wedding finery

anonymous asked:

Imperial Problem Child-verse. When Han and Leia get married, it's already going to be a royal wedding. Do they end up trying to balance Imperial, Naboo, and Rebel traditions​ with Alderaani and Corellian ones?

Knowing those two, they probably sneaked off with like a handful of their closest friends and eloped in a private ceremony on Naboo. Bonus irony points if the Naberrie family was like “oh you kids should use the lake house for the ceremony.”

They let everyone else know in a memo later. The secret service was pulling their hair out, the news was going crazy, and Vader was out sparring with Luke in the courtyard like “Honestly I don’t know what I was expecting, but apparently some things are genetic. Either that or my mother-in-law is very very sneaky.”

Fic: The Outlaw’s Lady

Part three

I struggled with this part, in part because it was just hard to really find what I wanted to do with it, and in part because  I woke up at 5am this morning with a plot for an entirely different story in my head which made it even harder to come back and write this. 

I won’t rule out there being other parts to this story, but I won’t make promises on it either.

Feedback is always appreciated :-)

Part 1 Part 2

He closed the door behind them shutting out the sounds of revelry coming from the floors below. Claire was perched on the end of the bed. She felt suddenly nervous. Not afraid to be alone with him, she knew she would never have cause to fear the man stood in front of her, but charged. Every cell in her body was zinging in anticipation and expectation. Her demure posture was as much to do with trying to prevent herself from visibly shaking from desire as any real coyness on her part. She raised her head and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. She had never seen a sight of such wonder as James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser in his wedding finery. And now here they were, in their wedding chamber. Jamie met her gaze steadily, though she could tell his breathing was uneven, even with the distance of the room between them. Was it really only four days since they stood in another inn, in another bedroom staring at each other, eyes filled with desire, shaking with the intensity of their want for each other?

Jamie and Murtagh had been right. Dougal was not entirely happy with the the news his nephew planned to take the ‘Sassenach spy’ to wife, but there was very little he could actually do to prevent it. So in the end he had not tried, reluctantly admitting that it may actually be a sound plan, changing Claire as it did, from an English woman to a Scot and increasing the influence of Clan MacKenzie over her. Jamie had also privately admitted that his taking of an English wife would also effectively put an end to any discussions as to whether he might succeed as laird at the death of Colum, something which Jamie, Dougal and Colum would all breath easier knowing.

Arrangements were made, a church and priest found who would marry them on the road (‘Best get it done and over with before we get back to Leoch’ had been Dougal’s pragmatic approach), a dress procured, a ring bought.

And there she found herself for the second time in her life reciting vows of matrimony. She had been happy the first time, when she has married Frank. A nineteen year old girl, he the dashing History professor. She had loved him once, she allowed herself that admission, but even in those heady pre-war days when she had thought him all she could ever desire it paled when she placed those feelings next to those she had for Jamie. There was simply no comparison between a love that, although sincere, is ordinary and that which is extraordinary. And that is what she had found with Jamie. A love which was extraordinary. That touched her to the very core of her being, that allowed her to know herself in ways she had never known were possible. That allowed her to know Jamie in the very depths of her soul.

‘Claire.’ His voice was hesitant. ‘Claire, is everything alright, lass? Evidently her reminiscences had shown on her face, but she smiled at him now and the shadows of the past cleared. She stood and raised her head, looking him clear in the eye. The invitation was unmistakable and after no more than a moment of hesitation he stepped towards her closing the distance between them in no more than a few strides. She reached up and ran her fingers along his strong jaw and her closed his eyes, shuddering slightly with the contact. She raised herself onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. The kiss was soft and chaste but communicated a multitude of emotions, desire long held in check chief amongst them.

She set back down on her heels and looked up at him. He held her gaze and she felt something ignite within her. “Claire.” he spoke her name again, his voice catching as he did so. For her own part she she felt mildly drunk, having him in such close proximity to her was intoxicating. He placed a large hand on the nape of her neck and kissed her tenderly. His other hand came round her back and she could feel the heat and weight of it on her. He pulled her closer to him, their kiss deepening and their bodies pressed flush together down their fronts. She broke the kiss panting pulling frantically at her gown and laces. She needed to be much closer to him than the huge hooped skirt and endless petticoats would allow. He stilled her with another kiss.

“Maybe I could help you with your laces and the such?” She could tell Jamie meant the question to be nonchalant but the slight wobble in his voice coupled with the frantic bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallowed betrayed his nerves. It occurred to her then, that with the exception of that one frantic night in the inn he had never undressed a woman before. That night carried away in their passion as they were they had given it little thought, moved only by the need to touch, to feel, to devour the other. But now. Now they were man and wife. Now they would each take the other to their bed and finish what they had begun that fateful night, before the confessions and declarations which had brought them to where they stood now.

