#☀ our life

[salemlunaa]

☀︎it’s not transactional ☀︎

stop looking at methods as a unit of currency…

When people speak of relationships, they say it shouldn’t be transactional because that’s toxic. For example just because your boyfriend/girlfriend has done something nice for you doesn’t mean you owe him or her sex. And the same goes for your relationship with manifesting, you aren’t owed your desires just because you did some method? And why? because you already have them.

Stop seeing methods as if it’s some unit of exchange!! what it’s not:

you do the method →you get your manifestation

you affirm “I AM” →you induce the void state

you listen to that one subliminal →you have your dream body

It’s not something that you exchange, it’s not “I give my time and effort to this method and then in return I get my manifestation” stop seeing it like money. With money you give and you get something you paid for in return. That’s not how it works here because you don’t need to get something you already have and failure to understand will cost you a lot of time with your manifestations and will cost you a lot of blood sweat and tears that just don’t need to shed.

Methods don’t help you get things, the things you wanted were yours the second you wanted them to be. What methods do is remind you, because unfortunately we live in a society that drills a horrible way of thinking into our heads. Thinking that tells us that “nothing is free”, “you have to work for what you want”, “life isn’t fair”. And due to this thinking being instilled in us since forever, we need reminders, in a perfect world we would think of something and it would appear infront of us, but because of society, so much resistance has been created that we need reminders to brake those barriers, those reminders come in methods. And that’s all they are.

Now since i showed you what doesn’t happen, let me show you what actually happens:

you thought of it → it’s here → remind yourself with a method (optional) → stand firm (mandatory) → your already real desire appears in the 3d as a mere byproduct, the cherry on top if you will.

you are “I AM” → you set the intention to induce pure consciousness → you affirm “I AM” to remind yourself (optional) → you’ve induce pure consciousness, congrats

you are the operant power → you decide you want that body, it’s not desired anymore it’s just how you look → subliminal reminds you of that → appears in the 3d as a side effect

So do not come here and say “I tried this method and it failed me”, no. that’s just not possible. You failed to remind yourself and you wavered. Nothing to do with a lifeless method.

Let’s say you want to go to a certain destination? The method isn’t the car driving you there, it doesn’t help you get there, it doesn’t help you get anywhere. Because guess what? you were already at your dream destination, the method just helps you remember even when circumstances shows that your still in the unfavourable destination.

so please stop scrolling endlessly for the “best method”, because there is no method that objectively works better than the other, however there may be methods that help you stand a lot firmer. But you need to remember it’s individual, just because you saw a girl who did affirmations and got her dream life in a week doesn’t mean that will help you stand firm better, visualisation may help you achieve the favourable mindset a lot easier and quicker than a subliminal, everyone is different.

And that is why, you don’t need methods, when bloggers say “all you need is yourself” we’re not tryna give you some sappy motivation, it’s truth. You don’t need any method, at all.

☄️🐋 Methods are the reminder, not the booster or the helper… 💋

[38riku]

𝐁𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🎂 ꒱ ˎˊ˗

scenarios based on their birthday voice line. includes trey clover, cater diamond, leona kingscholar, and idia shroud.

/ suggestive if you squint. some of their voice lines are so flirty it's not my fault. gender neutral. /

𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 ☀︎ 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

"ha-ha, way to put me on the spot. well, thanks. you know, according to the Queen of Hearts' laws, we're allowed to ask for anything we want on our birthdays ... h-hey, chill. I was joking."

it was slightly amusing to see the usually composed and cool headed trey clover flustered. his cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment. 'why did I say that?' he questioned over and over silently until his head started to spin.

"well, I'd hate to break one the Queen's laws." golden eyes widened in bewilderment at your statement. you were having the time of your life teasing him, weren't you? giggling like the menace he knows you to be.

your hands toyed with his tie, slowly and gently tugging at the fabric. if riddle saw him he'd surely hear an earful about proper dress, but, who cares? not him. not when you were flirting with him so blatantly in his room.

"what will it be clover?"

