#Engagement Gowns New York

[serendipitycouture]

Find Your Perfect Dress at Serendipity Couture: Indian Lehenga, Pink Prom Dress, and White Engagement Dress in New York

Shopping for the perfect dress can be a thrilling experience, especially when it’s for a special occasion. At Serendipity Couture, we offer a stunning range of dresses that cater to various events, including Indian lehengas, prom dresses, and engagement dresses. Located in New York, we make it easy to find the perfect outfit for your celebration.

Indian Lehenga Online in New York

If you’re looking for a beautiful Indian lehenga, you’re in the right place. Our collection features exquisite designs that celebrate traditional craftsmanship while incorporating modern trends. Whether you need a lehenga for a wedding, festival, or other cultural event, we have options that will make you feel stunning.

Shopping for an Indian lehenga online in New York is convenient and stress-free at Serendipity Couture. You can browse our diverse styles from the comfort of your home. Each lehenga is crafted with care, featuring intricate embroidery, vibrant colors, and luxurious fabrics. We offer sizes for everyone, ensuring you find the perfect fit. Our team is also available to help you with sizing and styling tips.

Pink Prom Dress in New York

Prom night is a significant event for high school students, and looking fabulous is a must. At Serendipity Couture, our collection of pink prom dresses is designed to make you shine on your special night. From classic A-line silhouettes to trendy two-piece styles, we have a variety of options to suit your taste.

Renting a pink prom dress in New York is a great way to wear a designer gown without the high price tag. Our dresses are available in different styles and sizes, so you’re sure to find something that fits perfectly. You can feel confident and beautiful as you dance the night away with friends. Our knowledgeable staff is here to guide you in selecting the ideal dress that matches your style and personality.

White Engagement Dress in New York

Your engagement is a moment to celebrate, and you deserve to look breathtaking. At Serendipity Couture, we offer a stunning selection of white engagement dresses that will help you feel beautiful during this special time. Our collection includes a variety of styles, from elegant and classic to modern and chic.

A white engagement dress is an essential part of capturing the joy of your new journey. Renting a dress from us allows you to choose a unique design that reflects your personality without the commitment of purchasing. Each dress is designed to make you feel comfortable and confident as you celebrate your love. Our team is dedicated to ensuring you find the dress that makes your engagement memorable.

Why Choose Serendipity Couture?

At Serendipity Couture, we are committed to providing an enjoyable shopping experience. Our friendly and knowledgeable staff is here to assist you in finding the perfect dress for any occasion. We believe that everyone deserves to feel beautiful and confident, and our extensive selection ensures you’ll find something that fits your vision.

Whether you’re searching for an Indian lehenga online in New York, a pink prom dress, or a white engagement dress, Serendipity Couture has you covered. Visit our website or stop by our store to explore our stunning collection. Let us help you make your special moments unforgettable with the perfect dress

[omgthatdress]

At the height of his fame, Julian Eltinge was one of the most celebrated entertainers in the world. He starred on Broadway, toured all over the world, and even performed for England's King Edward VII.

Born William Julian Dalton, he moved to Butte, Montana when he was very young and spent most of his childhood there. The stories of how exactly he got into female impersonation are varied. According to legend, his father caught his teenage son performing in women's clothing in a saloon, and then sent him back to Boston. There, he joined the Boston Cadets Review at the Tremont Theater, and form there he worked his way to Broadway.

First appearing simply under the name "Eltinge," he presented a version of female impersonation that was different from the bawdy caricature that was popular at the time. He was graceful, elegant and beautiful, and presented himself as an actual woman. To use modern drag parlance, he was the OG fish queen. At the end of his act, he would remove his wig and reveal his true gender.

In 1911, his musical comedy play The Fascinating Widow, in which he played both male and female roles, launched him into superstardom. In 1914, he made headlines for the tremendous amounts of luggage he carried with him across his European tour, each suitcase stuffed full of elegant and elaborate gowns.

In his personal life, he adopted a hyper-masculine, rugged persona. He frequently got in fist fights with anyone who accused him of being a homosexual. Although he made public displays of "long engagements" with women, he never married and was not known to have had any romantic relationships in his life. After his death, many people who had once worked with him, including comedian Milton Berle, identified him as gay.

Although he appeared in several films, his career faded as movies replaced Vaudeville and laws were put in place to ban drag shows. In spite of this, Eltinge continued performing as much as he could, even until his death, collapsing on stage at Billy Rose's Diamond Horseshoe in New York City.

[ginnsbaker]

In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (9/22)

Chapter summary: Several weeks later, an unfortunate situation drives Wanda to seek you out, only to be met with someone she least expects.

Chapter word count: 9k

Pairing: Wanda x Reader, Yelena x Reader (heavy in this chapter)

Author's note: And we start the second phase :)

Next chapter: Ten

AO3 | Masterlist 

Taglist: @blackluthxr | @esposadejoyhuerta | @secretbackrooms | @justgotlizzied , @casquinhaa | @marvelwomen-simp | @sunsol-22 | @wandanatlov3r | @kyaraderuwez | @justyourwritter69 | @stanolsevans | @aliherreraaa | @diaryoflife

-

Nine

Five Weeks Later

“By the power invested in me, by the State of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister reads from his pamphlet without as much as a glance to the enamored audience.

Wanda hadn’t known that she was going to attend a wedding near the start of autumn; if she had, she’d have been more than ready with an ensemble that’s appropriate for both the event and the cold season. To be fair, Pietro hadn’t known either. Just a week ago, Shannon surprised him with a date, a venue, and a business card of some designer that she commissioned to provide Pietro’s suit for the ceremony. Wanda might have considered it a trap if it hadn't been for the fact that Pietro was the one on his knees with a ring a year ago. Shannon had simply grown tired of his excuses and took matters into her own hands. Wanda still thinks it’s a colossal mistake but his history with women and commitments tracks. She just wants to know how many more of these she’ll have to attend for the rest of her life. 

“You may kiss the–”  

The minister is cut off by Pietro diving in for a sloppy kiss, and the small crowd of thirty people cheer the newly weds. Wanda claps for the sake of being a good attendant. She almost feels sorry for Shannon, but if she wanted this, she probably wanted it for the wrong reasons. 

And, well, karma is a bitch.

Having been sober for exactly thirty-two days, Wanda’s been nursing the same mocktail she’s had before the start of the program, and she finds it difficult to enjoy anything that’s watered-down. A longing to light a cigarette tugs at her, but the establishment's strict no-smoking policy extends even to the outdoor gardens. Pietro asked that she stays until the party’s over, and knowing how much her presence means to him, she reluctantly agreed. 

“Stop brooding at my wedding, for god’s sake.”

It’s Shannon, dressed in her second gown, a simpler one that makes it hard to tell her apart from her bridesmaids.

"Hi, Shannon," Wanda drawls, swirling the tiny ice left in her rocks glass.

"It's Mrs. Maximoff now," Shannon mutters proudly, displaying both her wedding and engagement rings.

Wanda hides her grimace behind her drink. “Try not to get used to it though. I’m pretty sure you’re aware that there had been two other Mrs. Maximoffs in his past.”

“Don’t sass me on my wedding day, it’s just disrespectful.”

“Point taken. I’d offer to get you a drink, but I think that’s just gonna push the stick further up your ass.” 

Shannon sourly responds with one of her signature fake smiles, but Wanda can see through the facade. She takes pride in having hit a nerve.

Taking the seat next to her, much to Wanda's dismay, Shannon changes the subject. "Anyway, your ex-wife is doing exceptionally well at our company. She's managed to turn around all the bad practices that have been going on for ages."

Wanda’s brows stitch together in confusion. “Your company?”

“Stark Industries.” Shannon says, taking a sip of Wanda’s untouched water.

The revelations throw her off. You didn't appear too thrilled when Wanda saw you right after your interview, so she had assumed you either didn’t get the position or you passed up on the opportunity. But what surprised her even more was discovering that someone like Shannon held a high-ranking position at a popular tech company–which now explains where the extreme confidence comes from.

Shannon smirks. “Don’t look so surprised that I work for the number one company in the world.” 

“Number one?” Wanda scoffs, rubbing her nose with her middle finger. “Hardly. And why are you keeping tabs on her?”

“She works in my department and I interviewed her. She was a disaster, by the way,” Shannon says. “But her references were solid. I mean, Scott Lang? I hired her solely by his recommendation.”

Wanda can't help but smile at the mention of Scott, reminiscent of the old days when she used to host dinners for your boss and your co-workers. She doesn’t, however, dwell this time about the people you’ve brought with you when you walked out of her life. The reality is, people take sides, and rightfully, they have chosen yours. 

"I'm happy for her. She's brilliant and hardworking. You won't regret having her on your team," Wanda says softly, her voice a little bittersweet; she remembers a time when she used to be the first one to know every little thing about you, and it's a feeling she misses.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re hearing this just now?” Shannon smacks her lips together and then fixes her lipstick that has stained the rim of her drink. “I thought I saw you at our lobby right after her interview.” Shannon gives her a knowing look, her eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and malice. It's as if she's perfectly aware of the unspeakable things you did to Wanda that day.

"Y-You did?" Wanda stammers, her blood rushing to her face.

“I assumed you were seeing each other again. You looked like a lost little housewife in your little jeans and little shirt.”

“I stopped by to bring her food. I didn’t know I had to dress up for that.”

“How sweet,” Shannon says, though her tone is barely mocking. “Well, if you’re not back together, then I have a piece of information you might find useful.”

Wanda leans back on her chair and crosses her arms in front of her. “And what makes you think I’m interested?”

“Because despite my wrong assumptions earlier, it’s clear that you’re still head over heels in love with her,” Shannon says. “Or am I wrong?”

Wanda looks away and takes a sip of her watered-down mocktail and tries to hide the displeasure on her face. 

Shannon takes this as her cue to continue. “She recently changed her address in our database. I know because those things usually undergo my approval.”

You moved out? Wanda hadn't attempted to contact you, but while running errands for her cafe, she had found herself in your area a couple of times. Each time, she observed that your curtains were drawn and the lights in the living room were always turned off.

Wanda looks on quietly as Shannon reaches into her purse, retrieves an eye pencil, and grabs a napkin from the table. With deliberate movements, she begins to scribble on the napkin.

“Here,” Shannon hands Wanda the napkin with your address scrawled neatly on it. “You’re welcome.”

Wanda hesitantly accepts it, and then asks, “Why are you doing this?”

"Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic," Shannon shrugs, though the glint in her eye betrays her nonchalant demeanor. It almost penetrates Wanda’s defenses, but then she says, “Or I’m supporting your unhealthy obsession knowing it won’t lead anywhere.”

Wanda finds herself laughing. Unlike Pietro, Shannon had never treated Wanda delicately, even after her hospitalization. She finds it oddly refreshing and, in a peculiar way, endearing.

Shannon adopts a small, awkward smile herself. 

“Fair enough.” Wanda says, folding the napkin carefully before putting it inside her bag.

Shannon gets up and runs her palms over the creases on her gown. “Good luck, Wanda. I’m sure you’ll be needing a lot of it.” 

Pietro finds her in the gardens, rubbing her arms to keep herself warm. The nighttime breeze isn’t particularly chilly, but Wanda’s always been susceptible to the cold regardless of the season. He looks particularly dashing in the dark blue suit that Shannon picked for him; and with his hair back to its natural brunette color, the similarities between them have become uncanny once again.

“Sorry about that.” Pietro mutters as he approaches.

Wanda tilts her head at him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Sorry about what?" she quips, her voice laced with humor. "You mean this wedding?"

Pietro laughs and then shakes his head. “I saw you talking to Shannon and I could tell you weren’t having the best time.”

Wanda doesn't hold back as she speaks her mind. "She's still a bitch," she says bluntly, not mincing her words. "No offense."

“Do I hear fondness in the way you said ‘bitch’?” 

“Not a chance.”

“Between me and her, you forget I’m actually the asshole, right? I know she told you I cheated on her countless times.” Pietro says, somewhat seriously.

“You are,” Wanda says. “But I stand by what I said.”

Pietro sighs. “Anyway, I’m not here to negotiate how you feel towards my wife. I’m here to say goodbye.”

Wanda sobers at that. She’s been so used to having her brother in the same city, a call and a cab away. 

“You’re returning to LA?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Pietro confirms with a nod. 

“Doesn’t she work at Stark Industries?”

“Oh, did I tell you that?” 

“She told me a while ago.” Wanda says.

“She can work remotely,” Pietro explains. “And she prefers doing that from our home in LA.”

The wind begins to pick up, its gentle breeze evolving into a stronger gust. The air becomes alive, stirring the surroundings and causing leaves to dance and swirl in a mesmerizing display. 

Wanda sweeps her hair back from her face, and asks, “Tell me, honestly, why did you stay here for so long? Even before the–” Wanda finds herself having difficulty naming the accident she had more than a month ago. 

But if there’s something she’s learned from therapy so far, it’s that confronting her inner demons requires acknowledging their existence.

“Before my overdose.” Wanda finishes, managing to keep her tone even.

Pietro regards her with a tender look that conveys his immense pride in her recent growth and progress.

“At first, I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. “And when I saw you and the cafe, I thought ‘see, she doesn’t need you’. But at the same time I also realized it was me–I needed you.”

Pietro pauses and rubs the back of his neck–something he does a lot when he’s trying not to be emotional. 

"I missed you, Wands. These past few months, I've felt more like myself than I have in years. I know I'm free to visit you anytime, even when you and Y/N were still together, but it's just not the same when–"

“–when it’s just us.” Wanda finishes for him, her voice thick with emotions that her brother is trying so hard to hold at bay.

“Yeah. I had a really great time with you here, it was good to be home after so many years.”

