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Milly Taiden
“This smells like you.” Lord have mercy. “It, um, it does?” He blinked his golden eyes and swiped his tongue up the silicone. “It tastes like I know you will. Sweet as honey.” Holy shit, he was freakier than she realized. “You,” she choked. “Are you insane?” He licked the bunny ears, pulling them out slowly. “Crazy for a taste of you. Does that make me insane?” “Freaky as fuck, yes. Insane? No.”
Milly Taiden, In the Roar

Craig D. Lounsbrough
“If I could understand that every ‘reality’ was once a ‘wish’, and that it moved from the latter to the former because someone was committed enough to make it so, I’d be the person that I want verses the person I’ve become.”
Craig D. Lounsbrough

Leigh Bardugo
“A thousand desperate wishes have been spoken on these shores, and in the end they were all the same: Make me someone new.”
Leigh Bardugo, The Language of Thorns: Midnight Tales and Dangerous Magic

Kamand Kojouri
“Here's another poem,
like all others before and after,
dedicated to you.
There isn't anything left to be said
but I will spend my life
trying to put you into words.
You who is every goodness,
every optimism
and hope.
Your love is a better fate for me
than anything I could wish for.
If you are a part of me,
then you’re the best part.
And if you're separate from me,
then you are my destination.
But I’ve become a weary traveller,
so please,
let us never be apart.”
Kamand Kojouri

Liz Braswell
“I want porridge!" she said, exasperated. "That's all. I wanted a bunny before and 'it' appeared, and now I want porridge. The way my aunts used to make it on cold mornings. Warm and buttery, with rich toasted acorns in it."
"Acorns? Really? That sounds... um... I mean, it's an interesting gastronomic choice."
She rolled her eyes. "We lived in the middle of a 'forest,' Royal Prince. It was what we had. And a real treat in the middle of winter."
Then she proceeded to ignore him.
She closed her eyes and cupped her hands. She prayed and wished and imagined and begged.
Phillip stayed politely silent- though he did look around, sigh a little, and do all sorts of other things to obviously fret over the passage of time.
She tried to call up the feel of the wooden bowl in her hands: it warmed almost like flesh where the wood was thin and the heat of her fingers and the hot porridge mingled. She summoned the smell, a mix of dairy and things of the earth and the tall green grass and the woods. Sometimes there was even a dollop of honey on top.
She thought so hard she felt like she had to go to the privy.
Her concentration faltered for a moment when she distractedly wondered if that ever happened to Maleficent when she was performing an incantation. But after a few seconds she was back in her dream of porridge.
Time passed...
The smell in her head was giving to a real scent in her nose now, with even that faint, almost 'un'tasty burnt smell the acorns sometimes gave off.
She smiled and opened her eyes.
In her hands was a cracked wooden bowl full of porridge, just like she remembered.”
Liz Braswell, Once Upon a Dream

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