"what're you willing to give darling?"

the look in your eyes answered for him. everything. anything. no matter how ludicrous the request or object it would be his.

"you know you have my consent, yes?" your question was met with a nod, and a very deep gulp. he was great at keeping up the calm, cool and collected facade but, upon closer inspection — thundering heartbeat, cheeks now turning a deep red color, sweaty palms — he was, in fact, far from that.

trey didn't realize he had leaned in until he felt your breath fan his cheek. the faint smell of his birthday tart from the party reminded him that anyone could walk in. even so, there was no need to rush this moment.

it's his birthday after all. he deserves to be a bit selfish.

especially when it tastes like cherries.

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 ☀︎ 𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘

"you remembered my birthday? thanks! you're so nice, taking the time to celebrate with me. okay, bring it in for a pic! gotta commemorate this on Magicam."

"today was fun! i can't believe you planned all this just for me." although he kept his usual happy go lucky cadence, there was an underlying tone of disbelief. he had asked you to pinch him many times during your outing yet it still didn't feel real.

each part of the day was calculated. no matter how many times you deny it, he was in the forefront of your mind.

there was no cake or sweet treat. instead, a plate of spicy curry with happy birthday written in sauce. it was a bit sloppy but made his heart warm and brain fuzzy.

he half expected the two of you to go shopping, however, you surprised him again with a trip to the bookstore. cater knew you enjoyed manga. it was a popular topic amongst you and the underclassmen.

"branching out is an important part of growing up!" you had lectured him. he found it amusing but allowed you to coerce him into getting a few volumes of your favorites.

not that it took much. you could ask for the moon and cater would find a way to make it happen.

lastly, was his dislike for crowds. thus, the two of you were on the quiet beach, watching the sunset as the sky exploded in various hues of warmth. it had been a cinematic ending to his birthday. and, for once, he didn't want it to end.

the celebrations typically left a bad taste in his mouth. literally.

if anyone were to make today the least bit tolerable it would be you. the two of you were friends, not super close but far from distant, and today – like many other days – time went by too fast, and wish you'd stay beside him a but longer.

"let's take a picture!" cater smiled, not waiting for your answer as he pulled you close. hopefully you didn't notice how nervous he was to hold you like this, so close, so warm.

with a silly face for the camera he snapped the photo, only to feel a burst of warmth on his cheek.

"happy birthday cater!" you were so genuine, smiling softly and asking "same time next year?"

cater couldn't bring himself to answer. but, if his toothy smile was anything to go by then it was a resounding yes.

for once he looked forward to next year. more importantly, spending it with you.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐂����𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 ☀︎ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

ain't nothin' great about birthdays. it's just the day I was born. but if you really wanna celebrate it, I won't stop you. I always welcome presents.

"you know it's rude not to greet the birthday boy." it wasn't unusual to hear snide remarks from leona. in fact, he was ninety percent sure you expected this from your reaction. or the lack of one.

he didn't know why you gave him a birthday gift. but, since you did, it irritated him that you didn't deliver it yourself.

"you don't like it?" tease. even when you're cornered by a predator like himself you find time to dig under his skin. it was entertaining most of the time. right now, it simply pissed him off.

"if you're gonna be so bold as to give me a gift, at least deliver it yourself." huffing, he stood straight, content with getting his point across.

as hard as you tried to remain unbothered by his presence, you failed. your eyes watched him warily, anticipating something but not knowing what.

"leona, I don't know what you're planning but–"

"just thought i'd take the rest of my gift to go."

and, just like that, you were over his shoulder. as far as he's concerned the rest of your schedule is cleared to entertain the birthday boy.

what were you thinking? giving someone like him "coupons" as if he didn't already have someone to do his tedious work. as stupidly endearing your gift is, he intends to use each and every one.

naturally you end up in his room. unnaturally, he placed you down on your feet gently. he snorted at your surprise and handed you a small stack of clothes.

"your ... gym uniform?"

