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Elain brushing Lucien's hand as she passes.

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HANNAH DODD as FRANCESCA BRIDGERTON BRIDGERTON — S3E8: Into the Light

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― Ian McEwan, Atonement

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SHE DOES NOT SLEEP AFTER, cannot sleep as the gut-churning events tik 'round and around in her head like the hands of a clock. her ardor had long since cooled, dampened by hurt, then anger, then shame that wards off sleep like barking dogs. she finds him in the kitchen when she can stand it no longer; moonlight glinting off his golden eye as he gazes out the window into the city beyond. he knows, the bond says. the unbreakable thread between them a livewire of something she doesn't wish to name. she owes him nothing, not even her shame. yet her tender heart balks at the thought of wounding him [ . . . ] an almost kiss and then 'the third— he doesn't deserve — I could easily defeat — you can't stop me' every word a humiliating reminder that none in this city knew or cared what she herself wished. none except the male sitting before her, perhaps. the realization makes her squirm.

' you must think me foolish and horrid. ' elain murmurs ruefully, brushing a lock of wild hair from her eyes as she pads further into the familiar kitchen. @sparelove

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manifesting i have the spoons to do some memes here soon but until then this is still the funniest thing that happened in all of acosf fr

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Elaine, 1874. — Tobias Edward Rosenthal (American, 1848-1917)

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𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓶 𝓪 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮.

Part 2 of this post

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Clarice Lispector, tr. by Ronald W. Sousa, The Passion According to G.H.

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“So you’re just going to lie there then?”

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still thinking about elain ' i can hear the worms ' archeron being able to hear everyones... interesting conversations about her.

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Nikos Engonopoulos, from Bolívar, a Greek Poem

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(gripping the bathroom sink and staring into the mirror) i exist and i see the sun and even if I don't see the sun i know it's there and there's a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there

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this is elain's hair 2 me... (in brown not copper ofc)