#i will never wear a wedding dress but i have SO many opinions

[mybrainproblems]

dinner was 50% pull n peel twizzlers by weight and six hours later my stomach is still making its displeasure known

[theobsessedcookiefan]

Lmao 😂 that absolutely perfect I loved it yeah I’m totally seeing it working and y/ telling the other ancients about it and the other beasts somehow getting the news too lol it will be hilarious like

Y/n cookie : and that how me and burning spice got married and he give up on getting golden cheese soul jam 😄 as soon they kiss burning spice lips lovingly

Pure vanilla : shock and completely in disbelief how you managed to get marry to a beast cookie

Hollyberry : confused thoughts if she would be happy for you or very concern about your safety

Dark cacao : just sigh and put his palm on his face as he will never get accustomed from your shenanigans

Golden cheese : still can’t believe it actually worked and they are not doomed at all

White lily: wondering how the heck you managed to get a beast to fall in love with you and marry you and what he will do to you

Bonus

Burning spice : scary dog privilege will set earthbread on fire for you will protect you and doesn’t give a shit about the ancients or the other beasts opinions he genuinely in love with you

Thank you for doing that you are the best I love your blog x3

YESSS (live footage of Pitaya Dragon possessing Jollie /JK) NAH BUT FR, IMAGINE. AND THANKS OMG YOU'RE SO SWEET 😭😭😭

ᨏᨐᨓ ᨓᨐᨏ

This. This is why you never go outside, one stupid move and next thing you know you're celebrating your own wedding. How did it happen?! You were sure Burning Spice would kick your ass the moment you asked him to marry you but instead he accepted it?? And now you were in a wedding dress (yes even if you're a boy or a non-binary buddy bc be fr, he's not going to wear the dress.) standing next to a very happy and proud Lord of destruction.

First row of seats were occupied by the Ancients who were just as shocked as you, especially Golden Cheese who managed to keep her souljam but at what cost? You could tell exactly what were they all thinking "This is so wrong in so many levels..".

Then in the other side of the front row was Mystic Flour who didn't seem as happy as her fellow friend, you had specified that they shouldn't try to kill each other at the wedding and surprisingly they had listened... Huh, I guess having such a powerful and kinda terrifying husband has its advantages.

ᨏᨐᨓ ᨓᨐᨏ

[judesmoonbeauty]

Black Wedding: The True Vow For A Jet-Black Bride - Elbert Greetia

CW: Brief mention of cannibalism.

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. What I obtain is what will be translated. If other blogs have translated the stories before I do, I will notate their blogs. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

One church by the sea was overflowing with attendees.

A traditional, solemn, aristocratic wedding ceremony that I could feel the tension in my fingertips.

(I know it’s a given considering Elbert’s family background, but I’m nervous……)

I sighed at the amount of attention I was getting,

(But Elbert has always lived a life where this is the norm.)

The several gazes that I feel next to him will be felt more in the future.

As I was listening to the pastor, for some reason he kept looking at me.

Kate: ……Elbert? You’re not looking forward.

Elbert: Oh, sorry……

He whispered with a grim expression.

(…..Maybe you’re trying to be careful not to step on shadows because of the many people here.)

He is kind and is very conscious so as not to step on shadows, no matter who he is dealing with.

(Shadows are now growing into the aisle too.)

One wrong move and he’ll evoke someone’s saddest memory on this happiest day.

(Okay, I’ll guide Elbert so he doesn’t step on any shadows until we exit!)

When I was determined to protect his kindness -

Pastor: Do you swear?

I responded with full force to the vow, which was over before I knew it.

Kate: I do.

Elbert: …..I do.

The moment I said it out loud,

Kate: What!?

Suddenly, he picks me up and my body floats in the air.

Kate: Elbert!

I was confused, as we were leaving the church -

Kate: Ah……

The attendees took advantage of the confusion stretched out their hands, casting shadows on the aisle.

(No……!)

When I tried to hit their hands,

Elbert: ….Al.

Alfons: Yes, yes. That’s exactly like you……

Alfons who popped up from the pews, slapped their hands away.

Elbert: ….I don’t intend to be touched by anyone but her for the rest of my life.

He gave the attendees the cold shoulder.

Elbert: And I will never forgive anyone who hurts…..Countess Greetia.

He left the church with me in his arms.

He gently lowered me onto the sandy beach and I look him in the face.

Elbert: I’m sorry……for bringing you here on my own without asking, for your opinion…

Elbert: You’re so beautiful, I couldn’t wait any longer…….

I felt a kiss on my left ring finger, and the tension I had felt earlier began to dissolve.

Kate: Frankly, it’s a bit of a relief.

Elbert: ….Why?

Kate: I was nervous…..because I’ve never been in the spotlight like that before.

Kate: It seemed like you were trying to be careful not to step on any shadows.

Taking a breath, he tilts his head.

Elbert: I didn’t have time to worry about stepping on shadows of the attendees because I was too busy looking at you….

Elbert: I just wanted to be alone with you as soon as possible…..I just wanted the ceremony to be over.

The deep ocean-colored eyes that reflect only me, love rushes into my heart and dives into my chest.

Holding me tightly he starts speaking into my ear.

Elbert: …..Now, why don’t we have a ceremony, just the two of us?

Kate: Hmm…so nice to have another wedding.

Elbert: I’d be happy to hold the ceremony as many times as you’d like, as long as you’re willing…….

Elbert: Wearing a different dress each time……..saying your vows over and over.

I looked up when his hand loosens around my back and our gazes meet.

Elbert: Countess Greetia, Kate.

Elbert: If you die first…..I’ll swallow you up from your toes to your hair…..

Elbert: After we become one…..I’ll follow you.

Elbert: ……so that not even death can do us part.

With the curse of the greedy Queen.

From the moment he loved me, my destiny was sealed.

Elbert: I love you…..and this feeling will never change.

Kate: …….I love you, too. Only you forever.

Unable to withstand the force of him taking my lips, they both fall into the shallow water.

Elbert: …..I want to be with you all the time, no more duties or work.

Kate: Heh,…. I feel the same way.

I close my eyes, and envision the future while overlapping lips.

The future of living in a beautiful bird cage created by his love.

[Black Wedding Master List] Tag list: @theimaginativelyreticent

[yan-lorkai]

Hello , i hope your doing great . Would you please do a scenario for yandere undertaker and yandere sebastian (separately) x fem reader. Reader doesn't want to marry them so she tries to run away away at the wedding day but fails and gets captured ? Thank you ❤

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, fem reader, kidnapping, implied murder, threats.

Marriage is nothing more than a union between two people before God, so for Sebastian this does not carry the same meaning. For him, marriage only symbolizes what in his conception is already true: that you are his in every way and now the marriage certificate proves it. Even if you oppose to this marriage, Sebastian doesn't care.

Although he would love for you to give your opinion on the decorations or the type of cake you would like have at the wedding, he knows you are still in denial so he plans everything himself. From the hanging chandelier, to the flowers in the bouquet, to the dress you're wearing that he sewed himself, every little detail meticulously planned to be perfect.

He knows that humans like to be surrounded by their parents, relatives and friends on a special day like these, and if you had behaved they would all really be here. But it's better this way, just you, him and the priest who officiated the ceremony. That way he doesn't have to kill your parents and friends in front of you when you shout and scream about everything you've been through with him. Even though part of him wished this had happened, with no one else out there waiting for you, looking for you, praying, you would have only him. Only him.

Maybe he would kill them and return to your side, blood dripping from his hands and face as he kisses and touches you. Maybe he would even tell you what he did and how he did it to observe your reactions. If you like to act like he's the biggest evil in the world, maybe he'll give you a reason to hate and fear him. Maybe, but he won't act on those thoughts if you don't force his hand. The same hand with which he fixes your hair and makes your makeup, circling you to get a view of you from all sides.

"I will wait for you at the altar, my dear," His tone was soft, but there was an implicit promise of death in his eyes, a bloodthirsty glint that you had been able to witness many times before. Just for a second longer Sebastian stands there, looking at you through the mirror and then he smiles and leaves.

Your heart beats quickly inside your chest, it beats like it has never beat before. Your nerves are on edge, but you have to calm down and take a deep breath. You know what Sebastian is, you know how strong he is, but you know that an opportunity like that is unique and you must take advantage of it. You must escape now.

Running away isn't hard, well, actually it is a little, because you're wearing a dress and high heels but you kick them all and hold them hem of your dress up. And you run. You run as you never ran on your life. You know Sebastian is busy with tons of things, plus you are supposed to come a little late, as you are the bride. But you clearly underestimate him.

He may not be with you physically but as a demon he has his ways of knowing where you are and how you are, he can feel your heart beating, he can taste your fear and apprehension. And he loves it, he loves knowing your fear him, to know you are opposed to this marriage, given time he knows you come around.

But for now he enjoys the chase. He excuse himself for a moment to go meet you halfway through your attempting escape. You can hear his beautiful little laugh, can see his shadows but when you look behind your shoulder there's nothing there. He is playing with you, getting you even more frightened before trapping you in his arms so tight not even air can arrive at your lungs. His hand closes on your throat as he look at you, eyes red with animalistic excitement. "Dear me, look what we have here." He muses, watching you breathe hard, beads of sweat running down your forehead.

"Sebastian... What a pleasure to see here." Your reply is sarcastic, weak. But it makes him smile as he caress your face lovingly, as lovingly as a demon can, though you feel dirty at every touch, at every moment you're trapped under his creepy stare.

"You run away like a little lost mouse so I've came to get you back right where you belong. Don't make things harder than necessary, darling." It's his final warning. You know, you can feel in your bones that if you are to try anything again he would retaliate.

He has been doing a great job at keeping his demonic tendencies in check even when you snarled and yelled at him those past few weeks. But there truly nothing you could do? There was nothing you could try? His hand held yours, guiding you, the oppressive silence making you even more uncomfortable.

And when the priest asked "do you accept this man as your lawful and only husband?" All you could do was stare at him, tongue numb, members tired before answering. "I do."

And like a mouse, you were caught in Sebastian's trap. One you could never escape.

⠀⠀

Marriage. What a strange concept. Why people get married, that's what Undertaker thought when checking humans' memories. They all got married, they all had children, they all had their ups and downs together, yet they loved each other. Is love really that essential for humans? He didn't know, but he had a lot of questions to ask. And many of them answered themselves when you appeared in his life.

You had recently lost someone and like a wounded bird, you walked into his funeral home. It was like destiny. It was like a lever had been pulled in his brain, like he could finally see colors and feel the warmth of the sun on his skin after so long without those things. He was drawn to you, enchanted by your words. And everything else was history.

Undertaker knew that humans are fragile and fearful, and he tried to woo you the right, human way. Giving you flowers, walking with you, hearing you talk. And everything would have worked out if you hadn't discovered that he wasn't human, that he was a Shinigami and desperately tried to get away from him. He didn't want to kidnap nor threaten you but he grown desperate. He didn't want to lose the feelings you gave him, he didn't want to let you go. So he did what was necessary, he gave you a new home, he gave you books and lines for you to sew and weave if you wanted. He gave you everything you wanted but your freedom.

A marriage was bound to happen because he wanted you to experience this little enjoy. But also because he wanted to tie you to him even more, to make you his wife and be able to truly calls his wife. The ceremony is not as beautiful and organized as Sebastian's, but he supposes is the thought that counts. He buys you a really cute white dress and make-up, and he lets you get ready alone. As the bride and the groom can't see each other till they're both on the altar or something like this, honestly he doesn't understand this saying. Why can't he see you? He wants to see you!

But he controls himself, he has to. He stands on the altar with the priest at his side. He hums and waits impatient. Meanwhile you is running away so hard that everything else turns into a blur, people, voices, sounds, smells, everything is a blur as you run and pray for someone to save you. Anyone. Tears flow from your eyes when in the distance you see his silvery long hair and dangerous green eyes staring at you. You tremble, biting your lip so hard not to scream that you can taste blood on your tongue, you force your legs to work more than they can handle, you're sure later on your feet would be filled with blisters but you don't care about it now.