"put it on. you smell like your friends, and cat, I won't be able to sleep peacefully like that."

you scoffed at his reasoning but it was very very believable. leona felt a tinge of guilt for lying but, in his defense, if he was going to use you as a pillow you could at least smell like him.

the shirt was too big and you replaced his pants with your own clean pair of sweats. it seemed to have sufficed, because a moment later the two of you were, what he calls 'platonically cuddling'.

in his eyes, there was nothing platonic.

not the way you gently scratched his hair while scrolling on your phone.

not the way his tail curled around your waist protectively.

not the way he felt so at ease it he's barely conscious long enough to question the feeling before drifting to sleep.

𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃 ☀︎ 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄

what's up? I'm kinda busy collecting birthday voice clips from my game faves. after all, the only people who celebrate for me IRL are, like, my relatives. huh? you came to throw a birthday party? f-for me?! hrk... c-couldn't you give me a ready check or something before springing a raid on me?! i'm totally ungeared, and I haven't even watched a tutorial video yet!

the party wasn't as bad as he expected. just as you predicted, there are people who enjoy the same things he does — he and lilia play the same type of games, ace is a manga nerd — in short, his pop culture skillset was a sufficient substitute for his lack of social exp.

"look at you, increasing buddy levels with npc's. is now a bad time to say i told you so?"

"yes. you can't make fun of me on my b-birthday."

you laughter caused his hair to flare underneath his hood. although the party wasn't as overwhelming as he expected, you were still ... well, you, and you never failed to reduce his HP to zero with a smile.

imagine the damage he took when you suddenly took his hand, dragging him off to who knows where?

it was a critical hit.

"one more surprise." you giggled, opening one of the many doors in your recently renovated dorm. this specific room was decorated with the purpose of gaming.

the pc was decent, dual monitors, a soundbar, and a handful of game systems that cost more than a few thaumarks.

"now you can teach a mere noob like me all about gaming in the magic world."

all of this, to play games with him? it was unbelievable. he didn't deserve it. you were friends with plenty of maxed out characters and there were various love interest routes for you to take, yet, you chose him.

"i am pretty g-good. tutorial videos wouldn't help someone as h-hopeless as you."

it was the first time he spent his birthday with someone that wasn't related to him. teaching the main character (in his eyes) how to play video games. your shoulders were touching, faces inches apart whenever you'd turn to him, listening to him explain this and that.

idia had muted the party. buddy levels with npc's didn't matter when he was filling the romance bar.

© 2024 — 38riku. Do not copy or repost or plagiarize my work. All Rights Reserved.

[aemondapologistfrfr]

The Only Place I Want to Die

aegon x sister!wife!reader 

Summary: Aegon turns to you for comfort in the following weeks of his coronation. Pleasure and tears seem to be the only way you both can find solace during these troubling times. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, alicent hitting her child, wine, depression, thoughts of wanting to die, crying, face riding, p in v, fingering, overstimulation

Authors Note: i fear i have too many feelings so this tragically pretty and broken man 🙂, the targtower children have actually been ripping my heart apart!!, u can’t convince me this man doesn’t whimper

Word Count: 3.5k 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

I woke during the hour of the wolf to a cold bed and the fire flickering out. I sigh and push the blankets off of me and go to try and revive the embers. The fire slowly comes back to life with a crackle and I kneel on the stone to hover my hands near the flame. After countless minutes I rise and take in the state of our chambers. 

Empty wine glasses litter almost every surface and what’s left is covered by our clothes. I reach for the robe closest to me and wrap it around my body. I settle for mismatched slippers at this hour and pad over to the doors. I slowly crack it open and see our guard ever faithfully standing at attention. 

“Where is Aegon?” I ask softly and the guard turns to me. 

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. The King didn’t say.” the guards eyes look at me nervously and try to focus his attention anywhere else. 

“Then I’ll find him myself.” I push the door the rest of the way open and click it shut behind me. 

“My Queen-“ I raise my hand and wave him off as I start down the dark hallway. 

I can’t stand when they use our new titles. I don’t feel like the Queen and I know Aegon shares my sentiments. The past fortnight after his coronation has been chaos and our mother offers us no comfort or guidance. They simply placed crowns on our head and continue to move us about as they please. 

