor couldn’t bring himself to just ignore the only shining jewel within this boring, prim and proper high-class party. He was so uninterested that he only got entertainment, out of talking to his dear friend, Rosie. So after some quick consideration, he begun to secretly follow you and your… date around the large palace hosting this gala. He was curious on what you’d do and the disgust he felt over this Overlord acting so uncharming and so harsh to a sweet lady such as yourself. He doesn’t tolerate women of radiance being disrespected

Alastor is so glad that you finally put your foot down after all the treatment: that ‘Prince’ of a Overlord making you pay for treats, making you give up the cushion seat, taking your rose for himself, making you throw your gorgeous silky-fabric shawl over a puddle so neither of you would slip. No gentleman should treat his lady this way and his blood is boiling in pure disgust at his fellow Overlord. The final straw is when that Overlord used you as a shield to block off the pretty strawberry icing cheesecake that came flying at the pair of you

Alastor watched from the sidelines with much pride and respect, over you talking that Overlord down and proclaiming he is a royal pain but of course, that ‘prince’ only cared about his looks and was scared of you drenched in the cake. Shaking off some of the cake on your dress, hair and face to get it onto the Overlord, out of raw rage. You ended up stomping out of the main big dance ballroom, furious and on the verge of crying. Leaving that ‘date’ of yours behind

Alastor couldn’t stop himself from following you. He was curious how a pretty mid-atlantic accented lady would handle being humiliated and having lashed out against her ‘date’ in front of almost ALL of the guests in the Gala. Your pretty sparkly almost diamond-like eyes poured tears, smudging your nice mascara and light blue eyeshadow as you stomped into the pretty empty gardens and cried out your rage

Oh. Alastor didn’t like seeing somebody so innocent and done no wrong mistreated like this. Even if it was amusing, he doesn’t like it

So, he finally approaches you after a few seconds of watching you vent out your feelings through sobs. His strong sharp crimson red eyes going from your forehead golden crown to the glass plumps to the still damp shawl tied around your shoulders in a classy princess style. You’re the most beautiful guest at this sorry excuse of a Gala. Alastor folds one arm behind his back, his own gala-style black, white and red coloured suit making his red and black colouration pop as he presents you with a rose

“I believe this is yours, my dear” Your glassy eyes turned over to look at him, the almost folded, multi-layers of your dress hugging your curves and hiding your leg movements as it just felt like this night went from the worst to the best. Is this the actual gentleman you’ve always wanted?! Gently reaching out, you’re a bit intimidated by how strong his glare is, how visible his golden yellow fangs are through that wide open grin, with how menacing his long fingers are

Taking the still stemmed rose from Alastor, you didn’t even know his name but you wished you did… you are a bit scared he may be a fake like that awful Overlord you were chasing after just before but he seems friendly enough. Alastor lifts up your hands with his single one, precisely placing the rose into your prettily curled and tied up hair, just above your bangs before speaking once more. His entire presence leaking charm, grace and poise

“Shall we dance?”

You were a bit shy, still drenched in destroyed layered cake batter but Alastor didn’t even chuckle at how ruined your clean, neat look is now. He merely snaps his fingers and like that, all the sweet confectionery remains are gone and all the ruffled, ripped or knotted parts of your dress and hair is smoothed out to perfection, as well as your slightly wet shawl back to being completely dry and your makeup returned to more presentable. Just like how you looked when you entered this Gala and when Alastor first saw you. Taking a deep breath, your cheeks flustered and blushy

You take his hand and with a single tug, you and him are dancing together in the calm, breezy, beautiful gardens of the giant gala palace, no music, no other prissy annoying guests. Just the plants, the animals and you two

Your eyes are no long filled to the brim with tears, anger and heartbreak. You’re now developing a sense of admiration and awe at Alastor being so gentlemanly and sweet with you in seconds flat, he’s treating you the way you wanted that blueblood ass to treat you and it’s making your heart flutter. Twirling slowly in a nice slow steady waltz, the only music ringing is the sound of the nearby birds singing

That night was the best night ever

[nmakii]

The doe darling fic was so sweet! Yan!Alastor is really perfect husband material.. which has me thinking.. How would he propose to his darling and what kind of wedding would it be?? 😳 What are his thoughts leading up to asking and how nervous would he get if he does? Thank you so much! ❤️

LOOK INTO YOUR EYES, AND THE SKY’S THE LIMIT!