Though it's not enough. It's not enough and you hated it. You hear him mumbling while he catches up with you, a part of you is surprised he isn't actually going to pull his scythe from wherever he keep it and reap your soul right here and now. The part of you who is still in love with him wavers for a second, you think only for a second if it's worth to try, if you actually can win against him, if can actually escape and your hesitation is all he needs for him to close his arms around your body tightly. He breathes hard, warm air hitting your neck as you feel him still against you, afraid of losing you. Afraid of losing everything.

"Why did you run, sugar? Wasn't I good enough for you? Didn't I treat you right?" He was whispering right at your ear. And that was much more scarier than having him screaming or having him threatening to hit you. "Don't you love me anymore? That can't be, right? You must be a little scared, oh sweetheart I know marriage is a big step but everything's going to be fine. I can take care of everything, leave all the work to me."

As if to made you pity him even more, you could little tears streaming down his face and onto your back, timidly, slowly. A sour taste lingers on your mouth. You can't escape now. You can't escape now that he is so on alert, every little move you make would be under his eyes. You can't escape now but you certainly can play your card right. And the right thing to do now was surrender yourself. Surrender and wait for an opportune moment.

For now you let him fix your dress and hair carefully, and then drag you to that damned altar. It's suffocating, insufferable. And there's nothing you can do about it. He holds your hand as he slips the ring into your finger and look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"I do." You say as you stare at him. In the future your attempt would be successful but for now you may entertain him.

[annievrse]

boyfriend!eren headcanons pt. 5 .*･｡ﾟ

—ᡣ𐭩 headcanons a/n: u guys love him, so i will provide more...... c/w: zeke is a father (his kid is named oliver), use of y/n once part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

children LOVE bf!eren and he treats them like they're his friends instead of actual kids

bf!eren 'hangs out' with his nephew instead of babysitting him. he talks to oliver about the basketball game on tv like he's his best mate..... asking for his opinion, if he wants a beer, about his doctor's visit yesterday, 'hey y/n, can i give him some pizza?'..... when ollie is literally 4 months old

bf!eren wears nba jerseys or oversized graphic tees with sweat shorts...... that's just his style. i really can't see him in anything other than sweatpants, a hoodie, and his bigass dunks when he goes out.... sorry to all the fashion girlies 😔

BUT, if it's somewhere important (team dinner, awards night, a wedding, a ball perhaps etc), then he does wear a suit & dress shoes (all black). he's not THAT laidback ok

bf!eren surprises you with your favourite dessert every friday night (not really a surprise atp, but it's the thought that counts <333)

wherever you sit, bf!eren has his arm over the back of the chair/couch you're on

bf!eren LOVES sci-fi movies from the 70s & 80s, hence the back to the future DVDs (part 4), the star wars funko pops (leia, darth vader, chewie, luke) he has around his room, and the framed dune poster in his living room

bf!eren listens to rap music, mostly kendrick, travis, eminem, baby keem, chief keef, yeat... i could go on forever. BUT he also loves 80s rock (eg his bon jovi vinyl (part 4), inxs CDs, and many more), and 90s & 00s club music

you keep extra snacks in your backpack for bf!eren because he gets hungry in class AFKJSAFJ

bf!eren flirts with you 24/7, and pretends to flirt with you as a stranger in public sometimes because he is SILLY

you both have an obsession with taking photos of each other (but find it annoying when the other does it) (e.g. on a picnic, you've got your phone out, ready to take a picture of bf!eren absolutely destroy his sandwich, but when he sees you, he tilts his head and sighs, covering his face with one hand and his other holds the sandwich to his mouth) (e.g. 2. you're reading on the couch, bf!eren is sat across from you, your legs on top of his. and because eren never turns his phone ringer off, you hear him take a photo of you. you groan instantly and cover your face with the book, whining his name. he just giggles and adds it to his folder of photos of you)

bf!eren throws grapes at you when you ignore him (lovingly)

bf!eren buys your favourite album on vinyl so he can keep it at his house

bf!eren likes being the little spoon but will be the big spoon if you don't want to <3

bf!eren plays with your fingers when watching tv/movies because he can't sit still to save his life

bf!eren is a golden retriever boyfriend, but he can be such an asshole!!

in part 2 i mentioned he can be so condescending and petty in an argument, and that's because he doesn't know how to express his emotions in a healthy way (but he's working on it with you!!)

in basketball games against certain colleges, bf!eren gets so fired up and aggressive and lippy. he talks so much shit on the court (he's known for it), and isn't afraid to take shit either (which pisses off the other team, and the whole cycle starts again)

but, it's a bonus for you when he gets off the court because he's looking extra hot..... and he knows it...... asshole

bf!eren is such a gossip too, like he hears ONE thing from jean in passing, and suddenly everyone in the group has heard about it... but everybody already knows not to tell bf!eren anything they don't want anyone else to know (the group still makes jokes about how poor jean got scammed by a fake protein powder website (he lost $200 HA.... sorry))

lmao bf!eren's such a little shit <3

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 [𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader [Modern!AU]

SUMMARY — Violet and Reader attend a wedding together in Paris. Agatha questions intentions.

WORD COUNT — 4K

WARNINGS — drinking, discussions of sex

NOTE — This is like a full week late, but honestly don't think anyone cares and I am too tired so I can't write a proper note, but if you're still around and reading thanks and I love you!

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑿: 𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹'𝑺 𝑾𝑬𝑫𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑨 𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑫

“Oh goodness gracious, that’s the best bloody pastry I’ve ever had,” you said with your mouth full of a pain au chocolat, the French really did not mess around. 

“I told you,” Violet chuckled. “If there is one thing that never misses the mark, it is without a doubt French pastries.” 

“And wine,” you added and she agreed with a chuckle. 

“Have you been to Paris before?” she asked, leading you down the streets and alleyways that created an intricate web across the city. 

“No, this is my first time,” you said. “I went to Marseilles through that program my parents signed me up for in first year, but that’s about the extent of my experience with France. Have you been here many times before?” 

“A few, some for work, others to see family friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. 

“You must be excited for the wedding then. You love love,” you chuckled and Violet rolled her eyes, and although your statement was true, it was beyond corny. 

“I think the wedding will be a nice break from all of the obligations we’ve had to attend this past little while. And distract from how slowly the gala planning is going,” she sighed. 

“Oh, don’t remind me of that,” you shook your head. “Let’s focus on something else.” 

“How about the fact that you just told me you don’t have a dress for tomorrow?” Violet suggested and you winced. 

“Mmm let’s not talk about that either,” you shook your head and Violet chuckled. 

“Come on, it’s why we’re out right now. What are you thinking, designer, local, off the rack?” 

“Definitely not designer,” you grimaced at even the mere thought of the price tags. “Local could be nice.” 

“I’m sure we can find something reasonable nearby. There’s a store Daphne mentioned to me, you might like it,” she said and pointed in the direction you would walk to get there. 

You finished your pastry on the walk and, given Violet seemed quite excited about the prospect of getting you a dress, you figured you’d put aside your stress of finding something suitable and try to enjoy the moment with her. 

As you looked through the selection, Violet’s phone pinged and she looked at the screen. 

“Agatha’s just landed,” she informed you. “We’ll see her tomorrow at the wedding.” 

“Did you mention to her that I was coming?” you asked. 

“It may have come up over tea,” Violet nodded. “There are so many donors coming to this, it would be a missed opportunity not to promote the gala and two voices are better than one.” 

“You’ve already sold it to me, Violet, I’m here,” you chuckled. 

“How about this?” she asked, holding something up for you to get a better look at, clearly trying to move past the conversation around the wedding invitation. 

“That could be nice,” you nodded. “Let me try it on.” 

Violet handed you the hanger and you brought it over to an attendant to see if they had an area where you could see if the dress would fit. 

She led you to a fitting area and it took you a moment to figure out the best way to put it on before examining yourself in the mirror and then stepping out to get a second opinion from Violet. 

“It’s a little revealing, no?” you asked her, turning around and looking at the very low cut back in the mirror. 

“I mean…” she pressed her lips together and shrugged her shoulders. She couldn’t quite justify it because she would never feel comfortable enough to wear something like that herself, but there was something about the way the satin pooled around your lower back, the curve of your spine and colour of your skin against the tone of the dress, it made everything somehow glow. “...it isn’t that bad.” 

You still seemed unconvinced. 

“Did you find anything else I can try?” 

Violet eyes were now dragging over the front of your figure, drinking in every outline in the fabric, completely oblivious to your request.

“Violet?” 

“Hmm,” she looked back up at your eyes. 

“Any more dresses?” 

“Oh!” she nodded and handed you the few she had in her arms. 

You took them from her with a thank you and continued trying things on, until you landed on one you were happy with. You purchased it and tried to ignore how much it cost before leaving the store and heading back to the hotel for a dinner in the restaurant there before heading in for an early night, giving yourselves adequate time the next morning to prepare for the ceremony. 

When the car was there to take you to the Eiffel Tower — because of course a socialite wedding had to be held in the Eiffel Tower — you heard a knock on your door which you assumed was Violet coming to collect you. 

When you opened the door, you were still focused on making sure everything was in your purse, which gave Violet enough time to take in your whole outfit. The new dress you had bought, while a little more modest than the first one, was still just as striking, and Violet found herself following the slit that went all the way from the ground to your mid thigh, giving her a peek of skin she’d never seen before, but for some reason desperately hoped she’d see again. 

When you finally looked up from your purse, you found yourself staring, probably a little more wide-eyed than intended, right back at her. 

“You did your hair different,” you said quietly. 

“I-I did,” she nodded. “Do you like it?” 

You smiled, “Very much.” 

You spent a moment or two in continued silence before Violet cleared her throat. 

“Shall we?” 

You chuckled nervously and nodded your head, following her out of the room and downstairs to the car. 

The drive wasn’t too long given you were staying in the heart of the city anyways, and clearly Violet knew her way around because she led you to the entrance of the restaurant that had been partially cleared out for the ceremony. 

“Have you eaten here before?” you asked. “It looks expensive.” 

“It is,” she nodded. “I did once, the children set it up as a birthday gift for me.” 

“With a little external help, if I recall correctly.” 

You both turned around to see where the voice was coming from and smiled when you saw Agatha behind you. 

Hugs and kisses were exchanged, and although Violet had said she’d told Agatha you’d be coming, there was still a small look of disbelief on her face. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it,” she said. 

“You know, duty calls,” you shrugged. “We’ve fallen a bit behind on planning for the gala, we thought this might be a good place to help boost attendance and gather some pledges.” 

“Yes, of course,” Agatha nodded her head with a polite smile. 

“I’m suddenly feeling a little parched,” Violet said, placing her fingers against her throat. “Maybe we should head inside and get something to drink?” 

“I could go for a drink,” you agreed and Agatha tagged along. 

As much as there was often a big hubbub around socialite weddings, especially those uniting two prominent families, Violet appreciated the security and privacy of the event. 

Of course there would still be pictures taken, but mostly focused on the bride and groom, and all of them previewed before being shared with the public. 

After fetching drinks, an usher was able to help you all to your seats in preparation for the ceremony to begin. 

You weren’t really sure what to expect, the last wedding you had been to was that of your friend from university and the whole thing was very simple and low key. 

Violet watched as your eyes curiously scanned your surroundings, becoming familiar with the details of the restaurant, the view of the city from outside, the guests with recognizable faces. 

“When was the last time you went to a wedding?” Agatha asked you. 

“A couple of years ago,” you said. “A close friend got married.” 

“That must have been quite nice to see,” Violet joined the conversation. 

“It was,” you smiled fondly, recalling the memories of the event. “Her and her husband are so well suited for each other and it was a really beautiful,simple backyard ceremony and reception. Just close friends and family.” 

Violet chuckled. That was what she and Edmund had originally wanted for their wedding, but, in the end, they had little to no control over the guest list, mostly thanks to her mother and mother-in-law. 

Before they could continue their conversation, soft, quiet music began to play, pulling them all out of their thoughts and directing their focus to the front where the groom now stood. 