Claire vaguely wished that Jamie had not been so noble on that night. That the first time he took her had been in unthinking passion. She ached for him now, but there was also fear. Fear that he would find her lacking, fear that they would not be able to find their way back to that moment.

‘Skirts first’ she announced abruptly, her attempts to master herself invariably manifesting as assertiveness. She swiveled on one foot so her back was to him. She had already shed the outer layer of the gown earlier and so his hands reached for the laces of her underskirts. His hands were deft and sure as he unlaced each layer in turn until she was once again dressed only in her stays, shift and stockings. Very gently he ran a single finger down her neck and along her shoulder. She felt the gooseflesh rise on her skin with the sensation. Reaching up again her gently removed the pins that had been holding her wild hair in check. It cascaded around her shoulders and she felt him bury his face in it.

“Mo Nighean Donn” he breathed into the masses of her hair “My brown haired lass. Mo Graidgh, Mo Chridhe” She leaned back against him, savouring the tickle of his breath in her ear as he murmured those endearments into them. Gently he turned her back to face him and raised her chin so that gold eyes met blue. “My love, my heart” he whispered, his face so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his words against her lips. He kissed her again then. And she kissed him back. He pulled at the laces of her stays and tugged her free of them. He placed his hands on her upper arms and moved her away from him slightly so that he could see her. His eyes were cloudy with desire and he raised his hand as if to touch her. He wavered there, as if unsure. She reached out and took his hand bringing it to her breast. Both exhaled audibly.

“My turn now” she breathed, reaching for his belt. She had barely gotten it undone when he pulled her to him and kissed her. There was no hesitation, no chasteness in this kiss. She tangled her hands in his hair as their tongues danced together and they panted into each others mouths. One handed, Jamie rid himself of the rest of his kilt and lifted her bodily from the floor and laid her on the bed. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she attempted to pull his shirt off over his head without breaking their kiss and they laughed briefly as they fought to free him from the tangle of fabric he found himself caught up in. Her shift was round her middle as she lay panting beneath him. His lips were on her breasts, his tongue teasing the nipple and making her call out. His hand slid up her thigh until it came between her legs. He let out a moan as his hand made contact with the warm wetness there. He stroked her gently making her back arch and her breath come faster and faster. She called out his name and went rigid. She pulled him to her then. Once again wrapping her legs around him.

“Jamie” she called, urging him with thrusts of her hips. He came into her slowly. His eyes closed his mouth moving as if in silent prayer. When he was fully sheathed, he held himself still, raised up on his arms. Claire reached up to him and pulled him down to her. Her tongue flickered out against his lips and she ran her rands down the hard length of his body until she reached his tensed buttocks. She pulled him to her, gasping his name into his ear. He began to move, slowly and gently at first, but soon harder and faster. Their cries mingled together and he raised up on his knees, pulling her up with him until she straddled his lap. Both of them were slick with sweat as they moved together, closer and closer to the edge, before with a cry she tumbled over, bringing him with her.

The collapsed forward each supporting the weight of the other, as they attempted to return to themselves. Claire cried hot, wet tears into the warmth of Jamie’s shoulder, the intensity of feeling both emotional and physical, overcoming her completely. Jamie stroked her as he breathed into her hair, not entirely in control of himself either. He had known it would be good, had know with her it would be wonderful, but he still found himself shaken to his very soul at the very strength of what he had felt.

He shifted position, so they were both lying facing each other, their arms wrapped around one another and their legs entwined. They lay there in silence just breathing the other in, touching, stroking.

“Was it like you expected?” she asked him after the longest time.

He looked at her.

“Better” he said with a wry grin.

“Would you like to do it again?”

He laughed then, a deep belly laugh which made her feel warm to her toes with the sound of it.

“Oh aye, lass, I think I can be persuaded”

He pulled her up on top of him then and kissed her whilst her curtain of hair fell around them. And then he loved her, and she loved him and there were no regrets.

anonymous asked:

My fave quote from the Irish Sun's article about the wedding - Stevie Wonder, Niall Horan and Coldplay singer Chris Martin are staying in the lodge on the castle’s grounds. The trio left at around 4:30 pm and made their way over to the ceremony, which was due to begin at 5 pm. - Picture that trio casually chatting, dressed in their wedding finery! God I wish they'd allowed the guests to snapchat.