“LA is your home.” Wanda reminds him. 

"You're my family, Wands," Pietro says, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a warm side hug. "You're my home too."

“I love you, Piet.” 

“I love you too, sis,” Pietro says. “I’m rooting for you–your happiness. Whether it’s with Y/N or someone else or no one. You deserve to be happy. You have a big heart–I know this because you love me just as I am.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here so we can be close to each other all the time?” Wanda sniffs. So many losses. So many changes. Wanda craves normalcy and consistency–things you used to provide in her life with your steady presence.

“Shannon’s family lives in LA, and we’ve already talked about settling there once we’re married.”

Wanda shakes her head, smiling in contempt.

Pietro notices the change in her demeanor and starts rubbing her arm in comfort. “Don’t blame Shannon for this. I suggested it because she’s more comfortable living there if we’re going to start a family.”

“You’re already talking about babies? Piet, that’s a huge step.” she says.

Pietro falls into a thoughtful silence, weighing the decision of whether to share the news with Wanda now or wait a little longer. However, the anticipation and joy of becoming a father soon overpowers his doubts.

With a burst of excitement, he finally speaks up. "Actually, she's pregnant."

"Wow," Wanda exclaims, embracing him tightly, more than thrilled at the news. But as suspicion creeps in, she pulls away abruptly. "Hold on, is that why you rushed into marriage? Because she's pregnant?"

“No. She actually just told me last night, as a wedding gift.” Pietro says. 

“I’m going to be an aunt?” Wanda giggles. “I mean, congratulations! You’re going to be a dad!”

"Thank you, Wands," Pietro says, returning the hug.

Wanda pauses for a moment, a realization dawning on her. "I should stop being mean to her," she admits.

Pietro chuckles. "My advice is to take everything she says or does with a grain of salt."

Wanda's expression softens. "I'm going to miss you, you know? Your future kid, and, fuck it–even Shannon. I'll try to visit this Christmas, okay?"

"You better. I already got you plane tickets."

“Oh, and Piet?”

“Yep?”

“I’ll cut your balls off if you cheat on your wife again this time. Not because she’s having your child, but because it’s… not normal. It’s fucked up. We’re fucked up. The stakes are higher for you now, but even if it wasn’t, it just ruins everything in its wake. it's the biggest regret of my life," Wanda states firmly. Although she feels like a hypocrite as the words escape her lips, she feels compelled to express her feelings in the hope that it carries some weight.

“I know,” Pietro says, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been seeing a professional for two months now.”

“You are?”

Pietro smiles and takes Wanda’s hand, leading her back inside the reception. “Where do you think I got your therapist from?”

***

"You've really nailed it with this restaurant choice," Natasha exclaims at you, her fork stabbing into the juicy medium-rare steak. Her mouth waters as the meat releases its flavorful juices. She’s sitting to your left and Yelena’s right, and when you haven’t developed a psychic link with your partner yet, navigating a delicate situation feels like a sailor and a pilot has come together to figure out how a tractor works. 

Natasha had phoned you earlier today, informing you that her flight from Washington D.C. was scheduled to depart in a mere two hours. This left you with approximately three hours to prepare for her arrival, as well as to have a conversation with Yelena on how you’re both going to break the news to her unsuspecting sister. However, due to Yelena's demanding work schedule, it was difficult to abruptly pull her away from her assignment and so you took it upon yourself to organize this impromptu dinner. 

Your girlfriend, in a state of panic, had only just read your texts an hour ago and arrived late. Since then, there has been absolutely zero opportunity to discuss what your relationship entails for Natasha.

Delaying the inevitable, you focus on other topics.

“So, how was your flight?” you ask Natasha.

“Quick.” 

“When did you find out you’re coming home?” you inquire, eyebrows wiggling at Yelena, attempting to seek her support in engaging in the conversation

“The other day.” Natasha says.

“How do you like your steak?”

Natasha gives you a funny look.

Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you try to think of more questions to ask, but Yelena beats you to it.

“We’ve been seeing each other.” she announces over her plate of untouched meatballs. 

Your eyes widen in alarm as you look at Yelena, but she nonchalantly shrugs at you, then whispers, "I thought that's what you were trying to tell me with your eyes."

Natasha serenely savors her steak, taking a graceful sip of wine before responding, "Yes, I'm aware."

Surprised, you murmur, "How did you...?"

With a hint of amusement, Natasha replies, "If I were to reveal my skills, I would be violating at least ten pages of a non-disclosure agreement."

"Right," Yelena huffs, a feeling of ease finally settling over her. She indulges in her own plate, eagerly digging in and savoring each bite.

“You know,” You start, shoulders dropping and feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I thought I’m used to what you do, but it’s still weird that you disappear for several weeks and then you come back like,” you snap your fingers. “And we can’t ask you questions.”

“It’s why I love my job so much. People are literally not allowed to ask questions,” Natasha says with a satisfied smirk, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “But I can. So, how did this happen?” she says, motioning between you and Yelena with her finger.

“Didn’t you already know?” you say with a teasing smile. 

Natasha fixes you with a piercing gaze, the kind she typically reserves for her job, making you retreat but not before a nervous gulp catches in your throat.

"Yelena?" she prompts, noticing the uncharacteristic silence.

“I, uh–”

"Hotdog sandwich," you blurt out abruptly, interrupting Yelena's non-existent train of thought, while your mind drifts back to the night when you and Yelena officially started dating. Two pairs of eyes fixate on you, their faces a mix of surprise and bewilderment, as if questioning your sanity. Realizing the awkwardness of your outburst, you quickly clear your throat and gather yourself to continue, "I asked her out one night, shortly after I started my new job, and we kind of just decided to give it a shot while eating a hotdog."

When you look up, Yelena’s eyes carry a fondness, effectively deepening the blush on your cheeks.

“That’s a nice story, Y/N, but I didn’t mean literally. More like… how did you arrive at the decision to be together?” Natasha says, her gaze on you unwavering. You avoid her eyes, suddenly determined to finish the remaining vegetables in your dish.

“It came to us organically, Nat. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding a bit cheesy.” Yelena says. 

“I don’t mind cheesy. Cheesy is good. Love is often cheesy, right?” Natasha says, her gaze directed at you. The mention of the word 'love' catches you off guard, and you almost choke on your peas. Although you feel it deep in your heart that you love Yelena, neither of you have actually said those words to each other.

Yelena nods, her expression serious. "Okay, then. It happened because we still have deep feelings for each other, and we felt it was necessary to give it a chance."

You smile, fully understanding and appreciating Yelena's sentiment. "I agree." 

“Can I speak to Y/N in private?” She tells Yelena, who just shrugs, and then turning to you, Natasha says, “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” you reply, rising from your seat.

You and Natasha emerge from the cozy Italian restaurant, deciding to take a leisurely walk through the neighborhood. The rain has just subsided, leaving behind glistening streets and puddles that dot the pavement, making each step a bit precarious. The dampness in the air seems to mirror the tension in your chest, and you can't shake off the feeling that this walk holds more weight than just enjoying the post-rain atmosphere. The droplets on the ground reflect the streetlights, creating a mesmerizing shimmer that momentarily distracts you from your unease. 

Yet, as you walk alongside Natasha, the silence between you only heightens your anticipation for the impending "sister talk." 

You value your friendship with Natasha deeply, and the prospect of jeopardizing that bond fills you with uncertainty. 

Just as your pulse falls into a steadier rhythm, Natasha breaks the silence, her voice filled with a sense of pride. "I'm proud of you," she declares. "Honestly, I half-expected to return and find you still unemployed, living in my apartment. But look at you now: a new job, a new place... and a new girlfriend," she adds, without a trace of animosity in her words.

“I was the crutch you had to get rid of after all.” Natasha says. 

You laugh nervously at the ‘girlfriend’ remark, appreciating the genuine support from your best friend. "I suppose I relied on you heavily after my divorce," you admit. "It was easy to succumb to self-pity and a meaningless routine because you were there to take care of me. Eventually, I knew I was rotting away no matter how indulgent these Netflix shows are,” you laugh a little. “And well, things simply worked out, you know?”

“Yeah, I can see that it worked out pretty well with my sister.” Natasha quips.

"I care about her, Nat. I always have." you say, coming to a stop to face Natasha and properly look her in the eye.

Natasha nods and takes hold of your elbow, urging you to continue walking. "I know," she acknowledges, a knowing smile touching the corners of her lips. "She may not have shown it earlier, but she’s giddy as fuck. Kind of grosses me out seeing her eyeing you like a piece of candy.”

“But kidding aside, you have my blessing.” Natasha says, and you give her a soft smile in return.

A slight pang of guilt tugs at your heart as you decide not to mention your encounters with Wanda. You understand why Natasha requested this private conversation, and you don't wish to complicate matters by bringing up the brief rupture caused by your connection with Wanda. You and Yelena had reached a mutual understanding regarding Wanda, recognizing that your current relationship should not be overshadowed by your past with your ex-wife. 

Besides, you haven’t talked to Wanda since you and Yelena entered into a relationship. Things have been going well; consequently, you see no justifiable reason to stir up any unnecessary complications or rock the boat.

But nobody reads you the way Natasha does, as she brings up the person you’ve been trying to forget all this time.

“And Wanda? Is that over?”

Lying to Natasha is akin to attempting to deceive a lie detector machine; there’s just no way out of it but the truth–or at least some of it.

“We were briefly in touch,” you admit, carefully filtering the story in your mind as you speak. "Coincidentally, she happened to be at the same club where Clint organized your going-away party."

Natasha raises an eyebrow; you read her well enough too, and it tells you that she hadn’t had an inkling that Wanda had reentered your life at one point.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha asks, the level of her tone masking how she feels about that new information.

“Because you hate her?” You say, daring her to deny it but Natasha only rolls her eyes. “And, uh, I don’t know… Maybe because I knew you’d be disappointed?”

Natasha takes a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she gathers her thoughts. "Did I," she begins, "did I push you into making choices in the past that you weren't entirely comfortable with?"

"Why would you say that?" you inquire, puzzled by Natasha's question.

Natasha's gaze softens, and she replies with earnest sincerity, "Because I never wanted you to feel like you couldn't be completely open with me about anything. I never wanted you to fear my judgment regarding your decisions."

You wonder if Natasha would say the same thing if she knew you had fallen into Wanda’s bed post-divorce. You think about how Natasha urged you to file for it in the first place, how she helped in preparing everything from finding a suitable lawyer to ironing out the details of the agreement. Despite your emotional state during that period, you acknowledge that you made those decisions and chose to take responsibility for them.

“You’re like family to me, Nat. Of course your opinion of me will always matter.” you say.

“I’m happy you stood by your decision without me,” Natasha says. “I was worried you’d go back to her as soon as I was gone.”

A nervous smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flit to anywhere but your best friend; the weight of deliberately concealing a significant portion of the story makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Now more than ever, you regret being with Wanda that way. It had every potential to jeopardize your friendship with Natasha.

“How about you and Bruce?” you say, taking the spotlight away from yourself.

Natasha’s smile is sad as she shakes her head. “That ship has sailed. For good.”

“I’m sorry.” you say.

“Don’t be. He can finally allow himself to be happy. He’s a good man. He deserves more than I can give him.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to believe I deserve more than he’s willing to give,” Natasha says, her voice not harboring any resentment; but it’s clear that she has accepted the fact that their desires and needs diverged, leading them down separate paths. 

“Are you happy?” you ask suddenly, widely curious.

Natasha takes a moment to reflect, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "As happy as I can be," she contemplates. "I've learned that life shouldn't solely revolve around falling in love, you know? I have my work, my sister, my friends, and well, you're not that bad either," she adds with a light-hearted chuckle.

Turning the last corner back to the restaurant, you both bump into Yelena who’s wearing a frown after being left for so long.

“You were both gone for a while already so I thought I’d settle the bill and join you guys for a walk.” Yelena says. “You guys are okay, right?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?” you say, taking her hand and interlacing your fingers together.

Natasha ignores Yelena’s question and says, “How much do I owe you for the food?” 

Yelena pushes the receipt in her sister’s hand and says, “Everything.”

Settling beside Yelena on the bed, you reach for the lamp on your nightstand and switch it off. The room is cast in a soft, bluish glow, as the moon's radiance filters through the blinds. It hasn’t been too long since you and Yelena started sharing this room, and despite initially intending to take things slow, the pace of your relationship accelerated naturally. With busy careers, it felt right to embrace the opportunity to spend more time together without the added complexities of planning and scheduling dates.

“It was weird introducing you to Nat as my girlfriend,” Yelena says, turning on her side to face you as soon as your head hits the pillow.

"I think you handled that quite smoothly," you say with a quiet chortle, the sarcasm failing to come across as strongly as intended.

"You were absolutely perfect though," Yelena whispers, her hand gently cupping your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss. It begins with a slow, tentative pace, reminiscent of the other kisses you have shared since becoming a couple. 

Tonight, however, there's an undeniable intensity in Yelena's kisses that sends a fiery sensation rippling through your body. Her touch, tracing the skin below your belly button, ignites a rush of heat that intertwines with the passion of the moment. With your hands threaded in her hair, you boldly deepen the kiss, your tongue exploring the depths of her mouth, eliciting a surprised moan that you eagerly swallow.

As Yelena's fingers venture past the waistband of your underwear, a sudden jolt of surprise shoots through your body, causing you to abruptly sit upright. In the process, Yelena loses her balance and falls back onto the bed.

“Y/N?”

"Sorry," you stammer, attempting to calm your nerves and the racing of your heart. "I just remembered I have an important work email I haven't sent yet and..."

Yelena nods understandingly. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I've got some editing to do anyway."