While many things about the decor and location were anything but simple, the ceremony itself had a sort of distinctness to it that allowed one to really focus on the bride and groom and their love for each other. Their vows told a story of love over many years and brought to light the reason for the location. Not only was Paris the city of love, but it clearly carried sentimental value for them. 

When the ceremony ended and transitioned to the reception, you felt Agatha’s eyes constantly on you and Violet. A part of you was curious about it and wanted to ask, but you had a feeling you didn’t want to hear the answer, so you kept to yourself. 

“It is surely a romantic evening, is it not?” Agatha asked, and you simply smiled and nodded your head. 

“Yes, more than expected,” Violet admitted. 

“What do you think?” Agatha turned to you, clearly wanting you to speak. 

“What do I think?” you repeated her question, pointing to yourself. “I-um…well, I suppose it was nice.” 

“Just nice?” Agatha asked. 

“Do you want me to say it made me believe in love again?” you looked a little confused at the older woman. 

“Did it?” Agatha shrugged, and Violet looked between you both, sensing a little tension. 

“I-” you tried to search in her expression, past her eyes, see what information she possibly wanted from you. It was almost as if this wedding was triggering something for her. “I wouldn’t say I didn’t believe in love before I got here.” 

Agatha hummed, “Would you ever get married?” she asked.

You coughed a little as you sipped your wine. After clearing your throat and ensuring that you hadn’t choked, you answered her. 

“I’d like to think if the right person came along, I would,” you said honestly. “But sometimes, things don’t line up the way we want or expect.” 

The older woman nodded her head, her expression softening slightly. 

“And have you ever thought of what your wedding might look like?” 

“Agatha,” Violet looked at her friend, still confused as to where all this was coming from. “You’re interrogating her.”

“Just a simple question. Often weddings can make us think of what our own might look like,” she shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” you leaned back in your chair. “Maybe a little.”

Now, Violet was curious and she turned to look at you. 

“What do you want your wedding to look like?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to meet either of their gazes, instead focusing on the plate of food in front of you. 

“I think something small and private,” you said. “Maybe in the winter, somewhere snowy.” 

Agatha didn’t seem particularly content with your answer, but she let it be for now, also turning her attention to her food while Violet simply smiled at your admission. 

“I don’t think about it much,” you said. “Never been quite close enough to a wedding to spend much time thinking about what it will look like.” 

Violet could sympathize with your sentiment and your willingness to change the topic of conversation, instead speaking about the gala in hopes of gathering the attention of the others at the table. 

Your ploy worked and, for a while, you had a chance to talk about something you were endlessly comfortable with, work. That was until people started to stand up and mingle more after dinner and you had told Violet you were going to head to the washroom to freshen up. 

You were touching up your lipstick just as you saw a familiar red dress behind you in the mirror. 

“Agatha,” you greeted courteously.

“I see we had the same idea,” she came and stood next to you, pulling out a few things from her bag to touch up her own makeup, her cane resting against the counter. 

There was a moment that passed before you both spoke in unison. 

“Why do you keep cornering me?” “Why are you really here?” 

Agatha’s words rang through your head. Her question had answered yours and now you supposed you needed to come up with an answer for her. 

“Because Violet asked me,” you said simply. 

“And that’s it?” she asked, and you finally turned to look at her directly. 

“What else would there be?” you asked. “She is my boss and my friend, she asked me a favour and I wanted to help.” 

Agatha pressed her lips together and nodded her head. 

“If you say so.” 

If I say so. You thought to yourself. Of course I say so, why the hell else would I be here?

“It’s just, you can understand my confusion, can’t you?” she paused and looked at you. You frowned and shook your head. “Weddings are very special events, are they not?”

“I suppose,” you nodded your head, slowly. 

“I just…haven’t met someone who attends a stranger’s wedding with a friend before.” 

You were taken aback by her words. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of another reason for why you had come today, or maybe you didn’t want to. 

Agatha patted your hand and left you alone in the washroom, staring back at your reflection in the mirror. 

Your mind drifted to Violet, but you quickly tried to push the image of her away. Agatha was right, you probably had been lying to yourself, more likely as a protection than anything. 

Someone entered the washroom, and you quickly straightened yourself out, finishing fixing your lipstick before heading back out to where everyone else was mingling. You didn’t need to be thinking about all of that right now. 

“There you are!” Violet grinned. “Come here, there’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

You put on a smile and prepared yourself to make polite conversation for the rest of the evening, going back and forth between small talk and business dealings. The way Violet was able to so intricately weave the lines between the two and blend them into one was like artwork. 

Around eleven, things were beginning to wind down and the two of you said your goodbyes, heading to the car you had called to bring you back to the hotel. 

“I could use a bit of a walk,” Violet said. “Maybe we could get dropped off a block away if that’s alright with you?” 

“That would be nice,” you nodded and gave the instructions to the driver on her behalf. 

Coming out into the cool night air was refreshing, and despite walking in uncomfortable shoes, the quiet of the night made it worth it. 

Violet inhaled deeply and sighed, seeing the Eiffel Tower lit up, and the warm lighting of the streets created an air of something special.

“You know…I never really understood the romance of Paris,” she admitted to you, “but I think I’m starting to get it now.” 

You looked over at her and she was clearly entranced by the city, but you were much more focused on her words. 

Why was she starting to understand it? Was it just the environment? The wedding? Or was there something more she was feeling that just slipped out? 

“I mean, they call it the city of love for a reason,” you chuckled nervously, wringing your hands in front of yourself. 

Violet smiled and you continued your walk in silence until re-entering the hotel and going up to your respective rooms. 

“Would you…” Violet began, “maybe want to come in for a glass of wine?” 

“It’s not too late for you?” you glanced at the time on your phone. 

“Suddenly have a burst of energy,” she teased, unlocking the door to her room and welcoming you inside. 

She took off her heels, holding them in one hand while placing her purse on the bed and bending down to put her shoes by her suitcase. 

You blinked a few times and quickly averted your gaze, taking off your own shoes and going to take a seat on the couch while Violet brought two glasses and a bottle of wine with her. 

“Easy access to the good stuff here, isn’t there?” you chuckled and she nodded, handing you your glass before placing hers on the table and uncorking the bottle, pouring you each a moderate amount. 

You had already had some drinks at the wedding and you presumed Violet wasn’t planning on overdoing it tonight. 

“How did you find the wedding?” you asked. 

“Oh, I thought it was lovely,” she nodded, joining you on the adjacent seat, taking a sip of her wine. 

“Does it ever make you nostalgic?” 

“All the time,” she confirmed. “Some weddings are harder than others, but it doesn’t take away from the beauty of two people who love each other so dearly that they want to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives.” 

You took a deep sip from the glass, waiting to see if Violet might continue. 

“Weddings seemed like a bit of a touchy subject for you,” she ended up commenting. “Can I ask why that is?” 

You pressed your lips together and got a little more comfortable on the couch. 

“It’s just not something that’s ever looked like it’s going to be in my future,” you said. “I think I’ve mentioned before that none of my relationships ever really amounted to anything, and so, I just got used to the loneliness instead of hoping.” 

Violet hummed and took a sip of her wine. 

“Loneliness is something I can relate to,” she sighed. “Familiar with in a few ways.” 

“How else?” you asked, clearly making the connection between her losing Edmund and that feeling. 

“My uncle, David,” she said. “When my Aunt Lily passed away, he was so heartbroken. I just…watched it consume him. He loved her so very much,” she sighed. “I always told myself I would never wish for that to happen to myself or anybody else, but life has a very funny way of testing you.” 

You remembered hearing about Violet’s aunt, Lily, and it took you a moment to recall from where exactly. When you put the pieces together, an image of Agatha floating in your mind, you quickly sipped your wine to hide any expressions on your face. Violet clearly didn’t know about the affair. 

“And have you just been lonely then?” you asked. “Since Edmund?” 

“I don’t know, I think I got comfortable being alone,” she admitted. “After a certain point, I wondered whether it was worth it to try and put myself back out there, even if I was ready for something.” 

“So you haven’t even tried?” you looked at her peculiarly. “In the last sixteen years?” 

“No, not really,” she shook her head. 

“Not even a date?” 

She sipped her wine and shook her head again. 

“Wow,” you leaned back even further, if possible. “Have you not wished for companionship?” 

“From time to time,” she nodded. “It is only natural, but like you, I guess I haven’t found the right person to share that with.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt your heart grow heavy in your chest, but quickly tried to suppress the feeling by finishing off your wine and pouring more for yourself and topping Violet off. 

“Does that mean you haven’t had sex in sixteen years?” 

Violet almost choked on her wine and you tried not to laugh, clearly all the alcohol from the evening was beginning to get to you. 

“Sorry, that was a little direct,” you chuckled and had another drink. 

“You just caught me off guard,” she tried to play it off smoothly. 

There was a moment of silence that was so thick you could cut it with a knife before Violet spoke up. 

“I haven’t…been intimate with someone since Edmund.” 

“I mean, I understand it. I respect it, but you are also a person with physical needs, are you not?” 

“I am,” she nodded and sipped her wine. “But there are other ways one can…satiate their physical desires,” she said with a slight tilt of her head. 

“Violet Bridgerton,” you gasped with an astonished smile, and her cheeks went a deep shade of red. She opened her mouth to perhaps tame your thoughts or alter what she had said, but you beat her to it. “I’m impressed.” 

“You’re impressed?” she chuckled a little nervously. 

“You just always find new and wondrous ways to surprise me,” you lifted your glass up to her. 

“Soon enough, there won’t be any surprises left,” she giggled into her glass, letting it meet her painted lips while she took a sip. “And you will have the upper hand and all the surprises.” 

“Ah, so it is information you’re looking for?” you asked and she shrugged innocently. “Come on Violet, don’t be a tease, what do you want to know?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she leaned back into the couch cushions, taking the pins and clips out of her hair, letting it fall in soft waves down her shoulders. “Tit for tat, perhaps?” 

“You want to see my tits?” 

“God, no, are you drunk?” she scoffed with a laugh, the response was quick to come from her mouth, but she hoped you didn’t notice how her eyes did linger around your chest for a moment, the thought a little more enticing than she had led you to believe or wanted to admit to herself. She really couldn’t come up with a good reason to justify that. 

“No, I didn’t hear you properly,” you threw your head back in a laugh. “They were playing music so loud in there, I think I might have burst an eardrum.” 

“Okay, forget about that,” she waved her hand. “Tell me about the worst date you’ve ever been on.” 

“Oh, easy,” you finished the rest of what was in your glass and placed it on the table. “When I was sixteen, I went on a date to the circus.” 

“The circus?” Violet was surprised. 

“Yes, my date didn’t think to ask me beforehand and I um…” you looked down at the floor before looking back up at Violet. “I’m terrified of clowns.” 

“Oh no,” she leaned in closer, and you nodded your head. 

“And guess who they called from the audience to come join them?” 

“No!” Violet gasped and you nodded your head. 

“It was the most atrocious thing I had ever experienced and I definitely did not go on a second date with them,” you shuddered. 

“That sounds terrible, I can’t even begin to imagine something like that.” 

“And I suppose you never went on a bad date?” you looked at her, and she chuckled. 

“Oh, just because Edmund and I loved each other didn’t mean we didn’t have our fair share of bad dates,” she explained. “After Anthony was born, Edmund tried to cook me dinner for the first time and that was how we ended up renovating the kitchen.” 

You snorted, and she laughed, remembering the disaster she’d walked into. 

“I bought him a set of cooking classes for his birthday that year,” she said. “Thankfully, we were one and done with almost burning the house down.” 

You filled your glass again and reached out to raise a toast. 

“Here’s to bad dates with great people, because life is too short to be perfect.” 

Violet smiled and clinked her glass against yours. “Yes, cheers to that, indeed.”