STOP?? I’M LAUGHING but i’m also, like, DAMN, what a nice party!! i bet niall’s having the time of his life hanging out with what seems a fairly random amalgamation of celebrities and golfers, talking plenty about two of his favorite things, music and golf..bless his heart (and i bet he looks great too) 

I Am Not Lord Stark Part 11

Jon sends Davos to King’s Landing to ask Cersei for help against the WW invasion but when the ravens come flying in with tales of something big happening in the Capital, he fears for his friend’s late return. Meanwhile, Sansa tells Jon the truth of her pregnancy.

artwork by the talented @wolvesofspring 

Keep reading


Wedding Vows

Have Sylmae and her dragon wife Nimronyn in their wedding finery. The happiest day of Sylmae’s life, and probably one of the only times she’s smiled so widely and openly. Outfit design was fun for this but let me tell you…I didn’t even go full out on the beading for Sylmae but goodness there was so much beadwork. XD 

Also headcanon that their clan’s wedding vows involve a special braided chord, with beads that correspond to different memories and feelings for the couple. Each marriage chord is unique. 

Doubt(ful) (Part II) [MadaKaka] (2sb1sf Chapter 6)

You read that correctly, I finally updated this godforsaken story.  Since the chapter is almost 11k words, I’m not going to post it here.  However, have a teaser, and the links to the chapters on:



I also want to take the time to thank everyone who encouraged me while I was writing this; you guys helped out more than you know–more than I expected, really.  Who knew that having a bunch of amazing people tell you that you can do something would actually help you do it?  like every single move ever, of all time, also Naruto, believe it.  So thanks so much!  I’d tag you all but I’m sure I’d forget someone and then I’d feel like a dick, so I won’t even try.  I will, however, tag @itslulu42 @raendown @thetoxicstrawberry @pinesterr @padlocked-quintus because y’all seemed pretty excited about this update lol, and I figure you’d want to be pinged asap.  I hope it was worth the wait!

Teaser is under the cut! (it’s just the first few paragraphs; I didn’t want to spoil anything, so feel free to just head on over to the links. idk why you wouldn’t, honestly.  Why are you still here?  You should be reading that chapter I poured my blood into, not watching my shrivelled corpse talk about how dry it feels being exsanguinated).

Keep reading

An Alien Love Story

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.”

Enteth stumbled, hesitated, but ultimately did not stop at the sound of Ephotl’s voice. They probably should have anticipated this, that someone would realize what they were doing and try to intervene, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to them that anyone would care. “Go away,” they said shortly, and Ephotl snorted.

“What are you even going to do? No one will take care of you, after this. No one will even talk to you. You’ll be alone.” Ephotl, despite Enteth’s protests, was following them up the mountain – Ephotl was tall, for a Gorsa, and so it was an easy enough thing for them. Enteth, meanwhile, could really have done without an audience to their huffing and puffing, grabbing occasionally onto branches to keep from falling over. It was raining, was the other thing, which suited Enteth’s sense of melodrama and little else.

“Good,” Enteth huffed, and it came out more petulant than they’d intended. “I’ll live in a cave and eat leaves and never have to talk to another big dumb idiot ever again for the rest of my life.”

“So your plan is to climb to the top of a mountain and pout forever.” Ephotl had, obnoxiously, overtaken Enteth’s efforts and was now walking backwards, two hands holding a leaf over their head and two on their hips.

“I am not pouting,” Enteth lied, scowling as one of their bags got stuck on a branch. Their headcovering was soaked through, occasionally slipping down over one eye.

“And nothing is going to dissuade you from this brilliant plan?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Enteth muttered, because nothing was as unthinkable as the alternative. “Go home, Ephotl, go back to your mate and your Ullta.”

“Rohgth will be lost without you.”

Enteth stopped, at that, and hated that from the look on Ephotl’s face that they’d known it would. “Rohgth is married now,” they said finally, “and they can find a new Gorsa. They don’t need me.”

The look on Ephotl’s face could best be described as barely-contained glee, an insufferable smugness that made Enteth want to gouge their eyes out. “They didn’t message you?”

“… message me about what?”

“Rohgth’s back. Decided not to get married. They seriously didn’t even ask you first?”

They hadn’t. And Enteth could have sworn, for that moment, that the world stopped. “They told you?”

Ephotl snorted. “No, but everyone’s talking about it. You probably would have heard, too, if you hadn’t been busy trying to live in the woods. Which, okay, how you choose to handle your Ullta is none of my business, but–”

“I need to get back,” Enteth interrupted, eyes widening. “I need – shit! Rohgth is going to get home and I won’t be there, shit shit shit–”

“You two idiots deserve each other!” Ephotl called after Enteth, who was too busy stumbling downhill to notice.


Rohgth was standing in the hall when Enteth burst into the house. They stared at each other for a long moment, as if either of them had any reason to feel surprised to see the person that had always lived with.

“… hi,” Enteth said, finally, swallowing hard.

Rohgth’s look of surprise gave way, finally, to a slow and dopey and impossibly sweet smile, and Enteth felt their hearts crash into each other. “Hey,” Rohgth said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world that Enteth would be dragging two large bags inside. “You weren’t here when I got home.”

