Jules

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[lainalei-evans]

jules ꕤ !! she/her. twenty-one!! . huge feelings in tiny scenes. coastal girlie. ao3 addict. curly hair & mental spirals. talks to the sea. tension collector. hopeless lover. mini fic dreamer. explicit smut (I'm just starting to write it, it'll be awful) . 

─ reblogs, heartbreak & half-baked AUs! ౨ৎ ₊˚⊹

[lainalei-evans]

I’ve been thinking about doing something a little different for the next chapter.

I want to try writing it from another point of view — just to see how everything changes when you look at it from someone else’s head.

For now, I’ve got two options: Edward or Carlisle. They both think in completely different ways, so the tone of the chapter would change a lot depending on who wins.

That chapter with the new POV will probably show up a few chapters later, but I already want to start shaping the idea.

POV

Edward

Carlisle

Voting ended onNov 9, 2025

[lainalei-evans]

⤷ Warnings. +18 MDNI, f/f, consensual sex, use of magic body oil, heightened emotions, suggestive language, safe intimate environment

⤷ Note. First attempt at writing smut and I was actually a little embarrassed—any suggestions or advice are welcome.

Diana loves it when you rub yourself against her thigh; she enjoys watching you tremble against her body, covered in sweat and completely naked, your breasts bouncing slightly, right at the height of her mouth—close enough for her to reach them and start sucking on your soft skin. She wouldn’t mind admitting out loud that she has a bit of a fetish for your breasts, for your softness.

Unfortunately, that’s not something that happens very often. It’s not an activity you particularly enjoy, and of course, Diana neither has the ability nor the desire to ever force you into doing something you don’t want or enjoy.

The problem is that it’s always been difficult for you to find the right moment. You had to be very, very wet to actually enjoy riding her thigh. It wasn’t that it was hard to achieve, but it just wasn’t enough for you to really get into it. After weeks of searching for a solution, you finally found the answer: a small bottle of body oil. It’s not that you hadn’t thought of it before, but this one, in particular, had enhanced properties. It wasn’t an aphrodisiac, it didn’t cloud your mind or make you obey—but when you rubbed any part of your body with it, the pleasure intensified. That little bottle became the perfect solution.

So you waited until you had some time off from work, and she herself took a four-day break from her duties with the League and the Amazons.

That’s how you ended up rubbing yourself against her thigh like a crazed animal, sobbing as thick tears rolled down your cheeks. Your whole body was trembling, and the sensation was so intense that she knew she wouldn’t be able to forget it for days.

She could feel your clit throbbing against her skin, your sobs turning into hiccups of pleasure as you clung to her body, your face buried in her neck—and damn, it’s a good thing you both have some time off, because she knows neither of you is leaving this house anytime soon.

[lainalei-evans]

⤷ Warnings. +18 MDNI, f/f, consensual sex, use of magic body oil, heightened emotions, suggestive language, safe intimate environment

⤷ Note. First attempt at writing smut and I was actually a little embarrassed—any suggestions or advice are welcome.

Diana loves it when you rub yourself against her thigh; she enjoys watching you tremble against her body, covered in sweat and completely naked, your breasts bouncing slightly, right at the height of her mouth—close enough for her to reach them and start sucking on your soft skin. She wouldn’t mind admitting out loud that she has a bit of a fetish for your breasts, for your softness.

Unfortunately, that’s not something that happens very often. It’s not an activity you particularly enjoy, and of course, Diana neither has the ability nor the desire to ever force you into doing something you don’t want or enjoy.

The problem is that it’s always been difficult for you to find the right moment. You had to be very, very wet to actually enjoy riding her thigh. It wasn’t that it was hard to achieve, but it just wasn’t enough for you to really get into it. After weeks of searching for a solution, you finally found the answer: a small bottle of body oil. It’s not that you hadn’t thought of it before, but this one, in particular, had enhanced properties. It wasn’t an aphrodisiac, it didn’t cloud your mind or make you obey—but when you rubbed any part of your body with it, the pleasure intensified. That little bottle became the perfect solution.

So you waited until you had some time off from work, and she herself took a four-day break from her duties with the League and the Amazons.

That’s how you ended up rubbing yourself against her thigh like a crazed animal, sobbing as thick tears rolled down your cheeks. Your whole body was trembling, and the sensation was so intense that she knew she wouldn’t be able to forget it for days.

She could feel your clit throbbing against her skin, your sobs turning into hiccups of pleasure as you clung to her body, your face buried in her neck—and damn, it’s a good thing you both have some time off, because she knows neither of you is leaving this house anytime soon.

[abedmajed69]

💔🇵🇸 My Daughter Was Born Under Bombs — I'm Just Trying to Keep Her Alive

My name is Abdulmajid.