TAGLIST —

@paola-carter @madde11 @thesamesweetie @cherrysxuya @philocalistwrites @mako-mermaids2021 @oh-mydarling @courtneyteal @amethyst-bitch @etherynn @lilisdarling @fictionalized-lesbian

[amyriadofleaves]

outside it starts to pour — neuvillette | chapter ten

synopsis: in the limelight of fontaine, the prying eyes of its people never truly tears their gaze off the iudex and you, the présidence du conseil d'état, which makes for baseless rumours to fester and echo throughout the theatrics of opera. you and neuvillette are challenged by the reputations the both of you are expected to uphold, and the weighty decision to navigate these intricacies rests upon the discerning judgement of fontaine's archon.

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ao3 : wattpad  ˚　.˚　　

⌗ pairing : neuvillette x fem!reader ⌗ feat : neuvillette, reader, clorinde, navia, furina ⌗ warnings : n/a ⌗ word count: 6.1k

Amongst those of grandeur and coin, you would assume the elite would make a better run for their money. Yet, judging from the perfervid eyes of many that stand by the wide precinct of the ballroom, you think you might’ve just assumed wrong.

You make note of this as you study them with the eyes of a hawk through your coach window, anticipating the swirl of opinions and envious, lidded stares.

The dress you wear is cinched at the waist, hugged by a pin hidden from the inner folds of cloth — the glimmer of sequined colour reflecting into the periphery of your eye. It was a change made on a whim, for the previous dress was a touch too pink to match the formality of such an occasion. And, to be fair, the pamphlet presented you with a plethora of options, making it exceedingly difficult to settle on the perfect one from the get-go. Your plus one sits to your left in the carriage, a reasonable distance between you both to further up the stifling air.

You do not wish to comment on what he has chosen to wear for the evening, his usual judicial robe replaced with something of the likeness to his wedding garb. So, instead, you pick a route that is sure to stir idle gossip.

“Do you know of Lady Furina’s activities as of late?” you question, eyes trailing to the raindrops that warp down in rapid races on the window.

By the sharp ruffling of his clothes you can almost picture the expression on his face: a panicked, borderline surprised look of bewilderment that this, out of all topics, is the one you chose to spark conversation. “I do not know if I should say.”

More like he does not want to, you snarl.

“Oh, come on, don’t give me that — it’s not like she’s here.”

He does not respond, his silence thickening the air between you. The air is blazing, and you can feel the heat of his presence searing into your skin.

Thanking the Archons that he cannot see your face of nonplus, you scrunch your nose to calm your nerves. Turning abruptly in your seat to face him, you realise your faces are disconcertingly close, but it’s too late; you must feign indifference. The scent of his cologne, intoxicating and undeniable, overwhelms you. “This cannot be true. Surely, you jest.”

He inches his face a little further away from yours, before giving you a tight-lipped smile (well — it’s more of a grimace than anything). His breath brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “I take it you aren’t in favour of her being here?”

Quirking a brow, you shuffle closer, giving him a quizzical look. Such proximity, regarded by those  conservatives, would only bring rise to more scandal; and you sure hope it does. The faster the climax, the easier the plateau. You would spare both Neuvillette and yourself more suffering. “If I said no, I bet you’d think me a doppelganger.” Your eyes lock onto his, daring him to challenge your words.

“That I would, Madame.” His voice drops a notch, almost a whisper.The way he says it sends a thrill through you, your heart beating faster in response. You use your own vulnerability as leverage, your cue a shutter of a camera’s flash in the distance. Consider it a sixth sense, but you know someone must certainly have their eyes on a certain couple in a certain carriage.

Amusement sends sparks through your veins, a flash of a smirk gleaming in the cruel light. “It’s mon coeur, Chief Justice. Fanatics would go so far as to read lips, you know.” You trail a finger down his jawbone, letting it leave the second it reaches slightly below his mouth. It comes as second nature — the act of skin against skin. You don’t feel the spark others fooled by their own blindness; to touch does not mean to love. How will one know what a novel is based on its cover alone?

Judging from how many taps against your hand it takes, you realise it is almost as if he struggles to reach for your hand to pull it away. As his hand brushes to meet your own hand at his cheek, his fingers tremble. “Please, mon coeur, now is not the time,”  he mutters, his voice strained and low. He clears his throat afterward, but the sound is thick with what you think is the effort of maintaining composure.

You tear your hand from his, reaching to fix his hair now — the curl that parts his locks undone by the way you rake your hands through them.

“Please,” he repeats, his voice softer, almost pleading now, as if he’s begging not just you but himself to stay strong. His thumb brushes gently across your knuckles, a tender gesture that belies his words, and you can feel the turmoil radiating from him. 

He draws in a sharp, cutting breath — but given the closeness, he might as well just drink in your perfume.

It takes every ounce of willpower for him to finally, reluctantly, begin to pull his hand away, and even then, it’s with a slowness that even you find odd (what do you not find odd about this man by this point?).

You make your distaste known to him with an annoyed roll of your eyes (you note that it is only the Chief Justice’s face in view, so the guise you need to uphold lies only in the most physical of actions). “Don’t tell me you are affected by our PR.” Roughly, you shove his hand back to where it originally was, your satisfied look mirroring his dishevelled one.

“If you are going to do so, at least let me know when so I am not caught off guard by… such advances.”

“Then tell Lady Furina to change the conditions in the notebook.”

“I do not know of such a notebook.”

“Odd how you easily forget such a possession that hangs in your breast pocket all the time.”

A puzzled execution of searching for the notepad deems itself fruitless when he swipes past his breast pocket to find it empty. “How…?”

You reach into your pocket (yes, your dress has pockets!) and tauntingly hold the bundle of paper up for him to see. “Judging how you failed to enact any of them on me,  I thought I'd rather do it myself — for the benefit of my own accomplishment and gain of course.” Before he can wipe off the smugness in your character, you make another diminishing comment to a habit of his that  you’ve caught on. “Not like I could read half of the content — the ink is smudged from the rain you oh, so love to stand in.” 

“I beg your finest pardon?” 

Dread overwhelms you when you realise the coach is slowing down and the murmurs of small talk are growing louder by the minute. “Is a woman pleasuring herself so taboo?”

His head shakes in the bewilderment of your comment and he shifts in his seat — making no note to move away from you, glued by… fear?  Endearment? Intrigue? “That… is not what I said. But, may I be nosy as to pry, why follow them if those rules were not meant to be adhered to by you?’

“To put it simply — I like the thrill,” you take a look at his watch, reaching for his wrist to angle it toward the moonlight so it catches the hands of the clock. “Why do you think we’re ‘fashionably late’?”

“And fix your hair. You look unkempt. Before you argue with me — I know it was of my own doing.” 

You drop his hand before the coach comes to a stop. Suddenly it is almost as if the flashes of the cameras sputter erratically at your arrival — but you know it is not for you – for the most part. Waiting patiently for Neuvillette to open your door, your eyes hook onto him walking across to your side through the rear window, adjusting the minimal space between his skin and collar, visibly unkempt. Oh, the ideas that might stem from that one moment alone! You just knowhe’s never going to hear the end of it with Furina.

The second his back turns from the audience, the facade he puts on oddly stays the same, the only change being the lighting and nothing else. He swiftly opens the door, and the cameramen rage on even more — even going so far as to request to turn their way! It almost sparks a smug look on your face to be captured in the photos, and you don’t know if you are afraid or simply exhilarated (you tell yourself the answer is the latter).

He offers a hand, and you take it with all the grace you can muster — making a statement to use your own weight to pull yourself up instead of the sanctuary of his palm.

The movement of your hands are borderline rehearsed, if not choreographed, by the way one slyly snakes around your back as a tether amongst the onslaught of photos being taken of you —the other around the cave of Neuvillette’s inner elbow and you almost quip on how it’s a lot less uncomfortable than the first time you and him made your appearances live to the whole of Teyvat.

You restrict yourself from running your mouth on the carpet, keeping it shut with the nagging thought of ‘exuding an air that betrays nothing but charm and propriety’; it is another trick in Furina’s book, but as much as she is irritating, she also is in cunning, and for this you must (begrudgingly) give her your praise. 

A man at the very foot of the ballroom almost stammers on his words upon shifting his glance from you to the Chief Justice, to which you almost scoff. He’s even got men at his feet! It’s his hair, isn’t it? His eyes flit aimlessly on the guest list, ticking off Neuvillette’s name first before reiterating the names of both of you.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, and Madame Lavigne?” The notion of affirmation falls on deaf ears as a frown comes to make its way on your face instead of a nod.

“Mon cherie, are you alright?”

‘What?”

“He has just mentioned your name.”

What a slip up. You hadn’t heard anyone call you by your last name in ages, let alone with your new one (mostly due to your insistence, but it does not hold any significance). You do admit, it still sounds unfamiliar even to your own ears.

“Yes, that should be me,” you say, springing back into your character. The word should makes it sound more suspicious than it ought to be, but you hope the young man does not latch onto any odd intonations of your phrase.

The man extends a hand that points into the ballroom, muttering a quiet ‘should be right down the hall’ before stepping aside and opening the grand door. 

When you hear it shut, you see the cameras dim in frequency, shying away as other later guests of lesser significance pass through. However, the noise doesn’t seem to quell from the endless tidings of conversation, the only difference being that it only spills from the end of the hall and not the carpet you just so happened to have walked through right before this.

The Chief Justice doesn’t seem too thrilled about all of this — justifiable in the sense of the difference of his workplace to that of insufferable people who know nothing of what to do with their wealth except spend on unnecessary luxuries: like gold plated toilet paper. You scrunch your nose in distaste.

“I do hope you know how to dance,” you tell him, more a question than anything. But you are too tired for questions, so it comes off as a statement instead of the intended quizzical tone.

Neuvillette tilts his head, hair rustling against the fabric of his clothes. “I hope so too.”

Okay… not the response you expected to hear, but you guess you could do with a few steps on the tips of your toes even if it means being in excruciating agony for just a few days.

It takes everything in you to give Neuvillette the green light in opening the doorway that leads to the actual ballroom this time, but you realise with grave regret that you are still in the midst of processing what’s to come as he pushes the door open.

Chandeliers drape from the ceiling, bedazzling the marble floors with opulent patterns cast from the crystals that appear to drip down toward the floor, strung by invisible strings hooked onto metal pegs. Prisms lined with colour trace the fine contours of rustling lace and prim ties. 

The crowd doesn’t seem to notice your grand appearance, until someone in the crowd gasps and everyone is stunned into a still silence. With such a noise comes a domino effect of other gasps, each differing in pitch. Awfully dramatic, even to someone of your tolerance. Guess one of Furina’s tactics worked, but at what cost? Now everyone’s looking at you, and Neuvillette cannot do anything —

“Please, do not be so tense. Momentous this event is indeed, but it is but another occasion,” He reassures, and all of a sudden the way his voice ricochets off the walls sounds radically similar to the baritone his voice bears in the Opera Epiclese.

Except it wasn't any formal occasion. Neuvillette's frequency of appearances outside the courtroom were and are even more than obscure now — obscure enough to consider it akin to that of a sighting of a dodo bird.

Everyone eyes him sceptically, slowly returning to their conversations. But you do not miss the way their choice of words are more contained — docile, if you will. You notice their vocabulary changes — the word ball turns into thé dansant, and commenting on rumours and gossip shifts into romance and novels.

You notice the way women with no visible ring on any of their fingers eye you with envy, seethingly jealous at your ‘success’. But is it really success if it has only brought you misery?

After standing in observance for what you think is more than a while, someone calls your name.

You whip around, losing the grip of your arm interlocked with Neuvillette’s to divert your attention — and you lose no time in grinning. “What a pleasure it is seeing you here, Clorinde,” you start, facing the blonde beside her. “And you as well, Navia. It has certainly been a while since I’ve been given the opportunity to chat with you.” “Ah, yes indeed. I’d really like for us to chat over a cup of tea someday.”

She really did live up to her reputation; from the manner in which she carries herself, to the very stitch that binds her lace hem. 

You turn your attention to Clorinde, squeezing in time for small talk. “ I suppose your schedule’s freer than usual?”

A server with a tray of champagne glasses comes passing through the throng and offers the delicacies laid out for you on a tray. You accept a glass and some canapés without a second thought — though Clorinde denies the alcohol with a polite shake of her head. “I would not say ‘free’. This place is a breeding ground for thieves — so consider it another day on the job.”