Enteth swallowed again, mouth feeling suddenly dry as they took in the sight of Rohgth, still dressed in wedding finery – all gleaming tusks and shining fur. “I had to… take care of… an errand,” they croaked. Enteth let the door shut behind them, muddy bags falling to the tiled floor. Rohgth cocked their head to the side, raised one eyebrow as they took in the sight.

“Must’ve been pretty important, to go out in this weather.”

“Yeah – well, no, it wasn’t – I just… I didn’t think you’d be home. This soon.” Muddy boots were yanked from their feet with three hands, the other trying to wipe rainwater from their face.

“I see that,” Rohgth said, with that grin that Enteth could hear instead of just seeing, that obnoxious and perfect grin that was almost always paired with a wagging tail and a twinkle in their eyes. Rohgth gestured to their house, which Enteth had been neglecting in favor of – okay, they’d admit it, pouting. Everything was covered in fine red sand, leaves scattered on the floor where they’d blown in the windows, plates left to pile up in the sink. Enteth had planned – well, no. Enteth hadn’t planned. But they’d never meant to leave the house like this, never meant for Rohgth to see it this way. “Is this what my Gorsa does, when I’m not here to keep them in check?”

Enteth’s embarrassment fell by the wayside in favor of scoffing, a look of intense incredulity on their face. “Yes, because that’s what you do, you keep me in check. Whatever would I do, without your intense discipline?” But then they were embarrassed, again, trying not to look Rohgth in the eyes. “I’ve been busy, is all.”

Rohgth seemed to pick up in this discomfort, found some of their own. “I, uh. I decided not to get married.”

It was a moment before Enteth remembered they were supposed to be surprised. “Oh. Oh! You… did? That's… unexpected. What happened?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t message you, first,” Rohgth apologized, sheepish. “I don’t know if you were looking forward to it, but. I just, it just didn’t seem like it would work out, you know? I made sure they had a secondary arrangement first, you know, I didn’t want to be a complete asshole. It just didn’t feel right.” Rohgth sighed, rubbed a hand over the fur between his primary set of eyes. “I’m – shit, I fucked this up, didn’t I? Now you’re going to be getting shit for this, and I didn’t even consider whether or not you were looking forward to marrying… fuck me, I can’t even remember the name of their Gorsa. I’m such an asshole. I can message them back, if you want?”

“No!” Even Enteth was surprised by their own vehemence. “No,” they repeated, trying to sound more measured. “You’re – you’re my Ullta. I stand by your decision.” Easier that then trying to explain how thrilled they were.

“Enteth,” Rohgth said, sounding almost disappointed, “you already had a bag packed. You were looking forward to getting married.”

“What?” Enteth looked down at the bags by their feet as if they’d never seen them before. “These? No, these were – these are nothing, these aren’t anything, that’s not what these are. I was just reorganizing. Extensively.”

“So you’re not upset?” Rohgth asked tentatively.

“Absolutely not,” Enteth said more authoritatively. “I’m happy. What’s not to be happy about? My Ullta is home.”

Rohgth grinned that dopey grin again, and Enteth almost grinned back. “And I’m happy my Gorsa is home,” they said, as if there was anywhere else for a Gorsa to be. Rohgth stepped closer, hooves clicking on the tile, and Enteth wished they hadn’t been so dressed up – wished they had an excuse to touch. “You’re a mess,” Rohgth said, abandoning formality to tug scandalously on Enteth’s headcovering. Enteth’s eyes turned green with embarrassment, and they batted at Rohgth’s hand with all four of their own.

“Cut it out,” Enteth snapped, though without malice, trying to get themselves in order despite the fact that they were dripping all over the tile. “What will the neighbors think, my Ullta doting on me so?”

“Have you been talking to Ephotl again? That gossipy little–”

Speaking of the neighbors,” Enteth interrupted, “I need to do something about… this. Everything. Me, the house, I need to–”

This time it was Rohgth’s turn to interrupt, a large and heavy hand coming to rest on one of Enteth’s tiny shoulders. Enteth seemed almost to stop breathing, eyes widening. A breach of taboo so great was rare even for Rohgth, and Enteth definitely shouldn’t have been enjoying it so much. “My Gorsa needs,” they corrected, voice a dangerous rumble, “to sit down, and let me make you a cup of tea before you get watersick.”

That brought Enteth out of their haze. “What? You don’t even know how to make a cup of tea. You’ll set the kitchen on fire.”

“I’ve seen you make tea thousands of times, I think I can handle it. Are you going to sit down, or am I going to have to make you?”

“Really? You’re going to make me? How would you even – Rohgth you idiot what!” Enteth screeched as Rohgth suddenly lifted them off the ground, all four arms clinging to Rohgth’s shoulder. “Rohgth, the neighbors–”

Fuck the neighbors,” Rohgth said, cheerfully but heatedly. “I left my Gorsa alone for the week, and if I want to make up for it, I will damn well make up for it however I please.”