You offer a grateful smile and lean in to press a tender kiss on her forehead. Then, you trail another moist kiss just below her ear, eliciting a soft sigh from Yelena's lips. 

“I’ll wait up, okay? Hurry,” Yelena purrs against your neck. 

“I’ll be back.” you say.

At half past midnight, you return to a snoring Yelena, her arm sprawled over the empty spot where you’re supposed to be. It was one email and you got carried away. And even if Yelena’s awake, you’re too exhausted to continue earlier’s steamy exchange.

Carefully, you remove her arm from your side of the bed and mold yourself to Yelena’s sleeping form. 

You haven’t had sex with her yet. The desire is there–a hot burning coal of it–and you have entertained the thought numerous times, but each time the moment draws near, you find yourself hesitant and not quite ready to take that step. It's a decision you have consciously made, respecting your own boundaries and wanting to ensure that the timing feels right for both of you.

Kissing the back of Yelena's head, you savor the softness of her hair against your lips. With a contented sigh, you nuzzle your nose into her locks, finding comfort in her presence as sleep gradually envelops you.

***

“Ms. Maximoff? Over here.”

Wanda looks up to find Sparky’s doctor motioning for her to come inside the check-up room. She gets up and hurries to where Sparky has disappeared into for almost twenty minutes now, and sees him hooked up to an IV, dozing off on his side. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Wanda asks immediately.

“The results of Sparky’s blood test don't look good. His liver is significantly higher than the normal range, and that could be the cause of his recent vomiting. For now, we’ll keep him confined here for one or two more days, depending on his condition, and if he’s responding to medication, you can continue giving them at home.”

“And what if he doesn’t respond to his medication?”

“We will conduct further tests to see what’s going on there. Surgery could be an option, depending on the outcome. While liver diseases in dogs can be treated and managed, there is always the possibility of expiration, I’m afraid.”

Expiration. Dogs have significantly shorter lives; Wanda knows this. But hearing it spoken so soon directly shatters Wanda’s heart. “W-What could have caused this?” she asks.

This is her fault, Wanda makes the conclusion, even before the doctor is done explaining the common causes in detail. She successfully fucked up another important thing in her life. 

In the absence of a little furry baby wagging its tail to greet her, Wanda returns home to a dark and empty apartment. Seeking solace, Wanda clings to the hopeful possibility that Sparky may return home in the next few days. 

Without bothering to turn on the lights, she kicks off her shoes and curls up into a ball on the couch. Her eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, eventually focusing on the small desk where the potted chrysanthemums you gifted her rest. The faint light casts a peculiar shadow on the wall, capturing her attention. Yet, it is the piece of napkin discreetly slipped beneath the pot that her mind is apprehensively fixated to; a thin, fragile thing that would ultimately lead her to you.

It has remained tucked away in Wanda's study, for a month now, as she couldn't bear to disrupt your life once again. She imagines that you are likely doing well, leading a quieter and less tumultuous existence without her. As for Wanda, she has been diligently working on herself, taking each day as it comes. However, the passage of time hasn't diminished her feelings for you, not even in the slightest. The void in her heart, shaped by your absence, remains steadfast, but she has learned to adapt and coexist with it, allowing herself to grow while carrying its weight.

And she wouldn't—not even for a moment—consider disturbing your peace if it weren't for the dog. If your roles were reversed, and you were the one keeping him, Wanda would undoubtedly want to be informed if his brief existence was endangered by an illness.

But then again, you've made your choice. You didn’t want anything to do with her. It was evident in your absence, when you stopped your visits to her apartment, her café; when Wanda's phone could no longer detect any recent online activity from you. You had simply vanished without a trace.

It would be unjust to intrude on your decision when you clearly didn't want to be found.

…And she’s still, quite literally, debating it when she finds herself at your doorstep an hour later.

Your new building looks lavish, Wanda can only imagine how much you’ve spent on the deposit alone. It was a little intimidating when she was asked to leave an ID and the receptionist had to ring your unit to inform you that you had a visitor–dropping her name to you in the process. More interesting than that, however, is that she gave Wanda the go signal to proceed to the elevators, meaning that you gave your consent for her to see you.

There's a sense of relief in realizing that you wouldn't go to the extent of turning her away just to avoid her altogether. She sets aside the questions that her heart desperately wants to ask, knowing they would only thwart the initial intention she has of seeing you.

She is fully aware of how guarded and cautious you were the last time; memories of her well-crafted plans to lure you and get close to you for the obvious reason of winning you back are still fresh in her mind. Wanda understands that she needs to approach this meeting with sensitivity and genuine concern, keeping her intentions clear and focused on Sparky's well-being.

But as she’s about to knock, the door swings open.

“Hi, I–” Wanda’s words die on her tongue and the nervous smile on her face fades into uncertainty.

Standing there, clad in nothing but a t-shirt (which she recognizes having bought it for you) that goes past her thighs, is the woman from the club. The woman who drew the curtains for you in your living room. Her blonde hair cascades in messy beach waves, framing her face and reaching her shoulders. 

She is breathtakingly beautiful. 

But what strikes Wanda the most is how effortlessly the woman seems to blend into the space, appearing more like a tenant than a mere guest who just happened to visit you at this particular time.

Does she live with you?

“Is Y/N home? I’m Wan–” 

"Wanda. I know. I’m Yelena," Yelena interrupts, her tone firm yet not unkind, like she’s struggling as much as the brunette. "She's still at work. Is there something you need from her?"

“You’re Yelena? Natasha’s sister?” Wanda asks.

Yelena nods tentatively, her eyes studying Wanda's reaction; she was surprised to get a call from the reception that a certain Wanda Maximoff wanted to come up to her unit. Despite the nagging question of whether you've been seeing Wanda all this time behind her back, she makes a conscious effort to maintain her composure in front of your ex-wife.

Meanwhile, something in Wanda's mind clicks. It's Yelena, not you, who allowed herself to go up to your floor. It's her, not you, who wanted to meet her. Wanda's mind races with questions. Does Yelena know about her? Did Yelena feel the need to introduce herself to your ex-wife?

"Uh..." Wanda's voice trembles with the onset of a panic attack. It turns out, coming here was a mistake, and she’s just grateful you’re not around to witness it. "I'm sorry. Please forget that I came here. Don't let her know I was here, please? I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

Yelena sucks in her cheeks as she reads into Wanda’s sudden panic. "Sure," she replies before softly closing the door on Wanda.

-

The nights are longer at Stark Industries. You knew what you signed up for when you accepted the job, but now you're starting to feel the repercussions. The stress is taking its toll not only on your work-life balance but also on your relationship with Yelena. You haven’t had dinner together recently, much less a conversation that lasted longer than a few exchanges of “how are you” and “I’m fine”. There’s a lot to make up for, but no date in sight to actually start doing so.

The office is empty except for you and the maintenance worker assigned to the night shift, so when your ringtone cuts through the stillness, the sound of it reverberates off the walls of the empty room, making it too loud for you to ignore.

With your eyes concentrated on a formula on your spreadsheet, you answer your phone without looking at the caller.

“Hey, I’ll be home soon.” you say, assuming it’s Yelena on the line.

“Y/N.” A vaguely familiar voice that’s definitely not Yelena greets you. That’s when you remove your phone from your ear and notice the unknown number on the screen.

“Who’s this?”

The caller doesn’t answer right away. Instead, you can hear rain pouring heavily in the background, something you haven’t been aware of due to the thick windows of the office blocking out outside noises.

“It’s Vision,” The voice cracks over the speaker before you can decide to drop the call. “Wanda needs your help.”

The rain had been relentless throughout the day according to the weather app on your phone. You’ve just been too busy to notice, and so you find yourself without an umbrella. Thankfully, by the time you arrive at the location Vision instructed, the downpour has subsided into a gentle drizzle.

“Jesus, it’s freezing.” you mumble to yourself, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body.

You recognize this part of the city, having gone here numerous times in the past to visit your favorite dive bar where you, Natasha, Clint, and Wanda would hang out for hours just talking and having a good time. Although Natasha and Wanda don’t really talk, they engage in group shots, and Wanda would always challenge you to a game of pool, and you would win one or two matches in a best of seven, because your wife–ex-wife–is just so gifted in just about all kinds of sports. 

However, it's not the same bar where you find Wanda. Instead, it’s near a dead-end street and you stumble upon her slumped against a light post in a sorry state. It's obvious that she has consumed a significant amount of alcohol, leaving her almost blacked out. It makes you suspicious if this happens often–Wanda getting shitfaced in random places with Vision in tow. 

The sight of Vision doesn’t bother you as much as before, but it still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to see them together in the same place. Vision, to his credit, keeps a respectful distance, yet the yearning in his face is unmistakable. It's a familiar look, one you've witnessed on Wanda's previous boyfriends when they believed you weren't paying attention.

As you draw closer, Wanda's head tilts back, and her intoxicated eyes, heavy-lidded and unfocused, widen ever so slightly in recognition as they lock with yours.

“Y/N? Is that really you?” Wanda drunkenly slurs, her struggling eyes attempting to focus on your face. “If you’re not, please tell Y/N that I’m not with him,” Wanda says, pointing her thumb in his direction, refusing to even look at Vision. “He just showed up out of nowhere and I told him to stay away. I swear, I’m telling the truth. Vision, tell her, please. Tell her to tell Y/N.” 

The street lights become too much for Wanda to bear, and she buries her head into her arms, her knees drawn to her chest. She looks so small and insignificant against the backdrop of a vibrant metropolis. 

Steeling yourself against her sorrowful pleas, you turn to Vision instead. “How did you find her?” you demand.

“I was out with my friends, and happened to pass by this area on our way back,” Vision recounts. “I saw two men trying to take her home, and we intervened. I tried asking Wanda where she lives so I can take her home myself, but she refuses to tell me. I tried calling you using her phone, but I think you blocked her number, so I tried calling you myself.”

You’re inclined to believe him, but there will always be bouts of suspicion lingering on the surface when it concerns Wanda. Though as your eyes return to Wanda’s shivering form, you can’t help but wonder if she would truly rather die in the ditches than accept help from him. For the first time, you find yourself contemplating the possibility of believing her, although a part of you wonders if it's simply your enduring soft spot for her attempting to sway your judgment.

“Thank you,” you say to Vision, surprised to find a little sincerity in your voice.

“If I find out you’re the reason why she’s this miserable, I’m putting everything on the line to make sure you stay away from her.” he declares, igniting a cigarette as you support Wanda, draping one of her arms over your shoulder and lifting her up. In that moment, she feels noticeably lighter than before, and your hand can discern the protrusion of her ribs as you secure her against your side.

“Is that a threat?” you say, clenching your jaw, your own clothes getting soaked fast, not realizing early on just how drenched Wanda is from the rain.

“It’s a warning,” Vision answers coolly. “As far as I know, you haven’t atoned for anything. And it’s not because you don’t deserve it. It’s because of her.”

He’s right–you walked out of that bloodied room unscathed from the law. All along you thought the consequences of what you’ve done to Vision just miraculously resolved on its own with the help of Natasha, but if Wanda had anything to do with how you’re not being served with at least damages for physical assault, what price did she have to pay in return?

It’s a conversation for later–you don’t need Wanda to protect you, especially if it means being coerced into complying with Vision's demands.

“I’m ready for anything,” you tell him, goading him with a smirk as you feel Wanda nestle closer to you, seeking your warmth. “Now, get your jacket off her and I’ll take it from here.”

As Vision gently takes off the garment from Wanda's shoulders, your eyes catch sight of a distinct mark on her finger, a faded indentation left by a ring that she no longer adorns.

-

Upon arriving at Wanda's place, there is no sign of Sparky. You feel a twinge of disappointment, as you had been somewhat anticipating him despite the circumstances. However, your attention swiftly turns to Wanda, who appears even worse now that you have brought her home: her lips are dry and pale, the flush all over her face down to her neck is still there, and she feels excessively warm to touch, almost as if she is–

“Shit, you’re burning up,” you mutter as you place your hand on her damp forehead.

Then all of a sudden, Wanda forcefully pushes you away, her hand covering her mouth, as she rushes towards the bathroom. In her haste, the straps of her sandals snap, breaking under the pressure. Swiftly, you trail behind her, conscientiously removing your shoes along the way to prevent leaving any dirt tracks on her pristine floor. 

When you enter the bathroom, you find Wanda hunched over the toilet, emptying her stomach. Grimacing at the sight, you kneel beside her and carefully gather her dark hair, holding it up while you wait for her to finish. Once she's done, you flush it down for her. Wanda, seemingly drained, rolls away from the toilet and crawls towards the shower where she simply sits in one corner, closing her eyes with the clear intention of settling down for the night right there.

Faced with a decision, you find yourself contemplating your next course of action. You weigh the responsibilities you had undertaken which was to get Wanda to her apartment safely. What happens to her thereafter should no longer be your concern. After all, Yelena is most likely still waiting for you back at home.

Home. A year ago, the extent to which your definition of it has changed would have been unimaginable.

“Y/N,” Wanda’s weak voice draws your attention away from your thoughts. “You should g-go.” she says hoarsely.

Your fingers close around the doorknob, silent and unmoving, as anger wells up within you; Anger at Wanda for getting herself into this mess. Anger towards Vision for asking you to come to her rescue. Anger at yourself for feeling unable to leave Wanda behind, despite everything.

"Did she tell you about me? I told her not to, Y/N. I'm so sorry..." Wanda's whisper reaches your ears, her eyes remaining shut and her head tilted back, revealing the graceful column of her neck. You instinctively avert your gaze.

“What are you talking about?” you ask.

“I-I went to see you. But she said you were still working. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted you to know about Sparky…”

She? Yelena? You didn’t think Yelena would allow Wanda to go up to your apartment just like that.