Navia tests one of the canapés by biting a sliver off the side before coughing into her hand. Clorinde shoots her a chastising look. “What?”

The blonde attempts to whisper, and though it doesn’t prove to be inefficient, it did help quench your desire of knowing what she is to say to Clorinde. “There’s steak tartare in this. Do you… want it?”

“How many times have I told you that you’re not going to like it just because you’ve tasted it more?” Out of all the things in the world, the Champion Duelist of Fontaine makes it imperative to scold her close friend about raw beef. 

Your husband wraps a hand around your waist in an act of pulling you closer, and you can only mask your disdain with a wry look and a brief check of your dress to confirm that the alcohol hadn’t spilled in the process. “What are you doing?” you seethe, gritting your teeth.

He responds with a looser wrap around your hip, soundlessly submitting to your reprimand. 

Clorinde and Navia seem surprised at such an uncharacteristic display of affection from the Iudex of Fontaine, the retracting of her head seemingly an obvious tell. “Much expected from the Champion Duelist herself. I implore you to take a break every so often. I have observed that many aren’t usually able to bear the weight for as long as they’d wish.”

She pats him on the shoulder. “Take your own advice, boss.”

Neuvillette’s chuckle drips with amusement.“That’s certainly a new title. I will take it into consideration.”

She nods her head, taking her hat off to engage in a cordial bow. Before she can lose herself amongst the crowd with the head of the Spina di Rosula, you reach for her wrist and deftly place a tea bag in her pocket. “We need to talk. And if that fails, I will send you a letter. Whatever it is — take a look at what I have given you.”

Clorinde hesitates, body halting at the command of your hand. “Alright then. We shall rendezvous near the entrance.”

Before you can give any semblance of a response, she turns, making sure to pat at her pocket as she does so. It does not save you from human interaction, however, for another voice sounds from your right: playful and distinguishable.

“If it isn’t the main couple of tonight’s event! I’ve talked to the host — myself — and you two are meant to take the dance floor once the violin commences.”

What a way to start a conversation.

There was certainly no need for pleasantries, but a simple ‘hello’ or a ‘how are you?’ would have sufficed, wouldn’t it? You make the pragmatic decision to not let your personal prejudice of Furina get in your way of complying to her rules, because this part was mainly on you — agreed to by your own pen. 

Waiting for Neuvillette to respond on your behalf, you find yourself already exhausted with the mass of people that eye you down, almost draining you of a conversation though their gazes alone; you tell yourself it doesn’t bother you, but the way your heart beat picks up against your ribcage makes you think meat is eating away at bone.

“Let me reiterate: you want us to dance as the distinguished couple?” His brows raise quizzically, his hold on your side slipping ever so slightly. 

Another server comes to approach, so you gulp down the whole glass of champagne (wincing in the process) before placing it on the tray as the move on by.

Lady Furina chuckles so loudly even a snort would be less humiliating in comparison. “Now they say there’s no such thing as ‘bad questions’, but…”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be finding away to deviate the prophecy? Not attend some ball?”

“I could say the same for you, Présidence du Conseil d'État.”

“Well i very much would be helping if you hadn’t gotten me into this stupid—”

She places a finger on your lips. “Hey! Keep it down!”

A maintained, high-pitched note of a violin silences the murmurs of the people  — and this includes Lady Furina’s never ending tangents you know would never stop if not for the ensemble.

You instinctively put on a brave front as the crowd disperses into a circle, leaving a space in the middle for the two of you — and as you both make your way through the crowd, they seem to part as if by a spell.

“May I have this dance?” The Chief Justice inquires, his touch ghosting over yours before you agree in the silence. His hand easily between the grooves of your fingers, softly placing his lips to your knuckles with a delicacy you can only consider to be a totally calculated act. His hold on your hand lingers on your fingertips, his touch fraying as he moves to initiate a bow.

You mirror this action, pinching the sides of your dress and bringing them up as you curtsy. Raising your head, you meet his gaze, his look equally just as weary as yours. For a split moment, it takes you back to when you stood in the shadows, fingers fidgeting behind your back hoping that your father would only taste the rust of prison for the rest of his life. But he cannot — must not look like this. This is not the look of a revered judge; it is one of a lovesick boy. And you almost throw up.

Another cue of a violin now spurs the string quartet into motion: a soft and slow minuet conjured through their very fingertips. His hold on your hand smoothly slips to interlock with your own, and he brings the other to your waist. He pulls you toward him, and it is almost peculiarly simple �� the way you fall into step, blown in the wisp of music; of dull cellos and vibrant violins.

A spotlight shines from above. It is the only source of light — another entity that mimics your movements, illuminating every one of your flaws, every single imperfection. Neuvillette releases hold of your waist to guide you through a spin, a hand behind his back before he tip you backward into his arms at an angle so discreet that a mere word from you would go unnoticed. 

“Tell me, mon mari, would you trade this for another case in court?” you murmur, warmth ghosting against the nape of his neck. You lose yourself of his hold, hand still entwined with his as you leave the warmth of his body and execute this with a twirl outward, your blue gown fanning out as if it were a bouquet of periwinkle.

Your grip on his hand shifts from a knot to a palm to palm, and you find yourself in orbit of his arm, inching ever closer in expectation of a response; and your lids flutter, a brief opening to the window of your soul. You lower your sight elsewhere — to the lapels of his robe, to the platinum strands of hair that gleam like pearls in the light; if it meant that you would not remain subject to his scrutiny any further. Admittedly, you were afraid. Afraid that, in a moment where light shines down on you like the watchful gaze of the omniscient, he would see through your cracks, through your guise.

He does not know the woman before him is a fraud. 

“I’m afraid I misunderstand your inquiry,” he whispers, before masking his puzzled look for a fond, albeit manufactured look of love.

You return the look with reproach, and your eyes weigh lidded against the burden of all the people waiting for their spot on the floor; watchful, analytical eyes of the assembly stopping you from doing anything rash. That is, until Neuvillette initiates a change in a step; the steady pressure of Neuvillette’s hand on the small of your back an anchor, as much as you loath to admit it.

“Save your words then,” you say breathlessly, taking both of his hands as you both circle the perimeter of the dance floor. 

Before he can reply, the music crescendos, and he is now thrown into the momentum of string and melody. The world around you is a blur of motion and bliss as he leads you into a move.

The bass of cello and harmonising of two violins swell, tightening the invisible string bound by convenience, drawing yourself closer to the man you never thought you would have the displeasure of waltzing with. Each sway, each glide across the floor, is executed with more attunement to his every move, your own matching his.  

After another twirl, his hands reach for the curves on either side of your waist, lifting you up in his grasp. Weightlessness envelops you; he spins you around, a stunned giggle slipping through your lips — but it is drowned by the ruffle of your skirt, its hem barely tracing the ground. Gentle flames of candlelight reflect against the grooves of his sleeve.

This, expectedly, warrants many gasps of awe from the audience, their admiration a confusion of fabrication and authenticity. But it still sweeps across the ballroom nonetheless. You are acutely aware of their intense regard toward yourself as the Chief Justice’s wife more than the actual role you hold in Fontaine’s bureaucracy, and yet it is his eyes you cannot look away from. Neuvillette’s hand holds firm against the small of your back, an unnecessary touch you are unsure of appreciating or condemning.

As you straighten, you find yourself clinging onto Neuvillette’s arms in an act of desperation to keep yourself steady. You must say that this definitely took the breath out of you, spins and all. 

Every matter outside this dance seemed to vanish at another touch of the hand, another move that required his hold, one that brought your faces into almost meeting, more than once.

The melody ebbs, the final notes a cue for you to slow. Neuvillette brings you into a dip, hand steadying you as you lean into his arms. An excuse for diverting yourself from his stare did not come in your favour, for the distance between your lips and his is so close that you can feel his warmth radiating into your own skin, warm and inviting.

You shut your eyes. Benevolent and inviting? Just what am I thinking? Cut it out, you fool.

The two of you are suspended in the strain of the final note, puppeting the way your body slumps into his touch — an unfamiliar one, but one you know is able to fool the crowd. The audience watches with bated breath, the sound of breathing washed away in the sea of adrenaline. A gloved hand trails up your arm to the trace of your jaw — and you hold in regard the demurral of your husband's touch. He leans in closer, close enough to whisper into your ear. But nothing could’ve prepared you for his words.

“May I kiss you?”

Your eyes round into spheres, the strands of hair masking your admittedly unbecoming reaction. It truly feels as though this request has brought the world to a stop, the pounding of your heart slowing like a defeated bird in its cage. This is all a ruse, you tell yourself; but you cannot help but sear the sincerity indelibly into your mind.

Furrowing your brows, you cannot help but cant your head to the side. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” you hiss. You pull back slightly to catch your breath — your face almost an inch away from his, eyes narrowing in quest of searching his expression for a hint of jest. Neuvillette’s eyes now darken in the shadows, luminescent opal eyes now a stormy, turbulent hue; anyone would have caught the bona fides of the integral pillar of the law.

“It is for the crowd; for Lady Furina,” his voice soft, almost defeated. “They expect it.”

The rational part begrudgingly knows he is right, that his offer he places on the table is but a strategy to fool them any further: a performance.

And yet, the thought of his lips on yours stirs a mellow tremor of unwelcome anticipation that you hastily suppress. “Well then,” you snap, your voice cold. “But do not think for a moment that I will enjoy this.”

He dips his head in compliance, the curve of his lips an infuriatingly charming trait that has all the women in the crowd placing on the brink of fainting. “I wouldn’t dream of it, ma femme,” he replies, his lie deceptively light.

As he leans in, a tumultuous confusion of dread and something far more dangerous buzzes through your veins, sending every bone in your body to bend into his will. Closing your eyes, you steel yourself for the inevitable; and erratic thoughts sporadically burst like glass, invading your mind. How can something like this, illogical and meaningless, manage to fool the crowd? You know it is a question with a definite answer; so you question yourself again: why ask? Butyou aren’t given any time before your train of thought crashes under his fingers.

He brings his hand to your chin, drawing you closer with an allure so strong you are nearly convinced his touch is divination.  Collective gasps of onlookers, each a whisper of opinions you simply have not the time nor inclination to discern warps into pools that hum into one clump of futility as his lips brush against yours.

It is not wrong to say that this isn’t your first, and yet, you almost feel like it is. His lips against yours is gentle, almost chaste, but it ignited a stubborn fire you are loath to acknowledge. The strength of his hand at your waist firms, melting into a tender brush against the small of your back — and for a moment, you forget that this is all a farce.

You roughly push him away with your two hands against his chest, eyes staring daggers through the windows of his soul. You breath comes in shallow gasps, now a deafened noise amongst the cacophony of applause of the crowd, intoxicated in the fleeting thrill and spectacle of an act they do not wish to recognise as a lie. 

Nothing registers in your daze. You blink, fighting to regain your composure, because the lingering ghost of his lips on yours makes it unable to think straight.

Get it together! This is PR. Actors do this all the time.

“That was—” he mutters.

You move stiffly, forcing yourself to step back and put some distance between you. “Don’t read too much into it,” you say, your voice harsher than you intend. “It was just for show.”

“Of course,” he agrees, but there is a hint of something in his gaze, something that makes you wonder if perhaps, for a moment, it wasn’t all an act. You push the thought aside, unwilling to delve into the complexities of your feelings, and focus instead on the task at hand — maintaining the illusion, no matter the cost to your own heart.

Neuvillette holds out his arms for you to retire from the floor, leaving the other couples to spill into the space of the ballroom. But amidst the glittering crowd, you spot a figure, the well-worn wrinkles of his face an uncanny reflection of your own. This cannot be. You were sure your father had left, presumably perished in the process — but what of this? Why is he here, revealing himself to a crowd that is sure to recognise him and his reputation? 

A sudden, fierce constriction of your corset tightens your lungs like a vice around your ribs. Gasping, you claw at your throat for air, the once grandiose patterns of the stone walls caving into you: harsh and oppressive. Even the Chief Justice, the one to restore order, does not succeed in reaching you; and thus the attempt blurs into the fray, disregarded in the heat of your panic.