I got married one month before the war. Those were beautiful days — full of hope, love, and simple dreams. I dreamed of a small home, a quiet family, and a baby girl I could hold without fear.

But the war came… Suddenly. Brutally.

My mother was killed. My brother was killed. Children in my family were taken by the bombs. My home was destroyed. And my work stopped completely.

Then… in the middle of this nightmare, my baby girl was born. A tiny soul, innocent, unaware of the war. She cries from hunger, from cold, from the sounds of bombs shaking what’s left of our walls.

Today, I’m a father with almost nothing… Fighting every day to find flour, milk, or even a small meal to feed my child.

Prices are sky-high — a single 25kg bag of flour can cost $800. There is no work. No income. No safety. No stability.

I write this from under siege, hoping my heart will reach yours.

Abedmajed’s Hope: Rebuilding Our Family’s Life in Gaza

My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.

Even $1 can make a difference. It can feed a child, buy milk, or bring a moment of peace. Be the heart that reaches Gaza. Be the hand that saves.

📌 Please share this post. Let our voices be heard — not buried under rubble.

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #537 )✅️

[lainalei-evans]

To answer your question, Disney pulled all of their copyright from c.ai, including Marvel characters.

But seriously though, stop using AI — it’s harming Black communities and you can just find a real life person to RP with. Or just read fanfic. Coming from someone who used to use generative AI. Please use your brain and engage with real people.

First of all, thank you so much for answering my question. Second, I had no idea that this could be harming Black people or anyone at all. How exactly is it causing harm? I’m not asking out of ignorance, but because I genuinely don’t understand and didn’t know anything about it.

[lainalei-evans]

Guys, what’s going on!? I can’t find a single Natasha Romanoff bot on C.ai, what happened??

[lainalei-evans]

HII WHERE R UUU ITS BEEN A MONTHH

HIII! I KNOW I SO SORRY DARLING! THE CHAPTERS ARE ON THE WAY, CHAPTER 4 IS ALREADY WRITTEN!!

[lainalei-evans]

im addicted to vhisa’s story omg!

Tysm darling <3

[lainalei-evans]

Are you still alive?

Hi, sweetie!

Yep, still breathing. I’ve been buried under a mountain of exams lately and probably won’t get a chance to relax and write until next week, but I promise I’ll update the AO3 fanfic and catch up on the Tumblr requests.

[lainalei-evans]

Okay, now I get the vibe or is just me?

[lainalei-evans]

Guys, what the hell just happened? I thought it was the end or that my account had been banned.

[lainalei-evans]

Leave me alone with my fantasy of dying happy in the arms of a cowgirl who’d probably spit on me afterwards.

[lainalei-evans]

ᝰ. VHISA MONROE ⋆˚࿔

✦ forks high's quiet girl with too many eyes. ✦

born: February 7th, 1988 species: human (¿?) school year: Junior at Forks High School romantic interest: undefined. faceclaim: Danielle Russell.

𖤐

“Little girl among the shadows, I see you”

— with dark circles like badly slept constellations, hands that tremble when no one’s watching, and that way of walking as if she’s always just come out of a fire. Vhisa isn’t the new mysterious girl everyone wants to meet. She’s the one with a bad reputation before she even opens her mouth.

The one who came from “a psychiatric hospital.”

The one they say “sees things.”

And the worst part is, it’s true.

The buzzing never stops. Neither do the shadows. They walk with her, sleep under her bed, curl around her boots. They look like people. Or they were. Or they will be. No one else sees them.

But ever since she arrived in Forks… something changed.

The shadows are restless. They’re scared.

And it all started the day she saw the Cullens.

☁︎

— she doesn’t laugh easily, nor does she cry in front of others. Not because she’s strong, but because she learned showing anything is dangerous. She says little, observes everything. She has that kind of look that unsettles: long, silent, sharp. They say she’s crazy. That she’s violent. That it’s better not to get involved. But when small attempts at friendship form around her, she tries not to ruin everything. Maybe it’s not that impossible.

She cooks when she doesn’t know what else to do. Hides things under the mattress. Has nightmares where she remembers things she’d rather forget. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be okay. It’s that she learned how to survive without being okay.

✦

— there’s something in Forks that doesn’t fit. Something that unsettles even the shadows.

And when Vhisa sits next to a boy with golden eyes who smells like contained danger, everything changes.

The shadows retreat.

And that —that is truly terrifying.