I walk down the stairs and head to the cellar to see if he’s drowning himself in his cups again. I enter the cold and damp room and there’s no candles or torches lit as I slink between the aisles of bottles. I hear and see no sign of Aegon, but I do spot our favorite wine. I grab the bottle by its neck and start up the stairs once more. 

I walk to the main hall and take in the guards standing sentry at the doors. No one looks twice at me as I ghost through the hall with my robe swishing behind me. I stop when I see the throne room doors cracked open. I peak inside and sigh in relief that I’ve finally found him. 

I push the doors open to let me in and then seal us inside. As I walk up to him he is standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at the throne gripping the crown in his hand. As I make it to his side I see the tears streaming down his face. I place the bottle of wine on the ground and stand in front of him. His puffy eyes look down to me as he sniffles. 

“Why do you cry, my love?” I whisper wiping his tears away. 

“I never wanted this.” his voice breaks along with my heart as the conquerors crown falls to the stone beside us. 

“I know,” my voice a whisper as I pull him down into a tight embrace. 

His arms wrap around me tightly as he lets out soft sobs into my neck. I rub his back soothingly hoping I can calm his breathing. His tears seep onto my neck as they continue to fall from his eyes. He pulls back and his normally bright violet eyes seem sunken and dull. 

“I wish Rhaenyra would come and kill me already.” he hiccups as his sobs start anew. 

Tears fall from my own eyes at his words. I knew his hurt was deep, but I didn’t know it went this far. We stand there for what feels like hours in each other’s embrace while taking turns wiping each other’s tears away. Through the windows I can see the dawn on the horizon and slowly pull back. 

“Come, I’ve found us our favorite wine.” I dip down to pick up the bottle. 

His hand slips into mine leading me out of the throne room, leaving the crown on the stone floor. The main hall of the castle seems to be slowly waking up as we walk out the main doors ignoring the guards calling after us. We make our way to the back of the castle to sit in the grass as we watch the sunrise over the bay with our wine. 

“Do you think she hates me?” Aegon murmurs while opening the bottle. 

“Who?” I tilt my head. 

“Rhaenrya. Mother. All of them. Everyone.” he sighs before taking a long drink of wine. 

“Rhaenyra probably hates mother more than we do.” I take the bottle and bring it to my lips. 

“Why would mother force this upon us? Father only ever talked about Rhaenyra. He never cared for us. He never wanted me to succeed him.” he buries his head in his hands. 

“I don’t know why we were placed on this path.” I rest my head on his shoulder as I pass the bottle back to him. 

The sun slowly rises into the sky and our empty bottle is discarded on the grass next to us. We lay back and look at the clouds simply enjoying the silence and company of each other. Our eyes slowly close as we curl into each other and allow sleep to take over as we soak in the morning sun. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

“Get up. Both of you.” I crack my eyes open and see Alicent and Cole standing above us. I pull Aegon to his feet beside me and we try to avoid our mother’s harsh gaze. 

“It seems as if we found the wine thief.” Cole says grabbing the empty bottle discarded on the grass. 

“Why must you both cause me so much trouble. Leaving your crown on the ground like it’s some toy. Sneaking into the cellars to steal wine. Gods I can’t take it anymore.” she seethes, throwing her hands into the air as she turns to Cole. 

“I didn’t ask for any of this.” Aegons words wobbly as his hand holds mine. 

“I assumed you both would rise to your new titles. Hoping you would sober up and become respectable. You both never cease to prove me wrong and embarrass me at every turn.” she looks us over with disgust as her words continue to slice into us. 

“You should’ve seized the crown for yourself if you wanted it so badly.” the words make it out of my mouth before I can even process them and she slaps me across the face. 

“Strike her again and I will have your hand. I may not want the crown but it will allow me to protect her.” Aegon looks to me before looking back to our mother who stands there shocked at his words. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” she scoffs shaking her head at us. 

“Ser Criston, escort the Queen Dowager back to her chambers. I fear she’s having a fit of hysteria.” Aegon stands taller and his words baffle me. 

“Aegon,” Alicent looks to him unamused.