You anchor yourself in the depths of Neuvillette’s worried look, pulling yourself out of the merciless current of water. “I need some air,” you croak, hiding your face so the couples that stand waiting on the floor don’t receive but a glimpse of this stupid, nonsensical breakdown.

“Would you like me to accompany you?” he asks, making space between you both. 

“No. Please.” You practically beg, squeezing the wrists of his arm, before you flee.

_____

Neuvillette watches you intently as you blend into the mass of people, and they part instinctively, leaving a clear path for you to tread; but, the Chief Justice is no fool to trickery. As discreet as one can make themselves, he is one man that one should not — can not deceive. As you dance through the sea of bodies, a man walks against the current, trailing you with terrifyingly calculated precision. A metallic glisten betrays the sharp blade hidden from under his blazer.

Through the crowd, he meets Clorinde’s eyes; to which he concludes that she, too, is searching for where you went. She gestures with her eyes an inquiring look, to which Neuvillette responds with a quick glance toward the entrance. A mild nod is what he gets in response, and she rushes the other way, presumably through another door. 

The music strums once again, and so he takes an opportunity to rush from behind, his stride silent and quiet. For the man, however, it is almost as if he wants to make his presence known, from the set of his shoulders, to the tap of his feet against marble.

Neuvillette’s eyes narrow, focus not once slipping. He waits, watching as the man slips through the front entrance. Once he is out of view, Neuvillette follows, stride confident with urgency.

The man makes a sharp turn, reaching through the front of his blazer to reach for what Neuvillette presumes to be his blade.

_____

You pace through the garden, letting the trail lead you to the balcony that overlooked the Palais Mermonia. Clamping your eyes shut, you allow the hold your hands have on the railing to relax; a sharp, shaky exhale spills from your lips, hot tears threatening to pool at the base of your eyes.

The thought of your father’s crazed eyes sends you into a spiral, seeing a memory of him the more your eyes remain closed.

A rustle of leaves.

Footsteps.

There is only one person who would've followed you here. “I’ve already told you leave me alone, Chief Justice.”

“Chief Justice? You mistake me for someone else, birdie.”

Birdie. Your eyes shoot open, immediately diverted by the disturbance. Your hands slip from the railing, turning so that instead your back is pressed against it — the thrill of anticipation buried under the solemn rush of sentiment. 

This man was, in fact, not your lawful husband.

Oh, wow, you are certainly graced with the inexplicable miracle of luck!

“Why aren’t you replying, hm? Too ashamed of what you did to me to speak?”

Everything in your power to calm yourself down does not, matter-of-factly, calm you down. The man’s voice — his voice — is too cutting, too violent. The world spins, a minute sense of rationality bringing you to palm your thigh, feeling for the sharp edge of the dagger you have shoved in a garter. Clorinde surely has some sixth sense, because —

“(Name)?”

Your chest practically heaves as you let out a sigh of relief, the chilling autumn night bringing your breath to leave as cold white plume. The exhale is prolonged — albeit very tremulous, and it’s almost as if you can hear your heart beating in your head with more clarity than ever. 

“Clorinde?”

“I saw you leave the ballroom, so I figured this is where you'd be —” 

Taking one blazing glare at the man that hides in a bush, you stagger toward her as if poisoned. You take refuge in her arms for a short, stunned moment; Clorinde’s hands remain suspended, frozen. 

“Listen to me,” you whisper, voice wavering. “We must leave this instant.”

She grips onto your shoulders to pull you away. Her hand immediately moves to her hip, the brush against metal light, but sharp.“Is there something? Someone following?” 

“Save your questions.” you retort.

It is obvious that she notices the glassy gleam of your eyes in the moonlight — but she is smart enough not to pry. In the spur of the moment, she glances at Neuvillette, and nods her head. “Alright, just stay close to me.” You cast another look into the darkness, only to find it empty, uninhabited, and ominously still.

a/n: can y'all guess what neuvillette did to the guy🤭🤭🤭

taglist : @sek0ya, @souxiesun, @11111112222222sblog

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

nina, jane, jeff and clockwork with a scene! s/o? :3

scene kids >>>

Also i feel like you picked some of the most perfect creeps for this prompt

Thank you so much for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nina

I feel like she would be a mix of scene and emo

Mostly scene though

So she adores having a scene s/o!

You borrow each other's hairspray and teasing combs and accessories, etc

She steals your shirts sometimes if it goes better with her outfit

She always returns it....

....after she covers it in her perfume

Hair dying dates are very much a thing!

Whether shes dying yours, youre dying hers, or maybe you both do each others!

Another common date is making kandi together

She's made you bracelets that say her name, say both of your names, and say silly things like "fart"

Someday, she wants to go on a concert date with you

The two of you, wearing matching outfits and partying all night long to the music

It makes her heart flutter!!

Speaking of things that make her heart flutter, she gets butterflies when she hears your clothes jingle

She doesn't quite know what it is about it, but she loves it so much

If you are someone who wants to get married, she constantly talks about how she's gonna get gerard way to play at your wedding

She also loves doing your makeup!!

Her favorite part is the lipstick

In her opinion, it brings the entire look together

Though, you'd look gorgeous no matter what

Jeff

This guy is an absolute metal head

But in his younger years, he was a emo kid

We're talking sode part, too many belts, a strange amount of mcr t-shirts, the list goes on and on

So when your relationship with him begins, he will most likely give you all of his old gear

You will have to wash most of it because lord knows this boy does not shower

Maybe if you asked nicely enough hed dress up again for you

But he would refuse to go out like that

He would like to go shopping with you though!

A date i think he'd have fun with is going to the mall together, getting boba and just walking around buying clothes and accessories

Which is something he can do now, since he spends most of his time in the underworld

You'll just have to hope that you don't get caught up by the paparazzi

Which is almost never the case, especially with him being JEFF. THE. KILLER.

If you do manage to have a nice time with just the two of you though, congrats!

Jane

I feel like Jane doesn't really enjoy the scene aesthetic

She's a very toned down person, so all of the accessories and loud music just kind of overstimulates her

But, its not like shes gonna make you dress any way

If you like the way you dress, then thats your choice and she respects that

She would like to watch you style your hair and do your makeup though

Shed find it intriguing, and she enjoys seeing how your styles differ

She might let you style her hair as well, but it would take a lot of convincing

She is very particular about her hair, and seeing all of the hairspray you put in yours, it would really make her uneasy

But if you did convince her, she'd be pleasantly suprised!

She'd want you to style her hair more often, because she discovered that the way you style it actually flatters her face shape very well

I feel like shed be open to going to a concert with you!

Just dont expect her to really do much

She'll be very busy just enjoying the music, she wont drink or really even dance much

If you are shorter than her, she will hold your hips and sway side to side with you to the beat

If you're taller than her, then she will stand in front of you, with your hands around her shoulders

Clockwork

I feel like she wouldn't really care that you're scene

In the nicest way possible

Like she just doesn't really care what you dress like, she loves you and thats all she knows

But if you wanted to ramble all about your fashion or music, shed be happy to listen!

Shed be the most willing (besides nina) to let you dress her up

She feels super cool once she gets all of the belts and chains around her waist

It gives her a sort of nostalgic feeling

She wasnt necessarily scene when she was younger, but she had the classic bangs and she wore mostly baggy jeans and band t-shirts

She is willing to let you do basically anything to her

If you wanna practice makeup on her, she will let you

If you wanna see how an outfit looks, she'll model it for you

Shes the most chill with doing whatever you wanna do

Like she will literally say yes to anything

[moon-alight]

Hello admin! I hope all is well:D

I was wondering if I can request an &team maknae line recation to prom dress shopping with there s/o?

Thank you so much if you can fulfill this request,if not I totally understand ❤️

HAPPY NEW YEAR! My blog exists a whole year now and I'm back! I hope to post every now and then so leave asks in my inbox! (Also, I have done all members 😘)

General Masterlist

&Team Masterlist

&Team shopping prom-dresses with their s/o

Warnings: fluff (reader is female)

Word Count: 899 words

-K

-You mentioned you'd be going to shop for your prom dress and he overheard this. Kei decided he wanted to come along just to help you carry your bags lol.

-Walking from store to store, he did not seem to get impatient at all and almost had as much fun as you did. There was a constant smile on his face and he looked intrigued every time you held up a dress.

-Offered to pay for the dress that made your eyes sparkle because he knew you'd look so so pretty in it.

-He would be complimenting you every second as well and just enjoyed spending time with you.

-Fuma

-My man is solemly there to support you because he knows how much you look forward to prom.

-Whenever you hold up a dress he tells you how much he likes it even if it is the ugliest dress on Earth.

-To him you look good in everything and even the ugliest pieces of fabric can become artworks when you wear it. He is such a cutie.

-He does laugh at your excitement because he just gets internally happy whenever you are happy

-Unlike Kei, he does not offer to pay he just does. This man would shove you out of the way to pay for your dress lol

-Nicholas

-This man has the time of his life looking through the many dresses and imagining you wearing each and every one of them.

-Enjoys to hear you rattle about what kinds of fabric and style you're looking for and will interpret your wishes as he helps you look.

-Deadass gets pouty if you don't like one of the dresses he picked because he really liked it.

-Almost falls of his chair when you come out in the one but manages to catch his balance last moment.

-EJ

-Idiot treats this shopping spree as though you were looking for a wedding dress instead of a prom dress.

-Likes to keep his options open and comes along just to see what color you will be wearing so he can get a suit to match.

-Does not understand anything you say when you describe the pattern or style you wish to wear but nods as though he does.

-Enjoys matching jewelry with the dress you choose just so everything about you can sparkle at prom.

-Yuma

-Complains that you had dragged him down towards the mall because he really did not want to come.

-Once he's there and sees how excited you are, he calms down and just follows you around like a lost puppy for a while until he finds the excitement inside of himself.

-Once he sees a dress he loves he would constantly comment it to make you notice it. He would never outright say that he wants you to wear that dress but he would make it very known.

-Disappointed if you choose a different dress but comes around when you show it off because you're right, that one does compliment all your curves perfectly.

-Jo

-He comes along but kind of forgets why he's there and keeps wandering off to different directions to which you have to pull him back because he keeps getting distracted.

-Does actually not care what dress you choose. You could be showing up in a carton box and you'd still be the prettiest to him so he just kind of wanders behind you.

-Whenever you ask his opinion on something his answer would always be the same: "You look so pretty in it, sweetie."

-He is actually happy when you get your dress so you two can enjoy some ice cream lol.

-Harua

-MY MAN! The price for the guy who has the most fun dress shopping with you goes to Harua!

-He had looked up different dresses on pinterest and made an entire mood board with them so he knew what to look for.

-He drags you down the aisles and points at the dresses he likes. To your surprise they are actually really cute too.

-Would be so so happy if you choose one he had picked out for you. You'd be attacked by hugs and kisses hehe.

-Taki

-He is the second most excited to go dress shopping with you. Not because he likes this so much but because you trusted him enough to come with you and to ask his opinions.

-Carefully contemplates every choice as he does not want to disappoint you. He is the most helpful out of all &Team members.

-Honestly reviews each dress until he comes across one he just cannot say anything bad about because it is simply perfect.

-Treats you to Starbucks or anything you like to drink afterwards because he believes you two made a great choice together. And you did!

-Maki

-He is so unserious lmao! Agreed to come with you but honestly, you regret asking him very quickly because he points out the most ugly ass dresses in the world.

-Will constantly compliment you though but don't be fooled, he'd tease you every chance he gets as well.

-Remember Nicholas almost falling? Yeah, well, Maki actually falls off his chair when you walk out wearing the most beautiful dress. His mind changed about the whole dress shopping because he is glad he came along.

-Cannot wait for prom because he'd be able to dance with you all night.

[megu-meow]

Oooo I saw you're taking requests rn lol. I hope you don't mind me sending you one.

