#lost wedding ring

[snailsandpuppy-dogtails]

Stop. Stop. Stop. Ohmygodwhat? Stop.

Gianmarco Tamberi, Italian high jumper, upon losing his wedding ring to the Seine while serving as Italy's flag olympic bearer yesterday:

"I'm sorry my love, I'm so sorry. Too much water, too many kgs lost in the past few months or maybe the uncontrollable enthusiasm of what we were doing. Probably all three things, just the fact that I heard it parade, I saw it fly...I followed hr with a glance until I saw her bouncing inside the boat. A glimmer of hope...but unfortunately the bounce was in the wrong direction and floating more than a thousand times in the air I saw her dive into the water like that was the only place she wanted to be. A few moments that lasted and eternity. But if it was meant to happen, if I'm really going to lose this faith, I couldn't imagine a better place. It will stay forever in the riverbed of the city of love, flown away while I tried to carry the Italian Tricolor as high as possible during the opening ceremony of the most important sporting event in the world. If I had to invent and excuse I would never have been this imaginative. I think there might be a huge poetic side to yesterday's misdeed, and if you want, we'll throw yours into that river, too, so they'll be together forever, and we'll have one more excuse to, like you've always asked, renew our vows and get married to new. I love you my love ❤️ May it be auspicious to come home with even bigger gold!!!"

[sugawara--san]

me seeing all the romantic things happening at the paris olympics: what if that was [insert haikyuu ship]

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

[wrylu]

[serailovesbagelsetc]

I really don’t know why this scene is so funny to me,all I know is that every time I see it I giggle like a baby seeing a dog for the first time. I mean he didn’t make a single effort to appear normal or chill. He’s looking into the distance like he’s communicating with a ghost. She’s trying to comfort?congratulate?say hi?displace? him.He looks like he’s at a party where he doesn’t know anyone. She does not want to be around his creepy ass but is being nice.I mean wtf is all this

on another note, does anyone know exactly HOW LARGE this man is because what I’m seeing here with my own eyeballs seems impossible

[vaguely-concerned]

kremy 'assigned elderly citizen by the witchlight carnival' lecroux

[youknowwhoiamassbutt]

Something that breaks my heart is the thought of Shanks and Buggy deciding to get married when they were kids. They had a whole mini-ceremony with just the two of them. They stole some rings from a town they passed through. They exchanged vows. They proclaimed it the beginning of their new family and new life, part of their promise to go to Laugh Tale together. They didn't really have a strong understanding of what marriage was back then, but they did understand it as a lifelong promise of loyalty. So years later, after Roger had died and Buggy had left, after they were both forced to start life anew without each other, neither of them were able to take their rings off. Buggy still wore his every day, Shanks had lost his with his arm, lying somewhere at the bottom of the ocean in sea creature poop. Losing the ring was almost as hard as losing the limb. So when they finally see each other again, Buggy's distressed at seeing Shanks without his arm of course, but what really hits him in the gut, what shakes him to his core, is the lack of their ring, their promise quite literally ripped away. Another accidental, unintentional, and completely not Shanks's fault betrayal.

[souenkun]

I had a nice talk with @teriiblog about my aokabu being married fic, and although we got kabu's hand placement wrong in our excitement, it still got me thinking: what if, after aokabu got married, kabu changed his battle pose by laying his left hand (with his wedding ring on!) over his heart, instead of his right one (which showed the galar league symbol on his glove)? It could become a way for kabu to show his devotion for larry, even if they could still live in their respective regions after tying the knot? 😭💖

Kabu could keep this very same battle pose, just that he'll exchange his right hand over his left one! 🥺🥺🥺 the galar league might not mind it too, especially if this change in kabu's pose takes place in leon's leadership! 💗

[puppyeared]

valentines day pkmn wip ^_^

[queenofbaws]

a detail that DELIGHTED me when first playing the sh2 remake:

how very, very prominent the tanline from james's wedding ring is on his character model

the thought that is driving me to MADNESS tonight:

how very, very prominent the abandoned wedding ring is in the heaven's night lost and found

[you-have-been-frizzled]

Kesline kisses (for better quality click on the image)

tag list under the cut (ask to be added or removed)

@stopstealingtomatoes @crymeariveronceagain @honey-the-dinosaur-ate-our-kid @winterfireice @the-one-and-only-aroace @official-kenralie-fanbase @xanadaus

[verfound]

FIC: "Of (Maybe, Finally) a Wedding" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

The last in the series, I swear

Read on Ao3

Prompt 57: Fortune

This could not be happening again.

There was no way in hell he was this unlucky.