— yandere!alastor x fiance to be!reader

— bad day @ school today, this made me feel better HAHAHA

alastor always knew his darling would be the one he’d marry. call it love at first sight, call it an obsession, call it what you want— you were his from the beginning

but now, he’s finally made you fall hard in love with him, as madly in love with him as he has been with you. it’s time for him to pop the question

he’ll create the ring himself out of the shadows of his powers, no ring made by those lowlife jewelers will be perfect enough to have the pleasure to rest itself on his doe’s pretty ring finger; no gem will shine bright enough, no ore will be pure enough, and simply— nothing will ever be good enough.

a precious rose gold ring encrusting a huge diamond, shined to perfection. and, on the inside of the ring; ‘my darling doe’

he’d find it really hard to find the perfect time to propose… after all, this is a once in a lifetime event. everything has to be perfect.

there was no turning back now. tonight would be the night. as he walked with you, arm interlocked with his— his breath heaved. alastor’s eyesight hazed as his muscles stiffened under your gentle touch.

“alastor? dear, are you okay?” you tilted your head at his odder-than-usual behavior. “of course, my doe! why wouldn’t i be?” he said with a bit of fake bravado, the radio static growing with his anxiety.

what if you’d say no? all this courting, just for you to say no. you’ll marry him, that’s the fact. but, it’s up to you whether or not you choose the hard way. he really hopes that you’ll say yes. he wouldn’t want to taint your image of him because of a simple bump in your relationship.

here you are, ducky park— one of your favorite places in hell. the cold iron fence protecting residents from falling into the fiery lava pit as many of lucifer’s ducks follow the flow of the lava.

as you arrived to your favorite lamp post, you took in the gruesome sights of hell, sinners fornicating, murdering, and fighting.

alastor looked down at you, nothing but pure worship in his eyes. you noticed the soft eyes that were gazing down on you, meeting his eyes with your pretty eyes.

“very well then…” alastor sighed, confusing you to no end. he got down on his right knee, pulling a wine-red velvet box from the pocket of his coat.

and then, he revealed the beautiful ring he made for you, drowning in the gorgeous way your big eyes widened in shock, your breath stopping a beat.

he was finally doing it! alastor took a deep breath, calming the nerves that dared to ruin his speech. “my doe, from the very first moment i met you, i have been nothing short of infatuated. i’ve been obsessed with you, from your immeasurable beauty all the way to your sweet innocent heart. i’d like to spend the rest of my afterlife by your side… as your husband. that is… if you allow me that pleasure?” alastor asked breathlessly, taking your left hand in his.

you stood in shock, trying to get the words out of your mouth. “ah… i…” you stuttered. “yes. i will.” you sighed, lifting alastor to his feet.

alastor’s smile grew as he ecstatically placed the ring on your finger, marking you as his darling. you grinned as you pulled him into a kiss, sweetly albeit a bit cliche.

despite wanting to show off his cute doe and now soon-to-be spouse, alastor would only hold a small wedding. close friends of yours, the staff of the hotel, and rosie!

just like your engagement ring, he’d craft the rings himself! two bright gold wedding bands. the initial A carved into the band, boldened by the black ink in the crevice. and for him, a similar band, one imprinted with your initial.

the venue would be just right out of the hotel, within the gates as to make sure you don’t run away or anything! we wouldn’t want that, would we?

he’d let you handle the decor and menu of the wedding, just as long as his darling is happy!

of course, he wouldn’t want you stressing out just before the big day, let your future husband take care of the seating. strange how no men are near your table…

but, don’t fuss over that! you’re finally married to alastor, aren’t you happy, doe?