"He's not well," Wanda continues, her gaze focused on your face as she takes in every detail of it, as if trying to capture the memory of you in case this is the only opportunity she gets.

Your grip on the doorknob tightens. So that explains why Sparky is nowhere to be found.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Is he okay?”

Wanda hiccups, thoughts too jumbled to put together anything coherent. "Liver–not normal," she manages to say, her voice trailing off. She had convinced herself that she wanted to see you for a legitimate reason, but as she gazes at you now, it becomes painfully clear that it was her deep longing for you that has ultimately prevailed.

"Is there anything I could-" you start to offer your help, your concern for Sparky overriding whatever tension lingers between you and Wanda.

"You should leave, Y/N," Wanda interrupts, mustering the strength to open her eyes and meet yours. The shame and despair swirling in those green orbs are hard to ignore, but you try to remain steadfast. "She's probably worried about you."

You chew on your lower lip for a moment, and then, instead of doing as she says, you close the door behind you. Silently, you begin removing your own clothes, stripping down to your underwear.

"I have to dry them anyway," you mumble after feeling the weight of Wanda's stare. "Come on, let's fix you up and get you ready for bed."

Wanda reaches for the hem of her shirt, her hesitation evident as she refrains from removing it. Sensing her struggle, you take the initiative, hoping to expedite the process so you can attend to her needs and leave soon. With gentle care, you lift her shirt up and over her head, exposing her trembling form. 

That's when you notice it–her wedding ring that Wanda used to wear on her finger, even after your divorce. But now it has taken on a new form, transformed into a pendant hanging delicately from a chain around her neck. It rests there, nestled between her breasts, a symbol of a past chapter in her life–and yours–that she carries with her, in a different way.

Wanda notices where your eyes are lingering and removes the necklace herself when you remain passive and unmoving. 

The next task is unclipping her bra, and as your fingers reach for the hooks, Wanda's hand covers yours, halting your actions.

“Is this–I mean, do you think should…?” she stammers out, and you’re unsure if the blush on her face is still from the alcohol.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," you say, feeling your own face heat up. "I think you have a fever. I need to get you out of these wet clothes, is that okay?"

Wanda nods meekly, giving her consent.

A few seconds later, Wanda is naked except for the pink she wears on her cheeks. You help her get up and move under the shower. You twist and turn the knob of the shower until you find the desirable temperature, and then start shampooing Wanda’s hair. 

As the water cascades over her and rinses away her self-loathing, Wanda finds herself surrendering to your care, allowing her to cherish this rare, tender moment she never knew she’d get to experience again. She is grateful for the water, realizing how weary you must be of seeing her cry; it’s just not possible to restrain herself from it when you’re this gentle with her.

“Can you handle the rest?” you ask Wanda, putting your hands under the shower to get rid of the soap.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Okay. I’ll go get some towels.”

Collecting both yours and Wanda's clothes from the floor, you quickly step out of the bathroom before you can start processing what you’ve just done.

Don’t think, just do, you say to yourself as you put the clothes in the dryer. 

Don’t think, just do, you repeat as you get fresh towels from the cabinet.

Don’t think.

When you’re both dry and you’re back in your work clothes and Wanda in her pajamas, you accompany her to her bedroom. You tuck her in and touch her forehead once again to check her temperature. The heat still radiates from her body, and it becomes clear that her fever isn't letting up soon. It won’t go down unless she takes something, but with alcohol still in her system, you don’t think that’s a good idea.

Here, drink this," you offer, extending a sports drink to Wanda.

"Thank you," Wanda murmurs, taking a generous sip before returning the bottle to you.

"Try to finish it. You're likely dehydrated," you suggest. Wanda, acknowledging your advice, obediently continues to drink.

“Better?”

Wanda nods with a small smile. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I didn’t think Vision would–”

“You’re welcome,” you interject as soon as she mentions his name. “We’ll talk soon.” 

Wanda's gaze remains fixed on her folded hands in her lap. "You don't have to," she whispers. "You don't have to talk to me or see me if you don't want to. I'm sorry. This doesn't happen a lot anymore—not as often as you might think. Just something happened, and... I didn't mean to involve you, Y/N. I'm really sorry."

Something? What exactly happened? Regardless, you don't think it's healthy for Wanda to subject herself to such a high level of intoxication, no matter what the circumstances may be.

"We'll talk soon," you repeat, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "Take care, Wanda. Good night."

-

Yelena is wide awake in the living room, her attention focused on a book resting on her lap as you arrive home. The soft glow of a lamp illuminates her features, casting a gentle light on her face. There's a stillness in the room, interrupted only by the turning of pages and the sound of your footsteps.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of her. 

"Hey," you greet her wearily. "You're still awake?"

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” she says, somewhat bashfully. "There's salad in the fridge if you haven't eaten." she offers.

You pause for a moment, and then meeting her gaze, you ask, "Do you have something to tell me?"

Yelena levels you with a look, putting her book down, she says, “No. Do you?” 

Taking a deep breath, you tell her you do. “I took Wanda home,” you declare, bracing yourself for Yelena’s reaction but her face remains stoic. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, almost as if she had been anticipating your words.

“Can you clarify?” Yelena finally speaks up when you make no further effort to elaborate.

"In the office, I received a call from Vision," you explain. “He said Wanda needed my help. She was in no condition to go home on her own so I took her.”

“Why didn’t he take her home himself?”

You shrug slightly. "Wanda refused to go with him.”

There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a depth of emotions that she holds back, yet you can sense them lingering beneath the surface. And then, she asks, “And nothing happened?”

“I helped her get change and manage her fever,” you say. “Nothing else happened.”

Yelena's gaze softens, and any trace of her being bothered by your confession finally reveals itself in the form of a soft sigh that escapes her lips.

"Thank you for telling me," Yelena says, wrapping her arms around your neck. "In that case, I should have mentioned that Wanda came by, and I let her come up here."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask curiously.

"She told me not to let you know," Yelena reveals quite casually. "And I didn't think it was important anyway."

You hum in response, grateful for her honesty and openness at least. Although, you sense that there might be more to the story than meets the eye.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I've been in touch with her?" you inquire, unable to ignore the nagging curiosity in your mind. Yelena's seemingly mild reactions in response to her encounter with Wanda is slightly unsettling.

“I wasn’t going to,” Yelena confesses, lowering her gaze before they come back up with a vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “But have you?”

You shake your head in response, indicating the truth. Yelena’s shoulder slackens and she steps closer to you. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore. I missed you,” Yelena mumbles the words like a secret, before capturing your lips in a short, sweet kiss, effectively stealing you away from your thoughts.

"Me too," you whisper back, feeling the day's events weighing on you, you take her hand and guide her towards the bedroom. "Let's go to bed."

[cateyesinlove]

To my secret Santa, Merry Christmas @sirenarts , haven meeting you is one of the best things this year and I will forever be grateful I get to call you my friend!

AO3

“No” Azriel simply answered while cheeking some paper from a folder, leaning into his desk with ease as if he didn’t have the fiercest of lawyers in the whole New York area in front of him murdering him with her sight, Lady Death herself, Nesta Archeron.

“What do you mean no” she growled, arms crossed and fuming.

Azriel let a sigh out and dragged his hand down his face, “ It means I am not taking time off from my job to go around asking who wants to come with me on an adventure where I follow some influencer girls around like a lost puppy for a beauty brand launch party.” He answered harshly, “ I’ll lose all credibility, Nesta”

Azriel has only felt fear three times in his life, his line of work didn’t necessarily allow him to feel it more often

When his hands were burned

When he almost died

And now watching Nesta smile like the devil herself standing in front of him.

“ Well good thing you need to do neither of those things,” Nesta said smiling scarily chipper, she uncrossed her arms and put them in her waist. “ Emerie has already agreed and Cassian told me you had already taken the week off so you can do your usual brooding in the mountain.”

Azriel was left speechless.

Then he frowned, “ How did you get Berdara to do it, she is worse than me with time off and that is something.” he asked.

Nesta shrugged smirking, putting her hands in her pockets.

“I guess it’s just one of the many perks of being an awesome lawyer who saves your fucking asses all the goddam time.”

Azirel rolled his eyes, being a bodyguard was a great job and it paid well whoever you were also sued a lot depending on the clients you worked with and how much of an assholes they were

“ Well I might still refuse Nesta,” he said defensively

Nesta smile somehow grew bigger and she pulled her phone out showing it to Azriel. “ Oh have I forgotten to tell you the person I need you to take care of is Elain?” she asked, in her phone a photo from the photoshoot of Elain’s new brand; Elain was dressed in a flower gown surrounded by all types of plants and holding some of her products.

He was left breathless.

Azriel’s first thought, as it always was whenever he saw Elain, was that she looked beautiful. There was a shine to Elain that Azriel had only been able to find in the stars in the night. Her glow was incomparable.

He felt his ears and face grow hot and a blush took over his face.

Fuck.

Nesta laid the trap for him and he fell like the idiot he was.

He cleared his throat and scratched his neck with the other, “ Yes, you forgot that very important detail, Nesta,” he scowled

Nesta laughed, “ Well what can I say, it is fun to toy around with you when it comes to Elain,” she said examining her engagement ring.

“ You don’t have to gloat on my misery Nesta,” he said, a sigh of exhaustion scaping him as he let himself fall on his chair.

“ You can always call her Azirel,” Netsa said rolling her eyes at the stupidity of her future brother-in-law.

“Nesta,” he warned with a serious tone.

“Fuck off,” she responded irritated, “ She broke up with that loser months ago Azriel, you could have easily called her and asked her out and-”

“Nesta respectfully fuck off, it’s none of your business.” he cut her off tired of hearing the same thing from the same people.

His brothers.

His sisters-in-law.

And his three-year-old nephew.

‘So, will you do it yes or no?” Nesta asked irked.

“Of course, I’ll do it, Nesta,” he said exhausted putting his hands on his face.

“ I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said walking out of his office with a smile.

_____________________

“ So what exactly does Nesta have on you to convince you to be doing this?” Azriel asked Emerie as they examined the surrounding area where they were waiting for the car with Elain and her friends for the launch party.

“Not necessarily what but who” she grumbled fixing her glasses and walking towards the car that had arrived, opening the door.

“SUNSHINE!” a small ginger woman exclaimed as she walked out of the car, dressed in a modest teal dress and her straight pin hair loose, a small broach with a moon holding it out of her face. The woman threw herself at Emerie kissing her cheek.

Azriel didn’t know what to do, he froze for a moment and when he was ready to tackle the girl he saw Emerie laugh and hold her by the waist hugging her, she kissed the woman and separated from her turning a more professional stand as she could probably see photographers appear, keeping a discrete hang on the back of her wife

“Azriel, this is my wife, Gwyn Berdara.” Emerie introduced with a smile.

Azriel couldn’t help but smile, “ Oh so this is why you accepted the job?” he asked laughing

“ Oh like the reason you accepted was any better?” Asked Feyre as she climbed out of the car with Nesta.

All the girls laughed as Azriel went red, then panicked flooding him as he looked over at the car but the door was closed, he started to look everywhere for another car, Elain’s car.

“Don’t panic,” Nesta said putting the poor boy out of his misery, Elain and the twins are coming in another car.

Ease flooded his body until he saw a white car approaching and off the car came out Elain.

Beautiful, wonderful, splendid Elain, in a beautiful dress adorned with flowers of all types, but all of a pink and white scheme along side with some vines.

As Elain climbed out of the car, the first person she saw was Azriel, extending a hand to her, Like all those years ago.

“Az,” she said his name in surprise, a whisper only for him to hear but with a huge smile on her face.

He took her hand and smiled back at her, “ Elain” he greeted with the same huge smile.

“I- wha- what are you doing here?” she said still smiling and hugged him, she couldn’t keep her excitement, the last time he had seen him was months ago, and she missed him too much.

Which was a mistake, especially with all the cameras around them.

NEWS FLASH!

Icon Elain Archeron seen at her launch debut with new beau?

Who is this handsome mysterious man?

3276 Likes 298Comments Shares

Purpleunicornc

Okay but the sunshine x sunshine protector tropes

Starwhogazes

It’s the pink-and-black aesthetic for me

Jediemma

Okay but Elain the lovely fawn and a man who looks like her protector? Iconic

Nikethestatue to Jediemma

Like death itself?

Jasmineandshadows

OMG death and the lovely fawn? Iconic

Siren.arts

OKAY they are my new favorite couple!

“Let’s go” he whispered holding her waist and shielding her as much as he could from the flashes to the building. “ Oh and,” he started chuckling a bit. “Nesta asked me to keep you safe.” he answered, “ and I will always look out for you.”

Elain went red to the face but gave him a huge smile. “ I know,” she answered as they entered the building.

Cerridwen and Nuala came out of the car and gathered with the rest of the girls as they saw the scene play before them.

“Ugh he is such an idiot,” said Nesta crossing her arms and looking at them.

“Leave them alone Nesta,” Feyre answered laughing, “ They need time.”

“They are both idiots,” answered Nuala rolling her eyes, “They are the only ones who don’t know they are madly in love with each other.”

“It’s going to be a long week,” Cerridwen answered holding her sister by the shoulders and directing her to the building.

“Yes, it will” Answered Nesta walking with arms intertwined with Gwyn who was giggling.

Emerie shakes her head with a small chuckle and follows everyone inside

[ludi-ling]

The Peacock Dress, from my Romy fanfic, The Tailor & The Seamstress. Procreate.

Silk, silk mesh, metallic thread, sequins, beads.

Spoilers below:

Anna designed the dress to reflect the beauty of the peacock, but it took her some 7 years to actually get round to making it.