“At once, Your Grace.” Cole nods to Aegon and starts to pull our mother back to the main doors of the castle. 

At their absence he turns to me and softly ghosts his fingertips across my red cheek. I look up to him and see the anger in his eyes as he continues to stroke my cheek. I feel the rest of my body heat at his soft touch. He’s not always so soft and delicate but I’ve never really minded. 

“Thank you,” I lean into his touch as his eyes slowly slide to mine. 

“I won’t allow anyone to hurt you anymore. We must come up with a plan.” he places a kiss on my forehead before leading me back into the Keep. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

The past couple of days have consisted of us trying to conjure up a plan to run away or somehow receive an audience with Rhaenyra. We’ve wrote countless letters but none of them seem good enough. Entertaining the idea of running away was all we did the entirety of the first day, but we don’t want to run anymore. We don’t want to be alone, we just want to be loved or die loving each other.

“Let us just send this one and be done with it.” Aegon sighs pushing his chair back from the table in our chambers. 

Sister

I never wanted this and I know father never wanted this. Please, can we meet on the shores and find common ground. I have no wish for the crown, you can have it. Please.

Aegon and Y/n

“I think this one will do what we need it to. She’ll either meet us on the beach or The Stranger will.” I sigh folding the parchment and sealing it with wax. 

“As long as we’re together.” he says softly looking up to me. 

“As long as we’re together.” I hum nodding my head. 

We leave our chambers as we walk to the tower where the ravens are kept. We send off the raven and watch as its wings carry our plea into the horizon. We walk down to the dining hall where we see the table empty and dusty. The Red Keep has been a shell since our father passed and our mother usurped the throne. 

“It seems as if we’ll be dining in our chambers again.” I sigh going to turn out of the hall. 

“No, have a seat and I’ll call the servants. We can dine here.” Aegon shakes his head and goes to pull out a chair for me. 

He pushes my chair in for me before leaving the hall and returns with a herd of servants trailing behind him. They quickly place and light candles around the hall helping bring some of the life back. Aegon slips into the chair next to mine as a servant comes and fills up our cups with wine. A smile spreads across my face as I recognize our favorite summer wine.

“Did you really take another bottle?” I turn to him and see him offering me a genuine smile. 

“We deserve our favorite wine with dinner,” he hums licking his lips. 

“Indeed,” I raise my glass to him and sigh as the sweet wine trickles down my throat.

The servants fill our plates and continue to bring out different dishes. Once we’re fully sated we retire back to our chambers. The heaviness of our disastrous apartments weighs us down as we seal the doors behind us. He pushes clothes and other miscellaneous items out of our path before he lets out a deep sigh and falls back on the bed. 

“Do you think Rhaenyra will listen to us?” he mumbles wiping his eyes. 

“We can only hope.” I hum as I crawl on the bed next to him. 

“If she doesn’t then this is our last night.” he turns to me with sad eyes but I can see the underlying relief that I know is mirrored in my own.

I press my lips to his softly. It starts off slow and innocent but soon he’s pulling me on top of him. He pulls my dress up around my waist and digs his fingers into my hips. His fingers find my wetness quickly and I’m gasping into his mouth. 

“Only place I want to die is between your thighs.” he breaks our kiss breathing heavily. 

He pulls me up his body and I know his desire. I slide off of him and lift my skirts to straddle his face. His hands grab my hips and places me on his lips. He places wet kisses along my thighs before licking my slit. I sigh in pleasure as he begins to swirl around my bud. My hips start to move against him and his responding groan sends vibrations straight to my core. 

“Aegon,” I breathlessly whine as his hands begin to slide me across his mouth. 

His tongue flicks against me relentlessly as my hips start moving on their own. His fingers dig into my thighs roughly as he feasts upon me. My body goes taught as I pulse around his tongue with his name falling from my lips. 

“Fuck, my King,” his tittle slips out before I can stop it. 

He seals his lips around my sensitive bud and my hips shutter from the pleasure he keeps offering me. I’m moaning loudly as he continues to rock me against his mouth. His tongue slips down to my core as his nose brushes against my bud. Pleasure starts to ripple through me as I toss my head back grinding down on to him. 