They hadn’t been this close, touched this much since they were children; Rohgth was warmer than Enteth remembered, hot and well-muscled and entirely too strong. Their fur wasn’t as soft as it used to be, was sort of stiff and bristly now, and Enteth was trying really hard not to enjoy this. “You were looking so good,” Enteth said instead, “and now you’re all muddy and your fur is all wet.”

“You can dress me up later, if it makes you feel better.” Rohgth dropped Enteth into their chair, and Enteth crossed their legs with a grumble, tugging at wet clothes so that they would drape over their limbs and down to the floor. Though in this case, it was less of a drape, and more of a drip. Enteth watched as Rohgth began digging through the cupboards, setting all of the careful organization into disarray. By the time the proper cups had even been found, Enteth was already standing.

“Okay, that’s it, get away from there – get away, you’re doing it wrong, get your big dumb fingers away from my tea.” Enteth pushed Rohgth away gently – not that it needed to be gentle, not that Enteth could have pushed Rohgth anywhere they didn’t want to go. Rohgth threw up both hands, exasperated, secondary eyes rolling.

“What do my fingers have to do with it?” Rohgth demanded, though they did get out of the way.

“Look, here, see?” Enteth held up the jar of tea leaves, waving them in Rohgth’s face. “Even if you had enough joints to open this – which you don’t – your fingers would barely fit in this jar. You’d crush all the leaves.” Enteth cracked open the jar to prove the point, long and slender fingers bending backward at the fourth joint to press against the trigger that broke the seal.

“I don’t think you can blame my fingers for that, that’s society’s fault for making tea jars that I can’t open.”

“You can dictate an angry message to society, then, but for right now society says that you should sit down and let your Gorsa make you some tea as is proper.”

“No,” Rohgth said flatly, and Enteth squinted at them. “I said I was going to make you some tea, and I am going to make you some tea. If my fingers won’t fit in the jar, I’ll just… pour the leaves into a bowl, and get them that way.” Rohgth was determined, Enteth realized, and there was nothing more pointless than trying to get in their way in one of those moods.

“If you’re that sure,” Enteth sighed, “at least let me help you. I want to make sure it’s drinkable.” One hand pulled a bowl from the drawer, another poured the leaves into it, the other hands retrieving the kettle and setting the cups properly on a dish.

“So,” Rohgth began slowly, “I definitely shouldn’t just dump this bowl into the kettle, then?”

What!” Enteth was almost as scandalized as when Rohgth had picked them up, and Rohgth began to laugh.

“It’s good to know my Gorsa has so much faith in me,” Rohgth teased, filling the kettle with water and setting it to boil. Enteth had never thought of the kettle as being small before, but it looked small in Rohgth’s hands. “A few leaves in each cup, yes?”

“The three largest leaves go in your cup,” Enteth corrected imperiously, setting three hands on their hips and pointing, “and the next three least broken go in mine. I thought you said you’d seen me make tea thousands of times?”

“Apparently I wasn’t paying enough attention to the leaves.”

“It’s tea. What else is there to pay attention to?”

“When you’re waiting for the water to boil, you do a sort of–” Rohgth attempted to do a hip wiggle, but found it difficult with their particular configuration of knees. Enteth gave them another shove, but Rohgth failed to tip over.

“I do nothing of the sort,” Enteth huffed.

“Why do I get the biggest leaves?” Rohgth asked suddenly, changing the subject.

“Because you’re my Ullta,” Enteth said with a shrug, because that was all the explanation that anyone should need.

“Are the biggest leaves the best?” Rohgth pressed, and Enteth sighed.

“Rohgth–” they began, but they were cut off.

“If I get the biggest leaves when you make the tea,” Rohgth decided, collecting them and dropping them into Enteth’s smaller cup, “then you get the biggest leaves when I make the tea.”

Enteth said nothing, but crossed all their arms and watched suspiciously as Rohgth worked. Nothing in the kitchen was designed for an Ullta, three huge digits not at all nimble, but: when Rohgth was determined, there was nothing to be done.

“What’s gotten into you?” Enteth asked finally, as Rohgth carried the cups to the table.

Rohgth shrugged. “Visiting Rjaph made me rethink some things. Assess my priorities. You know?”

“You just didn’t want to grow up,” Enteth teased, sitting and sipping from their tea.

“Not if it means…” Rohgth didn’t finish the though, taking their tea instead, and Enteth ached to know what they’d been about to say. “You know, you touch me more than most Gorsa.”

Enteth sipped nonchalantly at their tea while turning faintly green-eyed. “You get in my way more than most Ullta,” they rebutted, and Rohgth grinned.

“Is the tea helping?”

“A bit. Thank you, Roh.” They hadn’t called them that in years, and it was worth it for the way their secondary eyes went wide, crinkled at the corners.