After leaving Biloxi with Erik, the first leg of their tour was to New Orleans. Peacocks were always her favourite bird, but in NOLA she was able to sit down and actually draw them from life. Having given up dressmaking to be with her lover, she never made the dress, and Erik bought her an expensive one instead, which was made up in the style of c. 1903-1904.

A year or so later, she left Erik to return to Biloxi, and then back home to Caldecott County, where Cody eventually proposed to her, and they became engaged. Despite this, Anna always felt the pull of her first serious love with Erik. The Peacock Dress became a signifier of that, a symbol of the love she had forced herself to leave behind, despite (or because of) its headiness and its power.

After Cody's accident, and he becomes an invalid, Anna takes herself to New York City to finally pursue her dream of being a dressmaker. Having finally found the resources to make the dress in mind, and the sartorial climate making the silhouette more fashionable, she begins making the dress in late 1909-summer 1910.

The dress is really a celebration and a reminder of what Anna thought was her greatest love. Unlike the Phoenix Dress, the Peacock Dress firmly represents her past - something that she still unwittingly clings onto, because she believed she would never find another love that would satisfy her quite like Erik's did.

Thankfully, Remy LeBeau comes along and changes all that. 😉

For a very long time, the gown was exhibited along with the Phoenix Dress in the foyer of Maison Raven-LeBeau.

[eddie-redmayne-italian-blog]

Soooo sweet!!!

Met Gala 2024: Eddie Redmayne wears a dress to fashion's big night out as he matches with his wife Hannah Bagshawe in black and white gowns

By MILLY VEITCH FOR MAILONLINE

PUBLISHED: 00:51 BST, 7 May 2024 | UPDATED: 01:06 BST, 7 May 2024

Eddie Redmayne stood out from the crowd as he arrived at the 2024 Met Gala with his wife Hannah Bagshawe at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City on Monday. 

The actor, 42, pushed the boundaries for fashion's biggest night, opting for an androgynous look that he matched with his wife, 41.

Eddie wore a black blazer dress with a white net skirt and featuring sheer cut out panels and a wavy ink blot pattern.

Flashing a cheeky glimpse of his legs, the Oscar winner added black smart shoes as he cosied up to his stunning wife.

Hannah complemented her husband in a strapless gown with the same pattern and a corsetted bodice, showcasing her tiny waist.

Her dress boasted a wide pleated net skirt, while she added sheer evening gloves and a matching black fascinator.

She gave her petite frame a few extra inches of height in black velvet high heels as she held hands with Eddie.

Hannah and Eddie met in 2000 at a charity fashion show while attending Eton College, striking up a friendship.

They later started dating in January 2012 after Eddie invited her to a trip to Florence during a shooting break for Les Miserables.

The couple got engaged in June 2014 and went on to tie the knot in December that year at the Babington House.

Eddie and Hannah are the proud parents of eight-year-old daughter Iris, eight, and six-year old son Luke.

The Costume Institute's spring exhibition falls on the first Monday in May every year and is held at New York City's Metropolitan Museum of Art.

This year the event is titled Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion while the dress code is The Garden of Time.

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-13389305/Met-Gala-2024-Eddie-Redmayne-looks-loved-wife-Hannah-Bagshawe-wear-matching-black-white-semi-sheer-dresses.html

[s0larine]

𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄

summary ☩ The reader, an undercover Assassin, goes at a high-society masquerade ball to gather information about Templars and unexpectedly meet her former friend, Shay, now fully allied with the enemy. Neither can afford to reveal their true identities in such a public place, but they are drawn to each other through the anonymity of the masks.

[a/n] ☩ [y/f/n] means your fake name because baby we’re playing undercover tonight~ reminder that english is not my mother tongue. UNEDITED

word count ☩ 3,979

content warnings ☩ slight sexual tension, female reader, enemies to lovers, mentions of shay's deflection, fluff, assassin! reader, templar! shay, reader in a gown, shay being a man, shay having a long time crush on reader, mutual pining, ...

　　　New-York, June 1756

“Everything is in order. You can enter, Lady [y/f/n].”

The red coat handed you your invitation. As you entered the huge place, your eyes wandered around you, detailing every nook and cranny, taking in and memorising the layout of the area. The grand hall was indeed a spectacle of opulence. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the sea of masks that danced and mingled below. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the soft strains of violins filled the air, creating a scene that was far removed from the dangerous world you were familiar with.

Your mission tonight was simple: gather information, and your mentor was clear about your purpose here; not to engage at any costs. The Templars were holding this extravagant masquerade in the hopes of attracting allies from high society, and you had been sent by the Assassin Brotherhood with—of course, a fake name—to blend in, to listen, to learn. The gown you wore tonight was unlike anything you were used to—luxurious, intricate, and adorned with a mask that glittered in the candlelight. Your hair was gathered in a half bun and some golden hair clips adorned them. In order to pass for a member of high society, you even took the time to put on a jewellery set; a necklace, dangling earrings and a few bracelets and rings. But beneath the facade of wealth and elegance, your blade was hidden, strapped to your left thigh under your luxurious gown, ever ready. If I'd been born as a man, hiding it and having simple access to it would have been easier, but there's nothing more I can do in this puffy dress… you thought. 

As you walked amongst the other attendees, getting as close as possible to people whose clothes meant something to you, such as high-ranked Templars, you noticed a very particular group of men at the other side of the hall. Among them were Colonel George Monro and Sir William Johnson, both members of the Colonial Rite of the Templar Order. Your eyes fell on their silhouettes with their recognisable clothes from beneath your own mask but quickly continued their search. And who else…

What you hadn't expected was to find him here.

Shay Cormac stood with the group of men, dressed sharply in a black tailcoat with accents of silver and red. His mask, a sleek black piece that covered half his face, did little to hide the sharpness of his features or the air of authority he carried. His eyes, however, were unmistakable. The same stormy brown eyes that had haunted your thoughts since the day he defected from the Brotherhood.

You hadn't seen him in years, but the memories were fresh, the betrayal still raw.

But there was one detail that made your blood run cold: the young man's eyes were already riveted on you. When has he ever noticed you before? Your heartbeat quickened and you finally looked away, turning to a passing servant. You picked up a glass of champagne as he passed by you and began to sip the golden liquid, your eyes frantically searching for a place to rest in order to pass for an innocent. Maybe it was just a coincidence... No, no, he's far too clever to think that I'm just a random young woman...

You risked looking back up at the group of men he was with, but he had already disappeared. Your breathing quickened and you turned away from his previous location towards a random group of people, just to pass for a guest sympathising with others. Your heart raced as you opened your senses; you knew he was coming for you and you couldn’t do anything but pray he hadn’t recognised you yet. This was supposed to be just another mission, a simple infiltration, but now everything felt different. Could you approach him without giving yourself away?

A voice behind you jolted you from your thoughts, soon followed by a delicate 

"Would you care to dance?"

You freezed. A delicate palm soon rested on the small of your back and another one entered your field of vision from the right, at the level of your own right hand. Closing your eyes, you inhaled sharply before turning; you found Shay standing before you, his right hand still extended and a dangerous smile playing on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat once again at your inattentiveness. You needed to be more careful around him… The recognition in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. He definitely knew. He had seen through your disguise, just as you had seen through his.

But you couldn't afford to let him know the depth of your awareness, not here, not now.

"Of course," you replied, your voice steady despite the tension that coiled in your chest, giving away your champagne glass to a passing servant. You placed your right hand in his left, feeling the warmth of his grip, and he led you onto the dance floor.

The music swelled around you as Shay pulled you close, one hand resting firmly on your waist, the other holding your gloved hand in his. His touch was confident, and his movements were smooth as he guided you effortlessly through the steps of the waltz. The crowd around you faded into the background, your focus narrowing to the man before you.

"You've been watching me, [y/n]," Shay said softly, his lips barely moving as he leaned in. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hidden challenge.

You met his gaze, your mask hiding the flash of defiance in your eyes. "I could say the same about you, Shay."

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough," you whispered with clenched teeth, your voice sharp despite the graceful steps of the dance.

Shay's grip on your waist tightened slightly, which made you tense, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between you. "You always did have a way with words. Tell me, are you here for pleasure, or are you working tonight?" You did not fail to notice his gaze sliding down your neck to the start of your cleavage, checking you out shamelessly. 

Your cheeks flushed, feeling like a lamb trapped in the fangs of a wolf. You felt the heat of his breath as he spoke, the proximity making it difficult to keep your composure. Every instinct told you to draw your blade, to end this now, but the crowd was thick, and the consequences of a public confrontation were too great.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" you replied, your lips curving into a smile that didn't reach your eyes.

He twirled you effortlessly, the skirts of your gown swirling around you as you spun, and when you came back to him, his hand was lower, lingering just above the hidden blade at your thigh. He didn't touch it, but the threat was clear. He knew exactly where it was. Your blood ran cold at the thought that he had found your dagger.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, his voice a soft warning. "This is a delicate dance we're doing. One misstep and it could get… messy."

From being riveted on his chest, your eyes looked back up into his own, the familiar storm clouds swirling with something darker, something more dangerous. "You think I'm afraid of a little mess?"

Shay's lips quivered into a smirk, and for a moment, you saw a glimmer of the man you once knew, the Assassin and friend who had fought beside you. But that man was gone, replaced by the Templar before you.

"You should be," he whispered, pulling you closer as the music slowed.

The world around you seemed to fall away, the crowd, the mission, the masks—all of it dissolved as the tension between you reached a boiling point. The weight of your shared history hung in the air, unspoken but palpable. You had fought side by side once, and had trusted him with your life. And then he had betrayed everything.

But here, in this moment, with his hand on your waist and your bodies moving in sync, the lines between enemy and ally blurred. You hated him, you were sure of that, but the way your heart pounded in your chest told a different story. There was something more, something you had never fully understood.

"Tell me, Shay," you said, your voice barely more than a breath as the music began to wind down. "Why did you do it? Why did you turn your back on us?"

Shay's expression darkened, the playful smirk fading as his eyes grew hard. "You wouldn't understand, [y/n]."

"Try me," you insisted, your grip on his hand tightening.

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze searching yours. And then, just as the final note of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong."

With those words, the music ended, and Shay released you, stepping back with a final, piercing look. He bowed slightly, a mockery of the formal dance, and then turned, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching him go back to his Templar associates. You were unable to move, your heart racing, and your mind spinning. His words echoed in your ears, and for the first time, you weren't sure where your loyalties truly lay.

As the night wore on, you realised that this masquerade was more than just a mission—it was the beginning of a far more dangerous game. One that you and Shay Cormac were destined to play, whether you liked it or not.

divider

The evening continued around you, but it felt as though you were standing still. The swirling skirts, the clinking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation—they all faded into background noise as your mind raced with Shay’s parting words.

“Because sometimes, the Brotherhood is wrong.”

Your hand unconsciously grazed the hidden blade at your thigh, the familiar weight suddenly feeling heavy. Shay had betrayed everything you once stood for. He had walked away, abandoned the Creed, and joined the very enemies you had sworn to fight. And yet… there was a flicker of doubt creeping into your thoughts, a doubt you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

The Brotherhood had given you purpose, structure, a cause greater than yourself. But now, for the first time, you wondered if Shay’s defection wasn’t just a selfish act of betrayal. His eyes when he spoke had held something you hadn’t expected: conviction.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No. I won’t question the Brotherhood. Not now, not because of him.

But that resolve felt brittle.

You caught a glimpse of Shay again through the crowd. He had made his way toward the far end of the ballroom, mingling with Templar officials, exchanging pleasantries. But his eyes kept darting back to you, just as yours did to him.

What was his game?

Your mission was still clear. Gather information. You weren’t here for personal matters. You couldn’t afford to let Shay’s presence distract you. But despite your attempts to stay focused, your thoughts kept wandering back to that dance, to his touch, to the way his breath had brushed against your ear when he whispered those final words.

Suddenly, a hand landed lightly on your shoulder, jolting you from your reverie.

“Care to join me for a drink, my lady?” The voice belonged to a man in a silver mask, a high-ranking Templar based on the insignia on his sleeve. His eyes were sharp, watching you with interest. It was clear he had noticed your distraction.

Forcing a smile, you nodded, reminding yourself of your mission. “Of course.”

As you followed him to a quieter corner of the room where the drinks were principally gathered, you could feel Shay’s gaze burning into your back, but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. The Templar was speaking now, sharing something about the recent victories they’d secured in the colonies, but you weren’t really listening despite the purpose of your mission tonight. Your mind was still with Shay, turning over everything he had said—and everything he hadn’t in a way. After a few minutes of absent-mindedly drinking champagne and listening to the man recount his false prowess, you finally excused yourself from the conversation, your head buzzing with alcohol and of course the weight of your conflicting emotions. You were a little hot and needed air, away from all those rich folks.

You headed for the balcony overlooking the formal gardens of the period building. Stepping out onto the balcony, you took a deep breath of the cool night air, leaning against the marble railing.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Opening your senses once again, you closed your eyes and you instantly knew who it was.

“You always did like your quiet moments,” came a familiar voice.

You didn’t turn around immediately, your hands tightening on the railing as Shay approached. You could feel his eyes boring into your back, or even your bum, and the tension rolling off him.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” you said, still facing the darkened city beyond. “You’ve made your point. Or was there something else you wanted to say?”

Shay didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and solid in the cool night air. You could feel him watching you, studying you, but you refused to meet his gaze.

“Tell me,” he said finally, his voice low and measured, “do you truly believe in everything the Brotherhood teaches? Or do you just follow because that’s all you’ve ever known?”