I’ve been wanting to post this for a while, so with lots of excitement, I present to you the protagonist of my Twilight fanfic: a girl with more problems—and way more mysteries—than she lets on. This character originally came from an idea for a Twilight collab that never happened, mostly because my friends and I are experts at planning a lot and doing very little. But after quite a few changes, a first draft of the first chapter, scrapping some non-existent pets, and getting rid of some particularly weird sisters, this beauty was born (in her own strange way, I guess). I hope it at least caught your interest a little. I’m leaving the link to my fanfic down below. https://archiveofourown.org/works/65776822

[lainalei-evans]

ᝰ. EVER AFTER ⋆˚࿔

ᝰ. DEMETRI VOLTURI ༝ PLUS SIZE FEM!READER ⋆˚࿔

⤷ Pairing. Demetri Volturi x reader (fem!plus size) ⤷ Genre. gothic romance + soft fantasy + lineage discovery + emotional slow burn + a waltz in the shadows ⤷ Setting. rainy Volterra, an old bookstore tucked between alleyways, a timeless castle, a secret ball wrapped in mist ⤷ Warnings. supernatural references, intense emotional tension, family past full of secrets, romantic attraction with a mystical pull, a vampire who looks at you like you’re poetry ⤷ Notes. This took me a while to write — I had only done a tiny drabble before, and I really wanted to sit down and let the story breathe. I couldn’t quite find the perfect images to go with the one-shot… but still, it’s something. ⤷ Word count. Approx. 1,301 words ⤷ Tone. atmospheric, intimate, melancholic with hints of hope — the kind of feeling that something eternal has just begun ⤷ Rating. 13+ — supernatural romance with emotional intensity, no explicit content

⤷ ⭑ Synopsis: Volterra seemed asleep under the rain… but something ancient stirred in the mist. All you meant to do that night was close up the bookstore and head home. But a letter with no sender, a ring passed down through generations, and a ball summoned by fate changed everything. Demetri isn’t a stranger. Not entirely. And you… you’re not there by chance.

The rain fell gently over the red rooftops of Volterra, giving the landscape a perpetual sense of nostalgia, as if the entire city was breathing memories from another time. Droplets slid down wooden shutters, whispering secrets to the ancient stones, while the yellow glow of streetlamps blurred into the mist that had begun to rise. It was one of those nights that seemed suspended in time.

Along the cobbled streets, where footsteps became soft echoes, hidden between a bakery that smelled of roasted almonds and an antique shop draped in dust, there was a small bookstore. Its façade was modest, with a slightly crooked wooden sign that read: Ever After.

No one knew exactly how long it had been there. Some locals said the bookstore had always existed.

It was a refuge of stories, of warm coffee served in mismatched cups, of overflowing shelves that creaked when someone read poetry aloud. A corner of the world where you chose to exist without making much noise.

You were happy like that. Or something close enough. Calm enough not to run away. With the serene fullness of someone who no longer needed to fit into anyone else’s mold.

You’d owned the bookstore for four years, ever since you’d left the chaos of the city behind and moved to Volterra, the town your grandmother used to mention in hushed tones, as if saying its name out loud gave it power. She spoke of the streets with reverence, the square with melancholy, and the castle on the hill with a mix of fear and respect. Her family’s story was seeded among those stones, though you’d never managed to fully unearth it.

Some inheritances aren’t written on paper. They’re felt.

She left you more than just her cold-walled house with narrow windows. She left you an old gold ring, with a dark stone that sometimes glowed crimson, depending on how the light hit it. You never quite understood its origin. You only knew it had always passed from firstborn daughter to firstborn daughter.

That night, as you turned off the lights and rearranged the gothic romance shelf for the hundredth time, a letter slid beneath the door.

You heard no footsteps. No shadow. Just the soft sound of paper brushing the floor.

Your first instinct was to ignore it. Probably an ad, or a bill disguised in a pretty envelope. But something about it — maybe the rough paper, the old-fashioned handwriting, the lack of a seal, or the sudden silence that filled the shop — made you look twice.

“You are cordially invited to the Solstice Ball. Period attire. Midnight. Follow the mist.”

Beneath the absent signature, drawn by hand, you recognized — with a shiver — the exact outline of the ring you wore.

You frowned. Every ounce of common sense screamed it was an elaborate prank. Or a trap. But your intuition — that invisible compass you used to recommend books flawlessly — wasn’t so sure.

At eleven fifty-eight, you stepped out of your home. You wore a black corset borrowed from an old theater friend, a velvet burgundy skirt salvaged from a school costume, and your hair clumsily pinned up. Your boots peeked out just beneath the heavy fabric that brushed your calves.

Your silhouette was round, generous, beautiful in its own way. And tonight, you weren’t trying to hide it.

You’d learned, over the years, that taking up space wasn’t something to apologize for. You walked with your back straight and head high, even if doubts still whispered inside. The ring on your hand gleamed beneath the rain, as if answering some ancient call.