Can I request Gojo & and the reader having a wedding and having their 1st dance. You can pick any song you like or you think might fit the concept ^^

Idk if this isn't enough info lol let me know if I need to be more specific, I'll do my best to get back to you :D

Hiii! Of course, thank you for sending this in. 🥰

I feel like this makes a lot of sense for me to write, cause I've written about how Gojo decides to propose and also about said proposal before.

I really hope you like it, I know it's a bit all over the place, I'm having a bad ADD day.

Firstly, the only song that popped up in my head upon reading your message was la vie en rose, cause I don't really listen to love songs that are actually happy. It is a beautiful song, a classic may I say so and I feel like it would fit the old money vibe/aesthetic Gojo radiates, in my opinion.

Before his wedding, Gojo has a completely different picture on how things actually go. He has never attended a wedding in his life, it's not an everyday thing among sorcerers and even if it was, he couldn't care less about going to one. So he believes he is the one supposed to walk down the isle, that people are supposed to stand up for him as he walks in and he genuinely expects the crowd to shed tears as he enters wearing his custom made, expensive suit. However, that train of thought is quickly dismissed by Nanami, just a few minutes before the wedding.

He stand kind of disappointed at the end of the isle, muttering things like "he's not appreciated enough" and "no one actually complimented him on his suit yet" but then he spots you and he falls in love all over again. Not because of the dress you're wearing or your make-up that has been done professionally, but because of your smile, the happiness you radiate and warm glint in your eyes. He quickly understands why the bride is supposed to walk down the isle and why that's a big moment in movies portraying such situations. Suddenly, he regrets opting for a small wedding, with only the closest people to you two present, because he wants the whole world to see how perfect you are in that moment and how you will become his forever in mere minutes. He cries too and his students are dying from laughter, the strongest has been rendered soft in an instant.

You decided a long time ago that you wanted to write your own wows and you laugh with tearful eyes as he fishes out a wrinkled paper that has Tom and Jerry printed on the back from the pocket of his dress pants. He explains that he thought about his wows during one of his missions and that was the only piece of paper he could find at that moment.

After the wedding, during the reception he stuffs himself with the delicious food you picked out, when the two of you started organising the whole ordeal he made it clear that he didn't care about the food at all, he trusts your judgement, but the cake must be his duty and oh boy does he go out with the cake. It's massive, decorated nicely with the cliche marzipan figurines of the two of you on top. Nonetheless, it's delicious and you're glad you let him fulfil the dessert duty.

Gojo's mother put him through dance lessons when he was a child, claiming that the heir of the Gojo clan must know basic dances, considering how many formal events he will have to attend in the future. That makes your first dance even more magical, his posture is perfect and he guides you through the steps flawlessly. He keeps you closer to his chest than he's supposed to though, which you don't mind, because he keeps whispering into your ear about how much he loves and cherishes you.

"I love you, Mrs. Gojo!" he says as the song is over, more loudly than before "Hehe, you're Mrs. Gojo now, that's hilarious. You gotta change your sorcerer ID after this. Good luck with that, those idiot higher ups are slower than sloths."

[suzannahnatters]

Ok so I wrote a whole steampunk trilogy about these two bejewelled idiots

so let me tell you about George V and Mary ("May") of Teck.

From the photo - woman dressed like a wedding cake, man wearing the Milky Way - you might think that this is a picture of privilege.

Well, yeah. You're right. Mostly.

Her name was Princess May, and she was Europe's least eligible spinster.

Although she was of royal blood, May was descended from a "morganatic" marriage - her grandfather on her father's side had married a commoner - in fact, a countess (gasp!) - on condition that their children would not inherit his small German duchy. May's two aunts never married, because no self-respecting German prince would be seen dead in a ditch marrying the offspring of a mere countess. May's father got lucky because over in England, Queen Victoria was struggling to cope with her cousin, MARY ADELAIDE. Mary Adelaide was fat, thirty-two, unmarried, more popular than the queen, and completely uncontrollable. Under the circumstances, the discovery of an unattached prince too beggarly to be picky was an absolute godsend. The English were too broadminded to care about the countess, and nobody else (as someone joked unkindly) would "venture on so vast an undertaking."

The marriage was happy, but extravagant. By the time May was 16, the family was so deeply in debt that they had to run away from England to avoid their debtors. For the next two years they lived in Italy, where May was able to get an excellent education in art history, languages, singing, and painting.

After returning to England, May took an interest in visiting the poor and collecting funds for charities. Serious, diligent, and intelligent, May hoped that one day she would have an important role to play in the world…but how? She was not royal enough to marry into royalty, but she was much too royal to marry beneath her.

It was Queen Victoria who decided to play the fairy godmother. One day, quite unexpectedly, she invited May to join her at Balmoral. Several days later, Prince Eddy also arrived. Eddy was Victoria's grandson, third in line to the throne, and thus (if you overlooked the affairs with married women, and the scandals, and the venereal disease, and the sub-zero IQ) the most eligible bachelor in the whole British Empire. In Victoria's opinion, what the future King of England needed most was a good, smart, steady wife. She'd already tried to arrange several other matches for Eddy, including one with Princess Alix of Hesse (who would go on to marry Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, a match which would in no way help to precipitate a violent revolution and end in a hail of bullets, blood, and diamonds), but all of them had failed. Now, she thought May would do.

Perhaps May thought it was her only chance to achieve lasting financial security. Possibly she agreed with Victoria that the future of the British Royal Family depended on Eddy marrying someone with half a brain. Maybe she even hoped for love. When Eddy proposed, May accepted.

Just weeks before the wedding, May was staying at Sandringham for Eddy's 28th birthday celebrations when he came down with influenza. The next day, he developed pneumonia. Five days later he was dead.

More than a hundred years later, we can be excused for looking back and feeling that both May and the whole British Empire dodged a significant bullet there. To Eddy's family, it was a crushing tragedy. One who mourned him was Eddy's younger brother, a steady, hard-working, unimaginative naval officer named George. Prince George was not just dull as dishwater and nearly as badly educated as his brother, he was also significantly healthier, smarter, and more disciplined. Now, with George taking Eddy's place as heir to the throne, many immediately began to think that George should take Eddy's bride as well. After all, Queen Victoria had already gone to the trouble of vetting and approving May, and why should all that work go to waste?

Among those who thought so were May's own parents. When Eddy's family went on holiday to the south of France to grieve in peace, May's parents packed up their daughter and followed. George dutifully called on the family, and over the next few months, as May travelled around Europe, she and George corresponded via letter. Emotionally constipated as he was, George had grown used to writing heartfelt notes to his deaf mother. May was also painfully shy. Signs were against them, but the two managed to become engaged in 1893 after significant prodding from both their families. Shortly afterwards, they exchanged these hilariously awkward letters:

MAY: I am very sorry that I am still so shy with you. I tried not to be so the other day, but alas failed, I was angry with myself! It is so stupid to be so stiff together and really there is nothing I would not tell you, except that I love you more than anybody in the world, and this I cannot tell you myself so I write it to relieve my feelings.

GEORGE: Thank God we both understand each other, and I think it really unnecessary for me to tell you how deep my love for you my darling is and I feel it growing stronger and stronger every time I see you; although I may appear shy and cold.

The rest, of course, is history. George married May in 1893 and in 1910 they succeeded to the throne as King George V and Queen Mary of Teck. In between ruling the colonies with a rod of iron (George), amassing a small fortune in fabulous diamonds (May), and wearing some of the era's most luscious fashions (both) the two of them remained as deeply in love as ever. When George took a dive in a newfangled invention named a submarine, May, standing on the Portsmouth quay, could not repress a passionate effusion of concern:

"I shall be very disappointed if George doesn't come up again."

ALSO May had a dollhouse that was a miniature copy of their home! The library contained VERY TINY BOOKS by literary luminaries such as Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling! AND over the bed in the main bedroom there was a tiny sign hanging - "May George? - George May." I'm sorry but I love them. I'm not sorry at all for all the grand silly fun I had writing them both in Miss Sharp's Monsters. Though I'm afraid that at no stage was the real Princess May impersonated by a clever clockwork automaton containing a bomb intended to blow up Queen Victoria. I made that part up.

[seaweedstarshine]

*Poll inspired by typical ambiguity in the new audio story Victory of the Doctor, which on an unrelated note is amazing!

Evidence for each argument beneath the cut!

Open marriage

The Doctor's wedding to Marilyn Monroe occurs in A Christmas Carol, when he storms off to a chapel with lipstick marks on his face. “I’ll just go and get married then, shall I? See how you like that. Marilyn? Get your coat!”

While he wasn't yet with River then, he maintains this relationship afterwards, apparently with River involved. In the mini-episode Good Night, the Doctor enters the TARDIS with a euphonium, calling over his shoulder, “River! I’ll see you later! Tell Marilyn she’s too late, she’ll have to use the biplane. Take care!”

Another piece of evidence comes from The Wedding of River Song, when they're passive-aggressively flirting.

“Hallucinogenic lipstick. Works wonders on President Kennedy. And Cleopatra was a real pushover.” “I always thought so.” “She mentioned you.” “What did she say?” “Put down that gun.” “Did you?” “Eventually.” “Oh, they're flirting. Do I have to watch this?” (from Kovarian)

I've never understood the innuendo (please tell me what I'm missing), but Kovarian does, and as we know from The Husbands of River Song, the Doctor and River are both married to Cleopatra, so… it's definitely something.

There's also that diary page in The Eternity Clock game that suggests the Doctor, River, and Jim the Fish got blackout drunk at karaoke night and started “some sort of religion of love” which went on to last for centuries.

Serial cheaters

“How can you be engaged, in a manner of speaking?” The Doctor is jealous in Flesh and Stone before he's even kissed her, which doesn't set him up as a person who'd be interested in an open marriage.

“No, wait. That's your husband? That's who you're married to? Not anybody else?” In The Husbands of River Song, the Doctor is clearly not expecting the other husbands. Culminating in the same episode…

“So, King Hydroflax?” “Oh, how many times? I married the diamond!” “So you say.” “Elizabeth the First!” “Ramone!” “Marilyn Monroe!” “Stephen Fry!” “Cleopatra!” “Same thing!”

It appears he is well aware of her other spouses (and that she's aware of his); so perhaps his surprise was more that didn't expect her to be so flagrant about them. It makes him insecure (“I posed as his nurse. Took me a week.” “To fall in love?” “It's the easiest lie you can tell a man. They'll automatically believe any story they're the hero of.”) enough to start an argument about it.

River also expresses her jealousy as an obvious fact, as seen in The Day of the Doctor Novelization (written by Moffat who (along with Alex!!) knows the character best):

“Ow!” “Madame de Pompadour?” “Jealous?” “Of course I’m jealous. Keep your hands off her.”

In The Name of the Doctor, we learn that the Doctor, who has had a number of... sexually-charged moments with Clara (including, but not limited to, Victorian Clara), has avoided telling her that River is his wife. Vastra is uncomfortable with having to introduce them, having “gone a darker shade of green.”

“The Doctor might have mentioned me?” “Oh, yeah. Oh yeah, of course he has. Professor Song! Sorry, it's just I never realized you were a woman.” (from Clara)

Actually both

This could mean many things (i.e. open marriage with boundaries which are violated), but potentially, all the same evidence from prior arguments! With a shade of “Our lives are back to front.”

In the mini-episodes First Night/Last Night, when River, having burst into the TARDIS and pretended to faint, mistakes her past self for another woman the Doctor's hiding from her, she openly expresses jealousy.

“Doctor. Have you brought someone else here? Does anyone agree to wear that dress? Where is she!” “River, think it through!” “This happened the last time we were here. You brought someone else!” “No I didn’t!” “Yes you did, I heard you talking to her!”

However, when a third and significantly older version of River makes the same mistake, she no longer expresses jealousy, but rather curiosity, which could at least signal a shift in how she sees their marriage.

Maybe there was a conversation that happened. Maybe it slipped the Doctor's mind when he forgot Clara.

Actually neither

This could also mean multiple things, but one of those things is this. The Doctor is a widower from the start. Likewise, River is well aware of Doctor's death on Trenzalore, “of course River would know, she's always known,” having been raised to prevent those events, and having refused to be bound by that destiny.