He was marrying Ladybug – Lady Luck herself! – in just under an hour!  He could not be this cursed!

“…she’s going to kill me,” he groaned as he stared into the definitely, very, no doubt about it empty box in his hand.  He dropped back onto his old bunk, barely aware of the rock of the boat around him.  Barely aware of anything beyond the fact that he had lost the fucking ring.

Again.

“Bullshit,” Juleka said, peering over his shoulder.  “She hasn’t yet, and you’ve given her ample reason to.”

“Thank you so much, beloved sister, you are encouraging as ever,” he groaned, slumping forward to land his head in his other hand.  The one holding the empty ring box dropped between his knees, and he groaned as his fingers twisted in his bangs – then groaned again when Juleka batted at his hand, trying to stop him before he undid all her hard work.  “Juleka!”

“Luka!” she snapped back.  “Do you have any idea how much product I had to use to get that damn cowlick to stay flat?  I’m not about to let you mess up your hair now.”

“Yeah,” Dingo snickered from the other side of the cabin, where he was busy adjusting his tie.  “That’s Mari’s job later.”

“…disgusting,” Juleka sniffed.  “But accurate.”

“I don’t think either of us are really going to care about my hair in…oh my God. Thirty minutes.  Thirty minutes,” he gulped, looking up and staring in horror at his best men (well, technically Juleka was his best man, but no one had been able to convince Dingo of that).  “She’s going to be here in thirty minutes and I lost the fucking rings.”

“Breathe, dumbass,” Juleka sighed, rubbing his back.  It felt too stiff, but that might have been the suit.  Why had he agreed to this it was all going to pot Marinette was going to take one look at the too-stiff suit and ringless box and leave him on sight.  “Where do you remember having them last?”

“In the box!  Last night!” he cried.  “I was double-checking everything just so this didn’t happen!”

“So is it possible maybe you grabbed the wrong box?” Dingo asked.  Luka blinked at him, his eyes narrowing, and he shrugged like it was a perfectly valid option.

“Exactly how many ring boxes do you think I have lying around, Dingus?” he asked.

“Oi, now, no need for all that,” Dingo said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked over.  Luka wondered what it meant, if both Dingo and Juleka looked better in their suits than he did.  Even the mohawk – which usually clashed with everything – was working with the dark blue color.  “’Sides, don’t Mari make jewelry, too?  You could have a lot of extra little boxes lying around.”

…he had a point, but Luka wasn’t about to admit that.  Besides, all of Marinette’s extra little boxes were usually kept in her studio, and the rings hadn’t been in her studio since…well, since the night she had finished them and first tasked him with keeping them safe until the ceremony.

He’d had one job, damn it, and he’d gone and fucked it up.  Again.

“Maybe they fell out?” Dingo continued, poking the empty box.  “They’re probably back at your flat, Lulu.  I can pop over lickity-split and be back in plenty of time for the vows.”

“…the vows,” Luka gasped, his eyes widening again.  Oh God, the vows…Marinette was going to hate his.  He was terrible with words – what was he thinking, opting to write his own?!

“…ooook,” Dingo said, nodding.  He looked up at Juleka, who looked entirely too amused for her own good.  “You make sure he doesn’t jump ship.  Handle…this.  I’ll go get the rings.”

“Good luck,” Juleka said, though from her tone – from the absolute wreck losing his shit on the bed – Dingo honestly wasn’t sure which one of them needed it more.

– V –

Two.  Hours.

The wedding was supposed to start two hours ago.

And Luka was no calmer than he had been half an hour before it was supposed to start – or even at the exact time it was supposed to start, when Dingo still hadn’t made it back and he was getting a text from Marinette claiming there had been a slight emergency, no need to panic, she’d be there soon.

And Juleka had received a text from Rose ordering her to stall, they needed more time, get Jagged playing or something!

He supposed he should be grateful it was a small wedding on his ma’s boat, and that the only guests were a handful of family and close friends, but that wasn’t stopping the panic from clawing at his throat.

Marinette was standing him up.

She’d heard about the rings, realized he was a lost cause, and…

“Sorry!”

His head snapped up as he stopped his pacing, and there she was.

…dress-less?

She was…running towards him in the most bizarre getup.  She was…still wearing her pajamas?  The ones Rose had specially bedazzled for their hen night, with the pink tank top with the rhinestone BRIDE stamped across the chest.  (He did not know about the matching rhinestones on her ass, which had their guests cackling as she raced forward with PROPERTY OF L.L.C. stamped across her backside.)  And pink, fuzzy flip-flops.  Her veil was blowing behind her as she ran, one of her hands holding it in place as she waved at him, and then she was there, grabbing for his hand and grinning.