And then, the mist appeared.

Not as a threat, but as an invitation. It flowed from the cracks in the cobblestones, curled around the lampposts, drifted in silence like a curious animal.

It led the way.

And you, not knowing why, followed.

The streets slowly changed. They grew narrower, steeper. The lamps flickered like candles, and the clocks stopped keeping time. Each step was a surrender to the present. The air tasted different — like turning the pages of an old book.

And then you saw it.

A narrow passage between two stone walls you swore hadn’t been there before. Beyond… a castle.

The Volturi castle.

Music seeped through the cracks like a heavy perfume. Inside, figures dressed from another century danced to the rhythm of an unseen orchestra. Candles floated like fireflies suspended in the air. The scent was of wax, wine, and something more ancient. Something you couldn’t name but instinctively recognized.

You were about to turn back. To run. To pretend the whole thing had been a strange midnight dream.

And then, a figure emerged from the mist.

Tall. Elegant. With an old-world grace. And eyes the color of dark wine.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, voice low, as if he already knew you. His accent was an impossible blend of ancient geographies.

“Do we know each other?” you asked, throat dry.

“Not yet. But it’s time,” he replied, taking your hand with ceremonial care. His skin was marble.

You were going to pull away, to protest, to ask if this was some kind of performance. But then, his fingers brushed the ring.

And his expression changed.

“This ring…” he murmured. “It belonged to Marcus’s daughter. You shouldn’t have it. Unless…”

You froze. Your heart skipped oddly.

“What are you saying?”

“You’re her descendant. The line was never broken. You were protected. Hidden, generation after generation, like a spark in the dark. Until now. Until you returned, unknowingly guided.”

You stepped back. The world tilted ever so slightly beneath your feet.

“And who are you?”

He looked at you with something between tenderness and resignation. As if your question hurt, just a little.

“Demetri. I was assigned as your protector by order of the king. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

He nodded with a faint smile. A gesture that seemed to carry centuries.

“I’m also your mate.”

Your brain refused to process it. The word sounded like something out of a fairytale. And yet, something inside you — something that had been asleep for years — stirred.

“What… does that mean?”

Demetri tilted his head, amused but not mocking. As if your confusion was his favorite memory of the night.

“It means I’ve been searching for you longer than you can imagine. That I was waiting through all your doubts. And now that I’ve found you… I don’t intend to let go.”

His gaze dropped to your body — not with judgment, but something closer to reverence. As if every curve, every fold, every part of you had been sculpted with purpose.

“Would you grant me this dance?”

The music softened, becoming more intimate.

You hesitated.

But you took his hand.

And you danced.

You, with your generous form and the confidence of someone who no longer fears taking up space. Him, with his timeless bearing, looking at you like you were the one reason time hadn’t stopped completely.

“And what happens next?” you asked, in a whisper that didn’t want to break the magic.

Demetri looked at you like you had already been his in another life. Like every step of your existence had been a way back to this moment.

“Whatever you choose,” he answered, with a solemnity that hurt a little. “But my promise is this: I will protect you. I will listen to you. And if you let me… I will love you.”

High above, from a balcony veiled in velvet curtains, Marcus watched in silence. His hands folded, his face unreadable as always. And yet, for the first time in centuries, a flicker of emotion crossed his ancient eyes.

A crack. A hope.

“Welcome home,” he whispered, barely audible.

And the night went on. As if everything was, finally, in its place.

@foxycrafterofgreenwood

[lainalei-evans]

❖ — Looking for moots — ❖

To chat about fanfics, writing tips, or any random nonsense at any hour.If you’re shy to comment, just send me a message; I don’t bite (or at least not without my tea first).

✷ — I promise to reblog your stuff and fill your inbox with bad memes and weird compliments — ✷

[lainalei-evans]

Hello! I hope you don't mind a 2nd request. I'd love to see a bookworm girl(plus size if you don't mind writing it) who owns a bookstore(Not gonna lie I wanna create one and name it "Ever, Ever After") in Volterra getting an invitation to a ball. There's no return address, and a little curious she decides to go. Only to find out that not only is she fated to one of the Volturi guards(Alec , Demetri, or Felix) she's the descendant of Marcus or Aro. 🥰 I would love for her to have a unique antique ring that was passed down as well. I appreciate anything you can do! Your last one was AMAZING!!

Hey, sweetie! I totally forgot I had this sitting in my inbox 🙈

But I loved the idea, and I already have a few little things in mind. I'm so glad you liked the last one—it was super fun to write! I even learned a few things about sign language, so that was really interesting too.

As for the plus-size reader, I have absolutely no problem writing her. So as soon as I get the chance, I’ll dive in and develop it more deeply 😊