The question hit harder than you expected. You had spent years training under the Creed, living by its rules, carrying out its missions without question. But standing here now, with Shay beside you, that certainty felt… shaky. He wasn’t just talking about betrayal; he was challenging everything you had built your life around.

“Why are you asking me this?” you shot back, turning towards him and leaning against the fence that was now behind you. The action made the dark-haired man's eyes slide towards your protruding chest, and they stopped there for a few seconds before returning to rest in your eyes. You frowned slightly, licking your lower lip, you decided to ignore his gaze and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. “You’re the one who abandoned us. Who betrayed your brothers and sisters. You walked away, Shay. And now you want to question my loyalty?”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes never wavered. “I didn’t betray the Brotherhood. I saw the truth. The Assassins… they’re not as righteous as you think. They preach freedom, but they’re willing to sacrifice anyone who gets in their way.”

You inhaled sharply, your chest suddenly pressed against the corset of your dress. You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your lips. There was a certain fire in his eyes, a depth to his conviction that shook you. He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t manipulating you. He believed what he was saying.

“I followed the Creed because I believed in it, just like you do, [y/n],” seeing that you didn’t speak, Shay continued, his voice steady. “But I couldn’t ignore what I saw—the innocents we put at risk, the people we hurt for the sake of an ideal. The Brotherhood is supposed to protect people, not destroy them.”

You felt a pang of anger, but also of confusion. Shay wasn’t wrong about some of the darker sides of the Assassins’ work. You had seen it yourself—the collateral damage, the grey areas where right and wrong blurred.

But you had always trusted the Creed to guide you, to show you the path forward.

“And what about the Templars?” you countered. “They’re no saints either, Shay. You think they’re any better?”

“I don’t think they’re perfect,” Shay admitted. “But they offer something the Assassins never could—order, stability. A chance to build a world where people don’t have to live in fear of chaos.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away again, staring out at the city while shaking your head, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. Part of you wanted to reject everything he was saying, to cling to the teachings of the Brotherhood. But another part of you—a part that had been growing ever since Shay’s defection—couldn’t ignore the doubts.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” you asked quietly, your lips quivering with sadness.

Shay’s silence was heavy before he finally spoke. “Because you deserve to know the truth. And because I don’t want to lose you to the same blindness that I was caught in for so long.”

His words were raw, unguarded. For a moment, you weren’t an Assassin and he wasn’t a Templar. You were just two people standing on the edge of something far bigger than either of you.

Your heart ached with the weight of it all—your history with Shay, your loyalty to the Brotherhood, and the undeniable pull you felt toward him. The night had begun as a mission, but it had become something far more dangerous. The real question was: what would you do now?

Slowly, you turned to face him a second time since you stepped on the balcony, the air between you charged with everything unsaid.

“What happens now, Shay?” you breathed, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Shay’s eyes held yours, the storm of emotions mirrored in his gaze. He stepped closer, his voice low but resolute. “Now, we decide what side of history we’re on. Together.”

The weight of Shay’s words lingered in the cool night air, settling between the two of you like an invisible barrier. His eyes held yours, intense and searching yet soft, as if he was trying to read the turmoil inside you, to understand the emotions you weren’t sure you could admit to yourself.

“Together?” you echoed, your voice softer than you intended.

Shay stepped even closer, his tall frame casting a shadow in the moonlight, towering over your gentle but firm and well-trained one. The tension between you shifted, no longer just the push and pull of conflicting loyalties. There was something else—something that had always been there, beneath the surface, but never acknowledged.

The air around you seemed to thicken as he closed the distance. His gloved hand reached up slowly, hesitating for a moment, before gently lifting your mask. The gesture made you swallow your saliva in order to get rid of the lump that was starting to form in your throat. The intricate piece slid off, exposing your face to the night’s cool breeze. His gaze softened as he studied you, no longer the dangerous man who had left the Brotherhood, but someone familiar—someone who had once meant more to you than just a fellow Assassin.

“I never wanted to lose you,” Shay murmured, his voice lower now, more intimate as his eyes gazed at your opened lips. “Even after everything, I never stopped thinking about you.”

His confession sent a jolt through you, and you had to look away, your heart pounding in your chest. The years of anger and betrayal clashed with the warmth that was blooming inside you now, a warmth you hadn’t felt since before Shay had turned his back on everything you believed in.

“Shay, we’re on opposite sides now,” you whispered, though even as you said it, the words felt hollow.

He didn’t back away. Instead, his hand moved to your chin, gently guiding your face back to meet his eyes. “Does it matter? Here, right now, do sides really matter?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was dangerous—not just because of who he was, but because of what you felt for him, what you had always felt. His hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so dangerous, so conflicted.

“I couldn’t let you go then, [y/n],” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t now.”

The vulnerability in his words, in his gaze, disarmed you completely. All the questions, the doubt, the anger—it melted away in the warmth of his touch. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you hated him, that what he had done was unforgivable. But now, standing here, feeling the heat radiating from him, you realised the truth: you had never stopped caring for him.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, his lips just inches from yours. You could feel the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Your heart pounded in rhythm with his, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you either,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath as your gentle eyes switched from one to another of his and sometimes stopped on his chapped lips for no more than half a second to switch back to his eyes.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Shay closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savour every second. His hand on your cheek slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, sent a shiver down your spine. The world around you disappeared—the masquerade, the mission, the war between Assassins and Templars. None of it mattered. Not now.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid strength beneath the fabric of his coat, and absent-mindedly stroked the Templar sigil on his torso. His other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body warm and solid against yours. The kiss deepened, the slow burn of passion igniting into something more urgent, more desperate. Years of unspoken tension, of denied feelings, seemed to pour into that kiss, both of you trying to make up for the time you had lost.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your foreheads resting together as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb gently stroked the side of your neck, a soft, intimate gesture that made your heart race even faster.

“I don’t care about the sides anymore,” Shay whispered against your lips, his breath warm. “I care about you.”

His words sent a wave of emotion crashing through you. You knew it wasn’t that simple—nothing ever was in your world—but for this moment, it felt like it could be. Like the war, the betrayal, everything else could fall away, leaving just the two of you.

“I don’t know if we can ever go back,” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. “After everything that’s happened…”

Shay’s hand tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer. “Maybe we don’t need to go back. Maybe we can start something new.”

You directed your gaze to meet his own eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his eyes—the pull of duty against the pull of his heart. But there was something else too: hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way forward together.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted, chuckling softly, your fingers tracing the edge of his collar.

Shay leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself savour the moment, the feel of him against you, the warmth of his embrace. For now, that was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it could be enough for whatever came next.

　　　PART 2 in writing...

© solarine. i do not allow my works to be copied, translated, modified, adapted or published on other platforms without my permission. thank you for your attention.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[tiaramania]

Crown Prince Hussein of Jordan & Rajwa Al Saif's Upcoming Wedding

Only one week day left until the wedding of Crown Prince Hussein of Jordan and Rajwa bint Khaled Al Saif! It will be held on June 1st at 4:00pm at Zahran Palace followed by a reception at Al Husseiniya Palace. The future Crown Princess Rajwa's engagement ring features a large pear shaped diamond but for her henna party she wore a different ring with tilted marquis cut diamonds.

If Rajwa chooses a tiara that already belongs to the JRF, my choice is Queen Rania's Arabic Scroll Tiara. She has already worn several pairs of earrings loaned by her future mother-in-law so wearing one of her tiaras is a strong possibility.

However, my prediction is for her getting a brand new tiara especially after Princess Iman debuted a new tiara at her wedding earlier this year. The tiara might be a gift from either from the JRF or from her own family, who are apparently quite wealthy, but I very much doubt that they will release any information about the tiara like they will for the gown.

Queen Rania hosted the henna party on May 22nd at Raghadan Palace (here's a longer video and the highlight video is below) and King Abdullah will host the sahra party on May 31st at the Bani Hashem Matharib. There's also a concert on the 29th and practices are underway for the parades and drone shows so I expect this to be a pretty big celebration.

The dress code for the guests will be long dresses but no tiaras. The Jordanian royals aren't very big on tiaras so I wasn't expecting the dress code to include them. Update: Saad Salman is now reporting that the guests will also be wearing tiaras most likely at the banquet following the wedding.

The foreign royals that have confirmed attendance so far are...

Belgium - King Philippe & Crown Princess Elisabeth

Bhutan - Queen Jetsun Pema & Princess Eeuphelma

Brunei - Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah & Prince Mateen

Denmark - Crown Prince Frederik & Crown Princess Mary

Japan - Princess Takamado & Princess Tsuguko

Kuwait - Sheikh Ahmad Al Abdullah Al Sabah

Liechtenstein - Hereditary Prince Alois & Hereditary Princess Sophie

Luxembourg - Prince Sebastien

Malaysia - King Abdullah & Queen Azizah

Netherlands - King Willem Alexander, Queen Maxima, & Crown Princess Catharina Amalia

Norway - Crown Prince Haakon

Oman - Crown Prince Theyazin bin Haitham

Qatar - Sheikha Moza bint Nasser & Sheikh Khalifa bin Hamad

Romania - Princess Margareta & Prince Radu

Saudi Arabia - Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman (he's the official representation but I expect more Saudi royals because Rajwa is related to a lot of them through her mother)

Spain - King Juan Carlos & Queen Sofia

Sweden - Crown Princess Victoria & Prince Daniel

United Kingdom - Prince of Wales, Princess of Wales, & Princess Beatrice of York

[muddyorbsblr]

a heart like yours outtake: she owns me

Masterlist

Placement: Before the events of the main story

Summary: Someone tries to make a move on Loki during a charity gala and he wordlessly calls for your help

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: none. this is pure fluff

Things to be aware of: idiots in love

Boisterous celebrations had never been Loki's preferred way to pass the time; however, Stark had insisted that the entire team be present for the annual charity gala in celebration of the ten years since the attack on New York. He had argued that perhaps it was best he be absent from this particular gala, given what they were celebrating and who had led the attack in question in the first place. It simply wasn't a good mix of circumstances.

Stark, however, was having none of it. "It would be the perfect display of a redemption arc if I've ever seen one," he commented. 

And that was why he was here now, in a forest green bespoke suit with gold lining, standing by the corner of the bar, letting the mingling commence around him but never truly contributing to any of the conversations, and sipping on a glass of tonic water. 

He looked around the room and felt a smile grow on his face as he caught sight of you, your smile illuminating the room as you effortlessly moved from person to person, speaking with each one with the familiarity he thought was reserved only for friends. And yet here you were extending that familiarity to near-strangers. 

It was fascinating to watch. Then again, to him, watching you was always fascinating. Even when you were doing something as simple as folding your clothes with your hair in a haphazard updo, you seemed the most bewitching woman in all the Nine Realms to him. But now? Dressed in a gown that touched the floor and seemed to flow like liquid as you moved? Set in a shade of green that almost perfectly matched his? 

You seemed as if the Norns made you exclusively for him. And he would love nothing more than to have you in his arm, engaged in conversation with you as if the two of you were the only people in the room. To him, you were the only two who would matter. 

His heart caught as you looked up towards the bar and locked eyes with him, giving him a sly smirk and pointing your chin subtly in the direction of the chair next to him. When he followed your gaze, he caught sight of a vaguely familiar face. She was attractive, that was for certain, in a classical way. Blonde hair cascading in waves down her shoulders, statuesque, ample curves, a face comparable to those dolls that Midgardian children enjoyed playing with. 

Too bad the only thing he could think to do as he looked at her was compare her to you, and classically beautiful as she was, she wasn’t what he wanted. His ability to desire another was taken from him permanently the moment he met you. 

"Hi there," she spoke, batting her eyelashes at him and leaning forward just enough to start showing her cleavage, a peculiar and misguided attempt to seduce her way into his bed, no doubt. "I'm Tricia. You're the god, right?"

He nodded. "That I am." 

"Wow. Well you definitely look the part," she giggled, sipping away at one of those fruity flavored drinks named after one of his fellow Avengers. From the smell, he recognized it as the drink named after his brother. Pity. Perhaps if she'd chosen the one named after you, he'd be more engaged in the conversation.

"So listen…if you ask me I think you're without a doubt the hottest one in your team, and…" She pressed herself against his side, leaning in close to his ear, making him less than comfortable. 

The only one I would ever give the privilege to be this close to me is Y/N, he thought to himself. 

"I suddenly have this urge to kneel," she tried to whisper seductively. 

He cleared his throat, loosening his tie slightly as the air got thinner with her flagrant offer. "Erm, madam, I apologize, but I'm afraid I am, as you Midgardians would call it, taken. By another." He pleaded to all the deities listening that you would look up at him and perhaps sense that he required your assistance to shrug this overly promiscuous woman off of him.

Funny how had it been just a few years prior, he would have gladly whisked her off for a tryst in the nearest empty room. Now? Now he would rather spend his days in deep conversation with you, watching you accomplish meager chores around the Tower with such grace. If you asked, he would even more than gladly assist you. 

You finally looked up towards him again and he threw you a look, pleading for your assistance. Recognition immediately dawned on your ethereal features, and you started striding your way over to him. He finally felt he could breathe again as you began your ascent on the staircase toward the bar. 

"Well then she's a damn fool because if I had you, I would never be stupid enough to leave you alone, where anyone could just…snatch you up."

"Oh my sun and stars, Tricia Lowell, I am such a fan of your music!" you gushed in her direction. "I've played your latest album every time I go for my morning run." You stepped fluidly into Loki's outstretched arm, not missing a single cue as you wrapped your arm around his waist and stretched out your other one towards the apparent musician. 

A tight smile turned her formerly fuller lips into a thin red line as she took your hand tentatively. "So good to meet a fan, and an Avenger no less! I'll uhh…leave you two be. Sorry if I might've stepped on your toes there, Y/N."