Rohgth looked thoughtful, then, which almost never ended well. “Actually,” they began, “it would probably be more helpful to stop sitting around in damp fabric.”

Enteth nearly choked on their tea, eyes like emeralds. Technically, this was probably accurate; fabric that was supposed to drape and flow was instead clinging to their skin, half-transparent where it wasn’t muddy, not at all the diaphanous thing it was meant to be. They almost didn’t notice when Rohgth set their tea down, came to the other side of the table.

Honestly, Rohgth–” Enteth began, but they were cut off by the pads of large fingers sliding the fabric back off their forehead, brushing lightly against the bare ridges spiraling against their skull. Enteth’s breath caught, hearts raced, and it was only years of practice that kept the teacup from falling from their fingers when Rohgth’s lips met theirs. Their mouth was too big, was the thing, could fit the whole of Enteth’s between their tusks, and yet.

For a long moment after Rohgth pulled away, Enteth could only stare. “What are you doing?” they croaked, finally.

“Shit,” Rohgth said, face falling, tense. They stood upright, an act that through sheer height difference put a great deal of distance between them. “Shit. I’m not – I fucked this all up. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have – I was being selfish, I’ll message Rjaph and–”

Before Rohgth could dare look any sadder, Enteth carefully set down their teacup, climbed onto the table and pulled Rohgth closer with all four arms to kiss them again. It was need, pure and simple, a desperate need that had been hiding within them and desperately waiting to escape. There was no precedent for this, for all that they had imagined it, no examples they could emulate in finding ways to touch each other. This time it was Enteth who pulled away, gasping: “What are we doing?”

“Something we should have been doing for a long time,” Rohgth growled, a uniquely carnivorous sound that made Enteth shudder.

“We shouldn’t,” Enteth said, as if either of them cared. Rohgth’s hands were around their waist, and it was still so strange to be touched, to no longer be left simply wondering about what it might be like.

“I knew it when I saw Rjaph,” Rohgth said, and Enteth made a tiny birdlike sound as Rohgth suddenly ran their tongue over a spiraling ridge. “Rjaph, and that wretched little Gorsa – they didn’t deserve you, no one deserved you, I couldn’t.”

“I tried to run away,” Enteth confessed, half-hysterical. “I was going to abandon my Ullta and live on a mountain, because I couldn’t, Roh. Anything would have been better than that, watching you be someone’s mate, being wed to someone else.” All twenty-four fingers buried themselves in bristling fur, pulled them close as if to bury the whole of their person in Rohgth’s chest.

En,” Rohgth purred, and the sound of their childhood nickname made Enteth sigh.

“I wouldn’t have been able to touch you anymore,” they continued. “I know I touch you too much, so many excuses all the time for touching you, our mates would have seen right through it, seen right through me, silly little Gorsa who doesn’t know their place – this is so dumb, we’re going to be killed.”

“No one will know,” Rohgth reassured them.

“You don’t think someone will notice the Ullta looking at their Gorsa all lovesick and wanting?”

“I have loved you,” Rohgth growled, “since Choosing.”

“You can’t have,” Enteth scoffed, because they were still themselves, and that made Rohgth grin.

“Since I first laid eyes on the tiniest, most useless, most ornery–”

“Try not to be too romantic.”

“–cleverest, prettiest thing that any Ullta ever saw, and everyone would want you–”

“You were my only offer, you idiot!”

“–and I was so glad when you chose me in return, I thought my heart would burst. Because I knew I couldn’t bear it, to let anyone else have you, it would have destroyed me then and it would destroy me still.” They kissed again, and neither could say this time who had kissed whom.

“So you have been looking at me like a lovesick idiot this whole time, you mean?” Enteth asked, and Rohgth grinned again.

“No one’s killed me yet. And if the neighbors talk this time, I’ll eat them.”

“Cannibalism hasn’t been legal in centuries,” Enteth cackled, leaping onto Rohgth and wrapping all limbs around them, marveling at their warmth, wondering if they were dreaming.

“Who wouldn’t make an exception for a Gorsa like mine?”

“This is never going to work,” Enteth muttered, even as Rohgth carried them to the bedroom, even as they gave their tusks an experimental lick.

But Rohgth, it seemed, was determined.

It was her wedding day, the day that many young women looked forward to. On her wedding day, a woman was supposed to be happy, surrounded by family and friends. But on that day, Sansa Stark wept. Instead of marrying a man she loved and wanted to marry, Sansa was being forced to wed Petyr Baelish. The man had destroyed her life and her family, made her live with him and play the part of his daughter. He even took away her beautiful red hair, making her dye it dark brown. Even her name was gone. Sansa Stark wasn’t marrying Petyr Baelish, Alayne Stone was. Petyr was forcing her into this marriage. It was her only way to have a home, to have food. It was either marry him or live on the streets. Sansa felt that she had no choice.