“You are never going to believe the day I’ve had,” she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.  She turned out to the small gathering, all staring at her with wide eyes and open mouths, and waved.  “Sorry, everyone!  I know, I know – I’m so late.  Classic Marinette, right?”

There was a smattering of laughs, but she still winced as she turned back to him.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, stepping closer.  “There��was a series of accidents.  You would think Plagg had a field day at Juleka and Rose’s – the fire was the least of problems.  Jocelyn’s impending termination and murder are still on the table.”

“…fire?” he asked, his mouth dropping open.  Like a fire – and not Marinette threatening to murder her beloved assistant – was what had really shocked him.  She reached up to close it, her smile softening as her finger ran along his chin.  “Marinette –”

“We’re all fine,” she said.  “The dress…is not, and I’m sorry for that.  Well.  It might still be – the backup dress was the one that caught fire.  My actual dress…”

She bit her lip and looked down, shaking her head as if she was trying to erase some unpleasant memory.

“Marinette?” he asked, laying his hand on her cheek.  She shook her head again and grinned at him.

“Joce will find it,” she insisted.  “It’s not her fault I stupidly put it in one of my usual garment bags.  Anyone could have made that mistake, right?”

“…she gave your dress to a client?” he asked, his eyes widening again.  She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but he knew her.  He knew it had to be killing her – she had worked so hard on that dress.  He hadn’t even been allowed to see the designs for it, because ‘bad luck’ or whatever.

“I was really looking forward to you seeing it,” she sighed.  She leaned up, and he bent obediently so she could whisper in his ear.  “I was really looking forward to you removing it.”

…she had tried to say it low enough that only he could hear, but his ma had damnably good hearing for a former rock star who should have gone deaf years ago and had heard every word.  She threw her head back with a raucous laugh, but Marinette was still grinning at him as her cheeks turned pink.

“…nevermind,” she said, tucking some hair behind her ear.  “She’ll find the dress, and we can worry about it later.  This will have to do for now, right?  At least I’m here.  So…can we just get married already?”

…and yeah, she was there.

But Dingo still wasn’t.

“I’d be more’n glad to, lass,” the Captain laughed as Marinette turned towards her.  He shot a desperate look over Marinette’s head to his sister, but Juleka just rolled her eyes and gestured for him to turn like the missing rings didn’t matter.

The hell they didn’t…

“Wait!” he cried, tightening his grip on her hand.  She turned back to him, frowning, and he sighed.  “We can’t.  Not…not yet.”

“Luka?” she asked, squeezing his hand.  “What’s wrong?”

“Just marry her already, dumbass,” Juleka hissed, but he shook his head.  “Before she gets smart and changes her mind!”

“Marinette…darning…I…” he started, but then Dingo was swinging onto the deck like a bad Tarzan impersonator????

…he was a Couffaine.

Chaos was in his blood.

But surely there was a point where…well…wasn’t this too much chaos?

“Not objecting!” he hollered as he landed on deck.  He held up the rings, his manic grin somehow even more insane than usual.  “Got ‘em, mate!”

“…what?” Marinette asked as Luka groaned, dropping his head into his hands.  Dingo blinked at her before lifting his shades – a custom blue and pink pair he had ordered just for their wedding.  They even had ‘BEST DINGO’ stamped along the legs (in rhinestones, of course, thank you, Rose).

“Ain’t you a bit underdressed, baby girl?” he asked, squinting at her pajamas.  “Pretty sure you’re supposed to be the one in the big, fancy dress.”

“We’re not talking about the dress!” Rose screeched as she came running up the gangway.  “Oh my God, what is wrong with this city?!  Traffic –”

“I know, right?!” Dingo cried, turning to her.  “Stupid Mayor Bourgeois and his reelection parade – nobody wants you anymore, André!”

He had spun back towards the shore, raising a fist to shake at the city, and Luka wondered if he’d be justified in shoving his Best Dingo overboard.

…after he got the rings back, of course.

“…oi, lads,” the Captain whispered, leaning over to the bride and groom.  “We sure this not be the dress rehearsal?”

Marinette shook her head, laughed, and grabbed his hands.  And suddenly, with her smiling at him like that, the rest of it just…didn’t matter.  Because it was her – it was them – and what more had he ever wanted?

“…I forgot the rings,” he whispered, leaning in.  She laughed, and if that wasn’t his favorite sound in the entire world…

“Star,” she whispered back, dipping her chin towards her chest, “I forgot my entire dress.  I think we’re good.  You ready to do this?”

…God, yeah.  He really was.

(Later, after one hell of a kiss and too much cheering and not enough cake, she’d chide him for freaking out about the rings again.