"I'm used to it," you fired back. "I should know better than to leave this one alone, really. Thanks for the reminder." 

When she made her way back to the party, you turned in his arm and looked into his eyes. "I'm guessing she made a quip about kneeling?" He groaned in response, making you laugh. Norns, he was addicted to your laugh. The trials he would willingly endure just to hear that for the rest of his days, maybe even be the one making you so elated. 

You made a motion to step out of his arm, making him hold on to you just a bit tighter. "Dance with me, darling."

"I didn't know you danced, Mischief," you teased as he proceeded to weave his fingers through yours.

"I spent centuries as a prince on Asgard, hundreds of banquets and balls not too dissimilar from this gathering. Save for the strange gyration ritual some of you mortals do, I can find my way through your more…traditional dances." 

He held your hand as you led him to the middle of the dance floor and a slow, romantic tune started playing through the sound system. He placed his free hand on your waist, splayed across your ribcage and part of your back, and you placed your hand on his shoulder as he led you in a simple waltz. 

It seemed as if the crowd dispersed as Loki twirled you across the dance floor, equally bright smiles on your faces as you felt the room dissolve into the background, your focus solely on matching each other step for step as the song went on about being so close to reaching that famous happy ending.

As the song ended, he wished he could prolong your inevitable departure from his hold. Just one more song , he pleaded. Don't move away just yet, Y/N, please. Almost as if you heard him, you moved so that both your arms were resting on his shoulders, joined loosely behind his neck, and he moved so that his hands were resting comfortably just above your hips. 

It was only when the tempo started picking up once more that he led you two away from the dance floor and back toward the bar, ordering another tonic water for himself. "You're not drinking?" you asked him.

He shook his head with a rueful smile, explaining, "I haven't the best track record when it comes to how my body reacts to liquor. I would prefer not to test my limits in such a public setting." 

"Ah, so you would test them in a private setting?" you retorted teasingly. There was such a glint of mischief in your eyes, it was all he could do not to pull you to him and kiss the smirk off your lips. 

"I would if I were with someone I trusted to not humiliate me should I do something…compromising." 

"So…Thor?" 

"Absolutely not," he nearly hissed. "He's likely to humiliate me by accident." That made you laugh again. "Someone like you." 

You pointed a finger toward you. "Me?" He simply nodded. "I'm honored, Mischief. I promise not to betray that trust." You placed your hand on his knee briefly and told him, "If you need rescuing from other drop dead gorgeous women making the moves on you, feel free to use your mind voodoo to send me a signal."

He was taken aback. You would allow him to intrude your thoughts this way? "I promise not to abuse this confidence, Y/N. Thank you." He reached for your hand when you made a motion to head back to the crowd. "Would it be selfish of me to ask you to continue keeping me company?" The tone he'd used with you was one so tender, almost as if he wanted his words to caress you in a way he only wished he could, that he barely recognized the words had even come from him. 

"Yes," you answered him with a playful smirk before a softness entered your eyes. "But I never really liked working the crowds anyway." He felt you start to lace your fingers through his. "So please. Ask me."

His words came out barely a whisper. "Stay with me, Y/N." 

A smile spread slowly across your face. "Gladly." You situated yourself on the seat next to him, flagging down the bartender. "Kyle. How many of those Avengers themed cocktails have you made tonight?"

"I honestly lost count after the first hundred, Y/N. Should I make you yours? I hear the men have been ordering that about as much as they order the Widow's."

You grimaced. "Nah. Make me Mischief's." The bartender had to consult a piece of paper to make the drink, but nevertheless, a few moments later, he presented you with a martini glass that held a shimmering gold concoction. When you took a sip, you remarked, "Hmm. Stark actually listened to me." 

"Pardon?" 

"Had he not this would've been green apple, and tasted like Jolly Ranchers, heaven help us. Here." You held your drink out to him. "Smell it." 

Lemons. Something that acutely reminded him of the little morsels he used to favor back in Asgard. He looked at you with bewilderment in his eyes. "How did you--?"

"You're not the only observant one in this team, Mischief." 

You took another sip of your drink and Loki felt his heart warm at your words, at the implications behind them. Not only did you advocate on his behalf during Stark's planning of this gala, but you knew him well enough to help in creating something that would trigger his fonder memories of home. 

And then it hit him. Home. The warm comfort of being somewhere where one felt safest. There were few places throughout the Nine Realms that he felt this comfort, and here, in the least likely of places, he realized that he'd found one more. Only it wasn't a place. It was a person.

You. You felt like home to him.

A/N: These two have me so soft and for what--

Taglist:

Everything: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27

a heart like yours: @hotleaf-juice @clockblobber @sititran @taro-gabi @wolfsmom1 @rmoonstoner @ladymischief11 @anonymousewrites @unlucky-number-13 @moonlightreader649 @ahoytherebean @javagirl328

[jewellery-box]

Robe à l'anglaise (convertible to a polonaise) American, ca. 1780; the silk English (Spitalfields), ca. 1770-75

Originally constructed as a formal robe à la française, this brocaded silk satin gown was modified around 1780 to update it into a robe à l'anglaise (also called a "nightgown" in England), part of a shift to more informal styles of the last quarter of the century. While the robe à la française with its loose flowing pleats extending from the upper back to the hem was worn over wide panniers, the bodice of the robe à l'anglaise fitted tightly into the small of the back ending in a deep point and the closely pleated skirts were supported by crescent-shaped pads with cork or horsehair, familiarly referred to as "bum rolls." Other changes made to the dress include a center-front edge-to-edge closing, rather than a stomacher to fill in the opening, and sleeves that cup the elbow and likely would have been accessorized with fine cotton or gauze cuffs, rather than the multiple pendant self-ruffles and lace engageants typical of the robe à la française. Additionally, at the time of its alteration, linen loops were stitched to the inside seams of the skirt in order that it could be drawn up into the exuberant swags of the robe à la polonaise, another fashionable style of the 1770s and 1780s.

Woven in Spitalfields, London, the ivory satin self-figured with diminutive sprigs and trailing vines and brocaded with sprays of roses and pansies and scattered blue flowers dates to about 1770 to 1775. Although many eighteenth-century dresses were altered 10 or even 20 years after the silk was produced, this example was reworked within just a few years. The soft drape of the lightweight fabric lent itself well to the more fitted construction of the new styles.

Provenance: The dress is believed to have been belonged to Catherine Beekman (1762-1839), wife of Elisha Boudinot (1749-1819), a lawyer and a New Jersey Supreme Court Justice from 1798 to 1804. Married in 1805, Beekman was Boudinot's third wife. A portrait of Catherine Beekman at age five by John Durand is in the collection of the New-York Historical Society (1962.73). An embroidered muslin dress with matching fichu, ca. 1798, also believed to have belonged to Catherine Beekman, is in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (1992.119.1a-c).

Cora Ginsburg

[gracie-bird]

Grace Kelly in a Dior evening gown ("Monte Carlo Collection", S/S 1955) during her engagement party with Prince Rainier on January 6, 1956, at the New York's Waldorf Astoria Hotel.

[leonacortcz]

[ ana de armas, ciswoman, she/her ] — i’m pretty sure that was just leona cortez of the nouveaux riche that just passed by. the thirty four year old actress has been a resident here in the upper east side for two years.  they’re known for being driven & compassionate, but i overheard someone mention they’re also naive & impulsive …considering they’re a virgo i think there might be some truth to it. but maybe that’s just because they’re always worried someone might find out about redacted.  something about them has always reminded me of satin swaying in the wind, the smell of fresh roses & an overwheling storm of camera flashes but maybe that’s just because they like to sail & host movie nights in their free time.

quick stats

name: leona cortez

nickname(s): leo

gender: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

age: 34 ( thirty four )

dob: September 10th

pob: havanna, cuba

orientation: heterosexual

social group: nouveaux riche

appearance

height: 5′ 6¼″ ( 1,68 m )

build: slim athletic

ethnicity: cuban

eye colour: green

hair colour: brunette

notable features: birthmark on cheek

style: old money

tattoos: none

piercings: lobes

personality

positive traits: driven, compassionate, attentive, gregarious

negative traits: naive, impulsive, relentless, restless

likes: reading, sailing, roses, cats, pasta, swimming, movies

dislikes: tequila, horror movies, opera, heights, windchimes,

career & education

current occupation: actress

past occupation(s): model

summary

Living life surrounded by beauty can only be as fulfilling as you’re willing to accept. And for most of her life, Leona had to accept it. The daughter of a famous opera singer, Camila Cortez, her father was merely a stain on her legacy, although she never truly learned what that legacy should be. All she’s known was grand parties, long gowns, and champagne bottles. A life of superficial luxury, always pushed into the limelight. ‘Such a pretty girl’ they all mused as her mother pushed her in front of another camera, another magazine cover sold all over Cuba. She should’ve been happy. Attention, money, privilege - it all flew into her lap. However, Leona chose to fly across the Gulf of Mexico with a man called Scott Sanders. At 22, he was twelve years her senior, an established Hollywood star and known for the arm candy he dragged across Los Angeles. However, the tabloids exploded when they announced their marriage. No one truly expected him to settle down, especially not with a young cuban actress who barely made it on the screen. Leona found herself at the side of a shining star - the media had a field day which turned into a hurricane of flashing bulbs when Scott was caught cheating only a few months later. The young Leona was left to fend for herself, a task larger than anything she had ever taken on. You see, soft women had to be strong and Leona was the softest. In love with the idea of love, always chasing validation and acceptance, her heart was open, her skin thin and all this talent bubbled within her. A talent that eventually put her on the big screen.

More roles came in and so did more men. Another role was to be taken, another marriage was to be ended. She was married three times, almost four but her latest engagement fell through. But none of it ever stopped her. Naive? Perhaps. But never afraid to fail. And that was her biggest asset. Taking on new challenges and roles solidified her right to be on the movie screen and one of those opportunities changed her life forever. Being cast as the lead in an upcoming and anticipated book adaptation opened a door for Leona she’d never really get to close. It was her legacy. One that was stained when allegations were made against the author of the book which skyrocketed her career, someone Leona was close to and always publicly supported.

Moving from LA to New York, was her attempt to step away from the scandal, a blank page that she could fill out as she pleased. Interviews had to be given, it was a PR nightmare as people wanted to know if she had known all along and what her role in all of it was. But frankly, Leona was simply tired of any men being associated with her name. Her mother always pushed her to have the cameras on her and this time she'd achieve it again with her talent - not with gossip.

pinterest

[insanityclause]

Growing their family! Zawe Ashton secretly gave birth to her and fiancé Tom Hiddleston’s first child, Us Weekly confirms.

“Tom and Zawe are loving being new parents and are filled with joy,” a source exclusively tells Us. “They have been having the struggles of new parents and aren’t sleeping much but are thrilled.”

The Velvet Buzzsaw actress, 38, first announced she was pregnant in June at the Mr. Malcolm’s List premiere in New York City. Though the Loki actor, 41, stars alongside her in the film, he was not present for the event, so she walked the red carpet solo in a floor-length gown that showed off her growing baby bump.

The Captain Marvel 2 star’s appearance came only two weeks after Hiddleston confirmed the couple were engaged, telling the Los Angeles Times in June that he was “very happy” after popping the question.

The pair first sparked engagement rumors back in March when Ashton was seen wearing a diamond ring 2022 BAFTA Awards. That same month, Us confirmed that Hiddleston had proposed after three years of dating.

The costars were first linked in 2019 following their work together on the West End’s production of Betrayal, only to spark even more speculation when they both transferred to the Broadway version of the play three months later. A source exclusively told Us in November 2019 that the England native and Wanderlust alum “are crazy about each other,” adding that the duo are “truly past the honeymoon phase and “looking to build a long-term future together,” while focusing on their careers.

“They love the finer things in life,” the insider told Us at the time. “They also love to let loose and rock out with friends, whether it’s at a house party or heading to a local bar or restaurant.”

In September 2021, the pair made their official red carpet debut during the 74th annual Tony Awards when Ashton showed up to support her beau, who was nominated for Best Leading Actor for his role in the drama.

Before his relationship with the Josephina star, Hiddleston was previously linked to Elizabeth Olsen, Susannah Fielding and Jessica Chastain. The Thor: Ragnarok actor also made headlines in September 2016 for his whirlwind romance with Taylor Swift, which lasted three months before the two called it quits.

In August 2019, Hiddleston opened up about his newfound low-key approach to his romantic relationships following his high-profile romance with Swift, 32. “I’m protective about my internal world now in probably a different way,” the Avengersstar told the New York Times. “If you go through life without connecting to people, how much could you call that a life? Because you have to fight for love. You can’t live in fear of what people might say.”

[thepastisalreadywritten]

-------o0o--------

She was demure and elegant in a flowing gown – he looked dapper and debonair in a tailored navy suit.

So pity the poor bride and groom whose lavish Caribbean nuptials were overshadowed by such glamorous guests.

Then again, if you will invite Prince Harry and his actress girlfriend Meghan Markle to your wedding, what do you expect?

All eyes were on the young lovers as the prince attended the wedding of friend Tom ‘Skippy’ Inskip at the weekend in Montego Bay, Jamaica. 

Not having seen each other for a fortnight, Harry, 32, and 35-year-old Meghan used the trip as an excuse for a romantic reunion – and their affectionate behaviour set tongues wagging that it might not be long before they, too, are walking up the aisle.

For Meghan, the surroundings are not entirely unfamiliar.

In 2011, she married her first husband – film producer Trevor Engleson – at a resort just 60 miles along the coast. So, is she feeling the love second time around? 

We reveal exactly what the young couple got up to on their romantic West Indian weekend...