Her wedding was in an hour. Sansa could hear the catering crew bustling about the manor where they were holding the wedding. The bride sat in a small dressing room, dressed in all her wedding finery with her hair elegantly styled and her makeup perfect. Or at least her makeup had been perfect until it was ruined by her tears. Sansa sat in a cushy chair, her face in her hands as she cried. She didn’t want this marriage, didn’t want to marry that revolting man. But he had power and he had control. All Sansa wanted was for someone to save her, to take her away.

wwrebel1992  asked:

Hi, beautiful souls! My heart would crack with love if someone wrote drabble based on The Young Victoria (2009) movie (it would be also wonderful if you changed the fact that Prince Albert died from typhoid at the age of 42, let Peeta live long and happy life with his family :)) (sorry if it's too specific) PS. totally M/E rating, Everlark deserves as much smut as they can get lol. My b-day is October, 4th :) Thank you so much!

Wszystkiego najlepszego! Happy birthday @wwrebel1992, and thank you for introducing us to a new fave film. Hope you enjoy!

Rated T 

Some people are born more fortunate than others. Such was the case with Princess Katniss. But as a child, she was convinced of quite the opposite. What little girl does not dream of growing up as a princess? But some palaces are not at all what you would think. Even a palace can be a prison. Her mother never explained why she would have someone taste her food, why she couldn’t attend school with other children or read popular books. When her father died, her mother and her mother’s advisor, Sir Seneca Crane, created rules. They said they were for her protection, and called it The Mockingjay System. Katniss could not sleep in a room without her mother, or even walk downstairs without holding the hand of an adult. She finally learned the reason for all this when she was eleven: her Uncle Haymitch was the King of England, yet he and his three brothers could boast only one living child. And that was Katniss. Sir Seneca’s dream was that the King would die and there would be a regency where her mother would rule England and he would rule her mother. So she began to dream of the day when her life would change and she might be free. And she prayed for the strength to meet her destiny.

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And here’s my piece for Day 5 of Cullrian Appreciation Week. The theme for today is:  Wedding & Marriage. So it’s fairly self-explanatory. And I take liberal measures with Orlais and their traditions. :D

“This is ridiculous,” Cullen grumbled.

“Now, now, Commander,” Josephine tutted as she brushed down his uniform. “It’s for the good of the Inquisition.”

Cullen frowned at her. “How is Dorian and I getting married for the good of the Inquisition?”

Josephine fixed him with an implacable look. “You were the one who insisted on playing the knight in shining armour at Halamshiral, Commander. You challenged the Compte to a duel and won.”

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anonymous asked:

Would it be greedy to ask for a third part to the amnesia fic? I'm just dying to have them like, get together for lunch or something after the phone call about the dream/memory Oliver had

It is not greedy at all, love. Also, this is probably not what you are expecting. I am sorry. :( 

“So, Oliver, how are things going?”

His therapist preps her pen over a fresh sheet of paper and glances up at Oliver expectantly. Her mouth is curved in a soft smile, encouraging and sympathetic in one twist of her lips. 

At his place on the couch, Oliver recrosses his legs and picks at nonexistent lint on his pants while he stalls. 

How are things going? 

Strange, Oliver wants to tell her. Things are…are strange.

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Outlander 107 PART ZWEI

Continued from PART EINS

Claire can’t believe it. But Jamie insists that that was exactly how Ned described it and didn’t she see the “strumpet” at the wedding?

I love Old Timey words for stuff.

JAMMF is curious about what Claire was doing just before the wedding. She was getting crunk, of course!

I love this. How many of us haven’t woken from a hard night of drinking with an epic hangover looking like a hedgehog who stuck its finger in a light socket? 

In college, that was what was called “Wednesday”. 

She remembers the wedding but it’s a bit foggy, she admits, because she was drunk off her pretty butt the whole time. She did, however, have a monstrous hangover for her trouble.

Jamie remembers their wedding day perfectly.

The first time he saw her, dressed in her wedding finery, it was “like the sun came out”. And then the earth shook with the force of millions of women swooning into a dead faint at the same time.

The dress is GORGEOUS, and I really must give props to Terry Dresbach and Co. for the exquisite attention to detail. I couldn’t get a good screencap of The Dress, but this is it in the promotional picture:

DOWANT! I must have this. I’d rock that bitch to get gas.

Even Ned Gowan and his s+trumpet are impressed:

Sorry, Makayla Maroney. 

In the flashback, a gobsmacked Jamie crosses to his bride and bows. “Your servant, Madam.” Claire, in a panic, says that she can’t marry Jamie because she doesn’t know his real last name. 

Even though it was plastered across the wedding contract she signed last episode. Weird.

JAMMF fully introduces his JAMMF self. 