How can fidelity be defined the same way for time travelers? Everyone's spouses are dead somewhen. River understands the paradox of her husband's existence better than anyone. To quote The Day of the Doctor Novelization yet again…

‘Because you live in a time machine. All of history is still happening outside those doors. On a good night that means everyone you ever met is still alive and you can’t wait to see them again. On a bad night, it means everyone’s dead, and you want to charge around the universe, pretending you can do something about that.’ She looked up at me. ‘I know which version of you I prefer.’ 

And there she was, so alive again. I remembered her, twisted, burnt and dead, in the depths of The Library. ‘What if there are people who died because of me?’ I asked. ‘What if there are people I should have saved?’

‘People die. All people, everywhere. We grieve and we move on. That is how we respect the dead. That is how we forgive ourselves in their presence and their absence.’

Please feel free to add anything I missed!

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Forgive me Peter, my lost fearless leader In closets like cedar, preserved from when we were just kids Is it something I did?

This sounds like a person she'd written about reverently, capturing the memories from their youth and put away for safekeeping, too delicate to be out year-round and exposed to the elements that cause wear and tear.

(I know people have opinions on who the songs are about and everything, I'm just offering an interpretation.)

Putting under a cut for those who don't care for muse talk which I've generally tried to avoid on main lately for reasons

That could obviously be applied to any number of muses we know about, but it to me, put this way, it strikes me that that sounds like how Joe figured in her music over the years.

Joe entered her discography as an honourable man, the one who was high above the whole scene, who stood by her and liked her for her, her port in the storm and the bright spot in a very dark time in her life. And those memories are now recorded for all time in her music. Their coming of age has come and gone and their youth is preserved forever in albums like reputation and Lover.

But, just like that wool sweater you put away after winter or the wedding dress you can't part with, those memories had to be delicately cared for, put away in the cedar closet to prevent moths from chewing through and the fabric from disintegrating. Or, in other words, what's saved in the music are moments of time, the dreams spun under a set of circumstances that couldn't last yearlong.

And what also couldn't brave the elements was the painting she created of their relationship. The man who was her guiding light in a storm withered away to one who resented her and lost his way in their relationship. She once looked to him to help orient herself and their life together, but somewhere along the way their ships found different paths. Perhaps as though someone who once stood by their convictions as a guiding force somehow retreated into themselves and their demons.

The "is it something I did?" always kind of gets me, because it's the "what if/what happened?" questioning of herself that's found in so many other songs. (Namely to me, How Did It End?) What is she wondering? Is it something she did that caused him to lose his way? Is it something she did that made him never meet her where she was? Was there something she could have done to hold on longer, or make the candle burn brighter? There's so much said in so little and you can feel the sorrow seep through even in just a few lines.

I'm fully aware that the song can be interpreted in so many other ways about other muses so I'm not saying I'm right by any means. (For instance, I know it's also interpreted to be about a long-lost love which applies to... someone else. Which is fair!) It's just how the song struck me! And now I've said my piece and am ready to slink back into a muse-free zone lol.

[goldendoodlerlockerlove]

Okay, so, for a little context, @drawthething once asked me what wedding I think Gene would have. And I decided that he would have a huge, jungle-themed wedding. And in my opinion, he might even be the only Belcher who would want to have a huge, stereotypical wedding with a gigantic reception and after-party and everything, the whole shebang.

Okay, obviously, Louise wouldn't want to have a huge, stereotypical wedding like Gene would. If she even gets married at all (I could honestly see her being one of those types who never gets married to her partner and they just date forever, and leave the government out of their relationship) she would have a very simple, lowkey wedding with just a few people in attendance. Sort of like Bob and Linda's. And I could even see Tina, the hopeless romantic, wanting something a little more lowkey for her wedding. She would definitely have one, but I could see her just having a nice, simple ceremony at a chapel or something.

But anyway, like I said, Gene would be the opposite. He would want everyone who he's even given a passing glance at his wedding. He'd want the whole world to know he's devoting his life to his special someone. And of course, Sergeant Bosco would somehow be there too and would get super drunk and try to arrest a fern. That isn't that relevant, but it would definitely happen at Gene's wedding.

Gene would be the one that Linda would sew a huge wedding dress for, and the entire family would be very excited for him, and also very emotional. All in all, it would be a beautiful wedding.

And Gloria and Al aren't invited. Also not that relevant, but it would also definitely happen in my eyes. They're not allowed.

[ID]: Digital fanart of a slightly older Gene from Bob's Burgers. He is standing with a huge smile on his face, with his hair tied into an intricate bun. His arms are crossed on his chest, with his hands resting there, and he is wearing a beautiful, ornate wedding dress with a few layers. It is a classic white color as well. He is standing in front of a complicated, jungle-themed background, with tables that have all sorts of tropical plants in the vases. Many lights are hanging from the ceiling, which is complemented by even more tropical plants coming down from the ceiling. It can be assumed that he's getting married.

[misguided-ghostz]

I love the idea that everyone gets involved when Zuko and Katara finally decide to get married. They decide to get married in the Fire Nation but make sure to include customs from the Water Tribe. This causes Sokka to be way too involved. Katara as already decided to wear her mom's old wedding dress because she just couldn’t say no to her grandma along with knowing her dad would be happy to see her use it. Suki and Toph help Katara with her vows and picking out jewelry. Aang and Sokka help Zuko pick out wedding bands. Even Azula gives Zuko her opinion on Zuko's vow and what he should wear and what should be included in the ceremony because " Not because I actually care, but I don't what you disgracing what is left of the royal family", so she claims.

Along with pleasing the fire court and sages, almost all decisions somehow need to be run by Sokka because he has an opinion on EVERYTHING. From the time the ceremony starts, what direction guest should be facing, should Zuko be standing 5cm to the left or 2 cm to the right to get the perfect lighting for pictures.

A week before the wedding it all became way too stressful for Zuko and Katara. They just want to be married and start their life together but everyone (specifically Sokka) has become way to invested and what they wanted to be a simple ceremony has somehow become the social event of the century. This is why 3 days before the big day Zuko and Katara disappear.

While Sokka is having a mild cardiac event and the fire court is in shambles. Zuko and Katara escape to Ember Island.

''I wish we could stay here forever, without having to worry about any crazy wedding planning" hums Katara while laying in Zuko's arms on one of the private beaches of Ember Island.

" I know my love, but duty calls Fire Lady Katara"

"Future Fire Lady Katara. If we even make it in time for our own wedding or the fire sage don't burn us both alive for running away"

"I'm more concerned about your brother killing both of us"

"Oh god. I know that marrying the FIRE LORD would never have allowed us to just have a simple wedding but how did we let it become this giant circus orchestrated by Sokka. I'm pretty sure I overheard him discussing where to place a box of fireworks before we ran off"

" We love are family and they just wanted to give us the best, Kitkat'

" I know but my dream wedding you be just me and you here on the beach. No one else"

With that, a lightbulb goes off in Zuko's head and he slowly gets up and brings Katara up to her feet.

" Marry Me Katara"

" I was supposed to tomorrow but we ran away if you didn't remember" Katara chuckles.

" Sorry. I meant marry me right now"

"What?"

" There's an old chapel on the other side of the island run by an old fire sage who retired a few years ago. We go right now and get married"

" We can't"

" Why not?"

" Be..be..because..."

"You're right we have allowed this whole wedding to be turned into a circus to please our families, but this is our marriage. This should have always been something we planned together something between just me and you. Why can't we be selfish this one time. Let's get married right now. Our vows should be between us anyways not spilled out in front of the entire Fire Nation when doves are flying around and fireworks going off"

Katara stays silent for a few moments too many to make Zuko comfortable.

"Kitkat?"

"Ok"

"OK?"

"YES! Let's do it!" Katara yells as she jumps into Zuko's arms

"Let's do it" Zuko catches her and smiles.

And with that Zuko and Katara get married just the two of them and and fire sage (who promises to keep it between them) in an old broken down chapel on Ember Island. Tears streaming down both their faces as they make their promise and vows to be together forever, through thick and thin, just the two of them.

They make it back in time for their "actual" wedding the next morning. Sokka spots them first walking hand and hand down a palace hallway. Beyond pissed but just happy they are finally back in the palace, Sokka rushes them to get ready as they quietly whisper ( Bye Wife/ Bye Husband) as they are separated. Luckily, Sokka doesn't hear them.

Later that night they are officially presented as Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady Katara in front of their family, friends, and Fire Nation. Sokka and the rest of their family forever questioning why they always celebrate their anniversary a day early.

[violetsareblue-selfships]

Forever Hand-in-Hand

Ship: Scaramouche/Keito x April | Word Count: 752 | Warnings/Tags: Sappy, wedding fic, hehehe <3

A/N: This is it - we're married now <3 Was planning to just write out vows or something but this little fic came to mind this morning so <3 I hope you enjoy it~ <3

As soon as they take the last step across the aisle, Keito gently tugs on April's hand, making her giggle as she lets him lead her to a tree overlooking their venue. Their friends had practically insisted on being the ones to set up the reception party, and both of them are aware that the others will come looking for them when they're needed.

But for now, they deserve a little moment to themselves.

It is their special day after all.

"Hi," April says with a soft giggle as he corners her against the tree, close enough that one more step would have her putting the pretty lace of her wedding dress up against the bark.

"Hi," Keito echoes, a soft smile stretched across his face, for once not shy about how ardently he adores the woman in his arms. "I'm sure you know this but you look beautiful…"

Her eyes widen, a pleased smile spreading across her face along with that blush he's always so fond of. Still, he doesn't let her respond as he leans in close to her ear. "Regardless of whether I need air to survive or not, you took my breath away, ember," He whispers in her ear, chuckling softly as he hears her heart racing faster and the subtle way her breath catches.

Her cheeks are an even brighter shade of pink when he pulls back, his expression softening further as he realizes from this close that her eyeshadow (while a pretty shade of dark blue) has been done to resemble how he usually wears his.

"You look pretty beautiful yourself," She murmurs, her eyes tracing the folds of his kimono -- a pretty blue and purple design that suits him incredibly well in her opinion.

"Mm." It's clear that he's pleased by her words, that smile still making her heart flutter no matter how many times she sees it. The dusting of pink along his cheeks has her wanting to lean in and kiss him, but a small part of her knows that if she starts that, she won't want to stop.

That's better suited for when he inevitably pulls her away from the reception later. There's still pictures to be taken, and it won't be long until she'll switch into the dress chosen for their reception.

His hands gently settle on her waist, drawing her out of her thoughts, a knowing smile resting on his face. "Later," He murmurs, seemingly reading her mind as he always does.

There's plenty of words he wants to tell her, some of which he managed to convey in his vows, while others seem impossible to put into words. He wants to tell her that he felt like crying the second he saw her coming up the aisle, that he nearly did as she expressed her vows to him.

Somehow, he's certain she already knows, and if not, he'll have plenty of time to tell her tonight. For now, his hand slides down her arm and he gently presses two fingertips to the place her pulse flutters under her skin, his smile softening further as he feels what he's been hearing this whole time.

"I love you, ember," Keito murmurs, feeling a trace of shyness at those words which have become so easy for him to say. "Or should I be calling you 'my wife' now?" He asks teasingly, not expecting the way it makes him smile to say those words.

She's really his. In a way that everyone would recognize, his ring sitting pretty on her finger for all to see.

It feels far too good to be true.

April giggles beautifully at his words, her cheeks returning to that pretty shade of pink from earlier. "I love you too, Keito," She murmurs, the name that she'd chosen for him making this all-the-more special in her eyes. "My husband…"

It seems to delight her just as much, and he wants to tug her close and never let go of her. Later. He already plans on falling asleep with her wrapped up in his arms (or maybe with him in hers - he's not picky).

The two newlyweds stay curled up together, enjoying the moment of peace while their friends finish setting up the reception. And yet, neither of them seems to notice a pyro crystalfly fluttering over the tree they're under, the same one that had spun around April as she walked down the aisle.

Both are ready to celebrate day one of their forever with each other.