He flies in economy, while she takes a private jet

Harry arrived in Jamaica on Wednesday to join the groom’s party ahead of the big day – he was one of 14 ushers.

The royals don’t use private planes for personal engagements, so he took a Virgin Atlantic flight from Gatwick to Sangster International Airport in Montego Bay.

The prince did splash out on a premium economy seat, costing upwards of £2,000 return.

Meghan flew in the following day from Toronto, where she’s filming US legal drama Suits, in a private jet that belongs to a friend.

Ever the gentleman, Harry picked her up from the airport, greeting her with a kiss before they drove back to the hotel together.

The luxury resort where JFK stayed

With 110 acres of lush tropical gardens, suites designed by Ralph Lauren and its own private bay, the wedding reception venue is the perfect backdrop for royal romance. 

The Round Hill Resort was built in the 1950s as a series of luxurious cottages for rich and famous visitors. Guests have included JFK and Jackie Kennedy, who spent their honeymoon here.

Grace Kelly, Fred Astaire, Clark Gable, Sir Paul McCartney, and Emma Watson have also stayed.

A hotel worker revealed that Meghan and Harry stayed in a £5,000-a-night premium luxury villa, the resort’s most exclusive accommodation away from prying eyes, which comes with its own housekeeper, two pools and a games room with a bar and pool table.

Ever watchful of their safety, security guards were stationed in rooms nearby.

Guests have breakfast served on their balcony, and options include Jamaican delicacies such as ackee (a fruit like a lychee), saltfish with fried dumplings and callaloo (a leafy green vegetable).

It’s quite a change from Meghan’s first trip to the island during her low-key wedding in 2011.

She and her husband-to-be stayed at the four-star Jamaica Inn in Ocho Rios, where they indulged in drinking games and wheelbarrow races before saying their vows.

The (other) very happy couple 

It takes a brave bride to invite glamorous, leggy Meghan to your wedding. But flame-haired Lara Hughes-Young didn’t seem bothered about being outshone.

Lara, 30, a software developer at global technology company ThoughtWorks, knows Harry through her new husband ‘Skippy’, who went to Eton with the prince.

She’s the granddaughter of late Conservative MP Michael Hughes-Young.

Her father holds the title Lord St Helens – making her official title the Honourable Lara Inskip.

She is said to have been ‘singing Meghan’s praises’ since meeting her last year.

They may have been the focus of attention on the day, but Megan and Harry were far from the only notable guests at the wedding.

Harry’s aunt Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, was on the list, accompanied, insiders say, by her daughter Eugenie.

After the ceremony, a smiling Fergie, wearing a black minidress with a jewelled neck, was seen posing for photographs with Pastor Conrad Thomas, who officiated the ceremony.

Archie Soames, one of the ushers, is the great-grandson of Winston Churchill. Maid of honour Alice St Clair Erskine is an actress who portrayed the Duchess of Cambridge in the 2011 American TV show William and Catherine: A Royal Romance.

Olympic sprinter Usain Bolt is rumoured to have popped in for the party.

Trying not to upstage the bride

For the ceremony, Meghan chose a £1,200 floral print maxi dress by Canadian designer Erdem. 

Harry opted for a bespoke navy suit, believed to be from his favourite Savile Row tailor Gieves & Hawkes, and teamed with a yellow rose. 

Meghan accessorised her elegant attire with a nude clutch bag and a pair of £249 gold-rimmed sunglasses by Dior to shield her eyes from the hot Jamaican sun.

The bride did her best to stay in the spotlight in a breathtakingly simple white satin gown with a plunging neckline and full, flowing skirt – a direct contrast to Meghan’s high-necked style.

Meghan's tender touch for her prince 

Meghan placed a protective arm on Harry’s back as she steered him out of the church and guests say the pair were very tactile throughout the reception as she was introduced to his old friends. 

At one point they were seen deep in conversation, as a jacketless Harry drank a beer and Meghan an Aperol spritz cocktail as she continued to rub his back.

Minutes later, she moved even closer, gazing into his eyes and putting her arms around his neck.

‘They are both head over heels and don’t care who sees it,’ said an onlooker.

xxx

[docholligay]

I do wonder about the logistics behind this. Like, Michiru’s actual career isn’t something we talk about except in this one very specific instance, but it seems to me that she’s like....a classic violinist. She’s not Lindsay Sterling or whatever. I have no idea how she ends up in a full length gown with opera gloves playing with what essentially amounts to a boy band on a giant music festival stage, but I have to imagine it involves her agent looking for “Expansion opportunities” and while Michiru thought that meant playing as a soloist for a special engagement in New York or Paris, she’s now playing for a bunch of screaming teenagers who absolutely do not care, playing BACKUP to the Three Lights songs.

What I’m saying is if she wants to do shots of Courvoisier backstage between sets I think we should let her.

[starlingsrps]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: roselyn eloise anson clark REASONING: anson is her mother's maiden name and that's a whole thing but otherwise no, not really NICKNAME(S): ro or rose is fine if you know her well but rosie is off the table completely. PREFERRED NAME(S): roselyn or miss clark. BIRTH DATE: september 3 AGE: twenty eight ZODIAC: virgo sun/rising/venus, scorpio moon. she has many feelings but she's going to organize them away. GENDER: female PRONOUNS: she/her SEXUAL ORIENTATION: straight on thin ice NATIONALITY: american CURRENT LOCATION: new york LIVING CONDITIONS: she moved from the family base on 83rd when her father remarried and this would sound like someone finally moving out on their own to their first apartment but her first apartment is a unit in the dakota she inherited from her great-aunt sabrina so. it's not exactly a studio apartment.

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: palm beach, fl. never remind roselyn that she isn't technically born and bred new york. she blames her mother deciding that the beach house was a much better place to give birth. HOMETOWN: new york. she'll never leave. SOCIAL CLASS: well there's old money and then there's old as balls money and that's roselyn. EDUCATION LEVEL: yale for her undergraduate and an mba from nyu. she's much smarter and sharper than she's ever given credit for and it is finally starting to bother her. FATHER: stephen clark, 57 MOTHER: gale anson, 55 SIBLING(S): not direct but she was recently presented with a step brother named sterling. sterling is eighteen months old and if you think she can't have a sibling rival with a baby, you're a fool. RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY: up until three years ago, roselyn would have said that she was very close to both of her parents and closest to her father. and then he had a post heart attack crisis and filed for divorce to marry a former saks fifth avenue sales associate named sophie. roselyn sided with her mother who sided with her divorce attorney to get a crazy good settlement and now she feels like she barely has parents at all. her father has sophie and sterling (gag) and her mother moved to palm beach. she's finally talking to her father again but it's still through his assistant 50% of the time. BIRTH ORDER: only as far as she's concerned. CHILDREN: absolutely not. PET(S): she'd kind of like to get a cat but she's not married to the idea yet. OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: sophie clark, 32, step mother. yes she knows how close she and her stepmother are in age. she doesn't want to think about that. PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: extended flirtations with any guy in her age range on the social register, a brief engagement with teddy york that she knew was a terrible idea but her pride being bruised pushes her to make some pretty awful decisions. she's been dumped once and that was by teddy and no, she did not take it well. ARRESTS?: absolutely not. PRISON TIME?: besides, people like her don't go to prison, come on.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: the family trust SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: she's very good at the stock market though. CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB?: she doesn't have a job exactly but she keeps herself busy. she's on a few boards and recently joined the american ballet theater guild. she was shadowing her father at singer but ever since things iced over between them in the past three years, that's happening less and less. he's going to start grooming sterling for it when he gains object permanence, she just knows it. PAST JOB(S): no. SPENDING HABITS: reasonable but reasonable in a 1% way. she'll take regular ubers instead of uber black. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: she has a very large collection of Things, many of which cost a lot of fuckin money. her gown from the crillon ball and some of the jewelry she's inherited from her mother's side of the family are up there for monetary but she's also a soft bitch who still has her stuffed rabbit from childhood.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: SPEED: a fast walker but not too speedy. INTELLIGENCE: very - she went to some of the best schools in the world and would have considered a waste to not learn as much as she can. she has good instincts for business and it kills her that she's being replaced by a BABY WHO CAN'T EVEN COUNT. ACCURACY: fine AGILITY: fine STAMINA: depends. she can smile and be nice at society events but she also has limits. when she's done, she's done and she's going home. luckily no one is hovering on her shoulder to tell her that's rude anymore. TEAMWORK: it's best if she's in charge but she's very good at listening to others. smaller groups though. TALENTS: poised and hard working - if she knows what she wants, she'll find or make a way to get it done. SHORTCOMINGS: poised and confident can very easily turn into being unapproachable and she definitely uses that as a shield. LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, a little conversational french and mandarin. DRIVE?: in theory. she's very rusty. JUMP-STAR A CAR?: no. probably could figure it out with instructions. CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: see above. RIDE A BICYCLE?: yes but better acquainted with a spin bike. SWIM?: yes PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: nah PLAY CHESS?: yes and well. a game where the idea is to think ahead in order to best your competition? perfect. BRAID HAIR?: yes. TIE A TIE?: nope.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: jessica alexander EYE COLOR: blue HAIR COLOR: light brown HAIR TYPE/STYLE: long and swishy shiny. it's very good hair and she's vain about it. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: nah DOMINANT HAND: left HEIGHT: 5'6 BUILD: lean and toned. EXERCISE HABITS: she does work out because she likes the discipline of it. she danced as a kid but quit as a teenager and still enjoys a barre class now and then. SKIN TONE: fair TATTOOS: nope. PIERCINGS: ears, two holes in one ear. she doesn't know why she did it either. MARKS/SCARS: some moles and such, no real big scars. USUAL EXPRESSION: resting bitch face. CLOTHING STYLE: classic preppy, occasionally with a fun accessory or silhouette but she's a ralph lauren bitch. JEWELRY: tasteful, always. ALLERGIES: peanuts. DIET: whatever. she's eating before an event every single time unless she knows the catering is good - absolutely not worth it half the time. PHYSICAL AILMENTS: nah

PSYCHOLOGY

MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful neutral TEMPERAMENT: melancholic ELEMENT: air MBTI TYPE: ISFJ MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: bad bitches got bad anxiety. SOCIABILITY: roselyn is very charming and excellent with people but she also really enjoys when it's time to go home. EMOTIONAL STABILITY: steady as hell because ladies simply don't make scenes but she's cruising for a crash. PHOBIA(S): she recently read empty mansions and frankly that. that's it. DRUG USE: she keeps a nip of weed around because it's 2024 for god's sake but she doesn't partake often or with others. ALCOHOL USE: socially, makes an excellent gin martini. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: not personally.

MANNERISMS SPEECH STYLE: low and a little husky, definitely uses "summer" as a verb. ACCENT: slightly mid-atlantic old money but not excessively so. QUIRKS: she cleans her own apartment - it's her thinking time and she really doesn't care to have """"staff""". she can cook and clean for herself just fine. is this quirky? not really but in her little echelon it sure as hell is. HOBBIES: she likes to go to a museum a week. she's been to all of them so far so she's on round two and three with most and the guggenheim is her favorite. she studied business and has a business brain but she likes pretty things. HABITS: meetings and socializing. she takes it all seriously and never shows up to shit unprepared. does this mean she'll survey a friend's instagram if they haven't spoken for awhile and are getting a drink? sure does it's called research. NERVOUS TICKS: sighing, fussing with her handbag. roselyn's sighs carry the weight of the entire world. DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: controlling her own narrative and making herself happy. POSITIVE TRAITS: clever, charming, hardworking, observant, passionate NEGATIVE TRAITS: perfectionist, competitive, judgmental, blunt, intense SENSE OF HUMOR: bone dry. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: seldom publicly, mouth like a sailor privately.

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: her museum time and walks. she spent a lot of time growing up and in her twenties doing everything she was """supposed""" to be doing and now she just wants to do what she wants. ANIMAL: cats BEVERAGE: iced coffee for all seasons BOOK: COLOR: blue DESIGNER: ralph lauren and oscar de la renta. she can't stand flashy shit. FOOD: pizza. anything from a dollar slice to some shit that's got caviar on it. all pizza is good pizza. FLOWER: white roses GEM: emeralds HOLIDAY: summer. newport. the hamptons are getting tacky. MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: walk or uber. MOVIE: you've got mail SONG: "heart of glass" and "karma" SCENERY: the view of the park from her balcony and the ocean SCENT: amber, wood polish, oranges SPORT: nah. not even going to pretend she cares. SPORTS TEAM: nah. TELEVISION SHOW: completely and unironically gossip girl. baby roselyn loved blair waldorf and yeah, you can tell. WEATHER: either a brisk fall day or boiling sunny summer. no in-between. VACATION DESTINATION: the amalfi coast

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: long term, she would like a family and all that but for the now, it's mostly just figuring out what makes her happy. GREATEST FEAR: never being or doing anything more than right now. it's fine for right now but if she isn't building or growing, then what the hell is it for? MOST AT EASE WHEN: in control of a situation LEAST AT EASE WHEN: when things that she should be able to fix cannot be fixed by her alone. rude. WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: welp. she's been pretty publicly embarrassed (in her social circle) twice which was pretty shit. her parents divorce was pretty shit. so she doesn't think it can get worse. BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: she hasn't done much really which gets her. she was a debutante at the crillon ball which is a really big deal but that was also ten years ago and that's because of her last name. being proud of her education feels like something she's supposed to be past at this point so she doesn't know! accepting ideas! BIGGEST REGRET: she's just trying to be philosophical and say that she has no regrets because regretting one thing means regretting everything but going along with her mother's batshit idea to marry her off to teddy york to take the heat off of her during the divorce? woof. BIGGEST SECRET: she's much softer than she lets people think.