“You know I’d have my craft bag on me,” she’d tell him, rolling her eyes.  “Or the Captain would have some spare rope somewhere.  I could have whipped something up until we found the real things.”

He supposed he should have known that, in the end.  He was marrying Marinette Du…Couffaine, after all, and she was just kind of amazing like that.)

[minty-mumbles]

Literally frothing at the mouth rn wishing there were more fics about cultural differences between the LU boys

[tethrras]

lucanis this davrin that. i'm forgetting my roots.

[misslavenderlady]

If David had been there instead of Star...

[scoundrels-in-love]

Something that's neither word vomit nor fic for @frappeflamingo who inspired me with this post and for @cosmixseerart who also wanted essay (and arguably, made far better one in the tags).

Tri-gun Stampede Mashwood agenda prevails.

----

To say all of them are restless sleepers would be an understatement. She can count the times all three of them slept through the night without waking from nightmares (memories) or merely because, on one hand. 

It is often Meryl that wakes up first, if merely by virtue of being temporarily squished by one of the men wrapped around her. One of the many dubious benefits of being ‘pocket sized’ as Wolfwood puts it - if she sleeps between them, they can hold her and each other at the same time. It’s not as if most beds are meant to hold three adults, either. 

Still, occasional ache in her bad shoulder through the day from where Vash or Nico crushed her into their chest is a small price to pay for the quiet, soft mornings like the one she’s coming to. (She’s paid so much more for no other reason than she dared to keep what she loved.)

It can’t be long past the sunrise and it’s been a peaceful week, so there’s no need to wake the men, hurrying to leave the tiny town in early hours before someone has thought too long just where they might’ve seen the blonde’s face before, or the silent telephone reaches far worse people. 

Maybe today, she and Vash will succeed in letting Wolfwood sleep in. Lately, it is as if the sleep debt of years has been catching up to him and he can cycle through several four-five hour blackouts and a few minutes of wakefulness between them. They must fool his sleep-addled senses to believe they’re still asleep, though, or he shakes it off and insists on getting the day started. Vash has her beat with twenty seven to fourteen, but she’s determined to catch up. 

Right now, the cause of their competition is snoring away into the crook of her neck, tickling her just so with his breath. In an attempt to escape the torture, but not wake Nico, she turns her head to the side and makes the tiniest wiggle toward Vash. He sighs softly, snuggling into her chest deeper, and she runs soothing fingers through his hair. It’s a victory of sorts, that they can touch him with intent now and he won’t wake up with a start. 

Yet another sign of domestication, as Wolfwood calls it derisively. 

Like the Punisher leaning against the wall tilted just so, as if almost reaching for the bedside table where her and Vash's guns are resting side by side.  He hasn't fussed over its placement being perfect and in arms reach upon waking in a while. 

Like her earring in Vash's ear that looks so good, swaying and glinting as he moves, laughs (genuinely), that it makes her want to bite. (And sometimes she does: tugs on the silver just so with her teeth, eliciting a breathy sigh underlaid with chest rumble that vibrates under her palm, unique to just him.) In the same way, Nico likes to run his thumb down the shell of her ear, brush over his own earring there. His, even though he bought it specifically for her to wear and he bears Vash’s from the day of piercing his ear. 

Like the way she says, thinks, we so often these days. Meryl's never been good at belonging. Not in her family or community, not even with crowds at University or the average, tired run of the mill news reporters at the agency. She's always been restless, wanting more or something different, as if to pacify the loneliness that has been chasing her, hiding in the sharp midday shadows. 

But here, in this moment, she is content and home in a way that has given genuine definition to it, not just a string of words she's known, but not felt. 

Meryl’s gaze lingers on the guns, a whisper of an ache trickling into her chest, like a string with glass beads slowly curling in pretty lines with more and more weight. She knows enough from Nicholas’ halted stories, from the confession that had clawed its way out of Vash one night, leaving him open and waiting for their damnation. She knows that all of them came at the cost of something severed, a connection broken beyond comprehension and the last vestiges of childhood blown away like smoke. She, too, had lost her last guidance the day that derringer came to her and often, she wonders what would Roberto think of the times she’s fired it. He’d scoff a little, take a sip and, in the end, say “not too bad for a rookie”, maybe.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? They’ve all paid the price and, in the end, decided not to pay it forward, best they can. Their individual tactics might fail at times, their work is not perfect and can’t be, with what they’re facing, but they’re damn well trying.

Three guns against the world. Three guns for the world.

Three guns of the Stampede, she thinks sleepily content. It wouldn’t be too bad a title for a book about them, one day.