Claire is “Claire Elizabeth Beachamp”, and they lightly grasp hands, then start to walk into the church. While everyone is behind her and can’t see her actions, she subtly removes the gold wedding band from Frank and puts it in her cleavage, that being generous because corsets are the worst.

They recite their vows before the priest, then Dougal cuts both of their wrists and bounds them together. Claire is told to repeat after Jamie’s Gaelic, and we are informed that said Gaelic translates to this:

You are the blood of my blood,

and the bone of my bone.

I give you my body,

that we two may be one.

I give you my spirit,

Til our lives shall be done.

They kiss, and she’s reluctant at first but totally gets into it because JAMMF is a fantastic kisser.

This reminder of their wedding apparently makes Claire super horny because:

And Jamie’s like:


Claire moves away and orders Jamie to take off his shirt. She wants to see him. Jamie is all too happy to comply. 

Claire encircles him, checking out his nekkid self, including his ass:


“Fair is fair” he says, demanding that she remove her shift as well. She is naked and he is naked, and she wonders if he has ever seen a bare lady before. He concurs that he has, but not one so close. And–

Jamie sweeps her up into a kiss, lifts her up, and they tumble to the bed together. And we know that TEH SECKS is a lot better than the first time because she arches her back and moans in ecstasy. 

JAMMF is concerned that he hurt her. He didn’t realize that women “could”. Yes, Jamie. They indeed CAN “could”. And you just made Claire “could” after only a couple of thrusts. You are a good student, Jamie-san.

He grins like the cat that ate the canary and muses:


Oh sweet naive JAMMF.

Claire: “Only if the man is a very good lover.”

And even then, Claire. Even then.

Then, Claire gets hungry.

Congrats, JAMMF! You just had your first Big O.

Claire pops up from JAMMF Land just as he’s coming down (ha! I punned) from his Orgasm High. When he catches his breath, he mutters something in Gaelic. When she queries him about the translation, he clarifies:

Yeah. Heart. JAMMF Junior. Both are interchangeable at the moment.

Jamie drifts off to sleep the sleep of the just blown to high heaven.

Claire smiles with affection, walks across the room, and wraps herself in his plaid. She goes downstairs sans any other clothes, and once more, we meet another pussy.

In the common room, she runs into Dougal. Remember how last episode we forgave him for his previous asshatery? Yeah, it’s back. 

As he walks through the front door, Claire remarks that he was out late. Dougal clarifies that he was visiting their friend BJR to tell him the “bad news” that she is no longer an Englishwoman. BJR is not thrilled.

Then, Dougal “thanks” her for “doing her duty” and adds:

You are unforgiven, Dougal.

Claire’s like “Nah, I’m JAMIE’s wife” and leaves, but not before thanking a just arrived Rupert for the ring. He offers his congratulations as she disappears up the stairs. 

Dougal, frustrated at his inability to grind that corn, straight up punches Rupert in the face.

Back up in the bedchamber, JAMMF is just rising (this time, pun definitely intended) from the marriage bed, gloriously nekkid, and crosses to the armoire. He takes out a strand of pearls and, coming up behind Claire, drops it over her head.

There. There are his mother’s pearls. Happy now, Poutlanders?

For those who don’t know, in the book, Jamie gives Claire these pearls before the wedding ceremony, not after. So, in the previews, Claire is not shown wearing the pearls, and everyone went batshit bananas thinking that TPTB were going to leave them out. 

Well now here they are. 

JAMMF explains that these belonged to his mother, they’re real Scotch pearls, and they’re very precious to him.

Damn. I know a perfect person is only a myth, but Jamie is pretty frigging close.

Claire kisses his shoulder, touched, and they do the horizontal mambo again, this time wrapped in his plaid. She caresses his face, and she looks at him like she can’t believe how, in just one night, she fell in love with him.

The next morning, our two post-coital lovers are acting just like newlyweds in love. Which is, really, now what they are.

They’re joking and kissing, and Jamie leaves to get food. Claire, deliriously happy, stands up to air out her gown. And that’s when Frank’s wedding band that she stuck inside her cleavage falls out.

Props to the director for this shot:

Claire plucks the ring from the floorboard, puts it on her other hand, and stares at them both.

Her old life or her new? Her first love or her second?

Book fans know the answer. The rest of you guys will just have to keep tuning in to find out!

Now I’m off to take a cold shower. 

Very cold.

Imagine your OTP getting married! Person A has been gaining weight for a while since they both enjoy it, and in the weeks leading up to the wedding, decides to pick up the pace so that their wedding night will be especially satisfying for them both. They stuff themself at every opportunity with all the high-calorie food they can find, and by the time the big day rolls around, B can hardly make it down the aisle without drooling at how A’s new weight looks on them, tightly squeezed into their wedding finery.