“Aegon, I-“ my voice breaks into a cry as he continues with his tongue. 

He chuckles into my wetness causing shockwaves to travel throughout my body. I’m babbling above him as he coaxes me through a third climax. My hands grab his to try and pry them from my hips. I finally collapse next to him on the bed and try to catch my breath. He starts to pull my dress off of me and once I’m bare his hands grab for my breasts. 

I start to lift his shirt off and he finishes removing it quickly following with his trousers. His hard length bounces against his stomach before he dips down to take one of my nipples into his mouth. I whimper as he bites down, pulling it between his teeth while he looks up to me through his thick lashes. He makes his way to my other peak to tease it with his teeth. 

My fingers thread through his hair before they go to the expanse of his back. I bring one of my hands between us to slowly start pumping him. He grunts as he continues to pull and tease my nipples. I swipe against his leaking tip and he whines against my chest. He removes himself from my breasts and watches my hand stroke him. 

“Fuck,” he pants as I start to pump him faster. 

He starts to jerk his hips into my hand as his head falls to my shoulder. He whimpers as he gets lost in his pleasure while sucking on my neck. His hand grabs mine and stops my movements. He trails his tip through my wetness causing a shiver to trail through me. 

He pushes into me and watches as my face relaxes in pleasure at his stretch. Once he’s fully bottomed out he grinds his hips into me slowly. I moan as my fingers dig into his shoulders as he keeps up his slow, deep movements as his hair falls into my face. I clench around him and his forehead falls to mine as his breaths come out heavier. 

He starts to rock his hips and I whine as he finally begins to move faster. His breath starts to come out in pants again as his hips start to snap into mine. I cling on to him as his pace quickens while moans pour from my mouth. He wraps one of my legs around his waist and I sob at the new angle. 

“Yes, Aegon,” I pant as I throw my head back into the pillow. 

He continues to rut into me and I bring my other leg to wrap around him and his hips falter at the deeper angle. My hips meet his as we chase our pleasure together. Our breath mingles while we whimper out each other’s names. 

“Love you so fucking much,” his words slurred from pleasure as he slams his hips into mine. 

Pleasure courses through me at his words as my walls contract around him. I feel him start to fill me as he continues to rock into me. His hips still and he leans down to capture my lips in a bruising kiss. I moan into his mouth as he grinds his hips into mine once more before slowly pulling out. 

“Just gimme a couple minutes,” he pants laying next to me. 

His hands trail all over my body as I try to catch my breath. His hands travel down to my soaked core as he slips his fingers in and begins to pump his seed back into me. My legs close around his hand as he curls his fingers wringing more pleasure from my body. I cry out his name as I flutter around his fingers and he pulls them out and brings them to his mouth. 

He groans and rolls on top of me to kiss me. I moan into his mouth at the taste of myself on him. He licks my lips and travels down my neck and stops at my breasts again. He attaches to one of my hardened nipples and roughly grabs my other breast. I arch my chest up into his mouth as his roughness causes more wetness to pool between my thighs. 

“Aegon, I need you,” I mewl trying to buck my hips into him but I end up just sliding myself on his thigh. 

He grunts from my chest and bends his knee so I can grind against his thigh. I have one hand buried in his silver locks while the other grips his shoulder as he peppers my chest with attention. My hips are feverishly grinding against his thigh looking for any friction they can find. I pull his hair to get his attention that I want him to move lower and he releases the nipple he’s been holding hostage. 

“Always so fucking needy.” he chuckles but kisses down my torso nonetheless. 

The second his tongue laps against my bud my hand is flying to his hair pulling him closer to me. I’m grinding against his face as sobs rack through me. He slams two fingers into me pulling pleasure from me. He pushes a third finger in and my eyes are rolling to the back of my head and moans fall from my mouth. My orgasm slams through me stealing my breath as I try to pull his face away from me. I get him about an inch away before his hand grabs my wrist. 

“Oh no no, my sweet girl this is what you wanted.” he chuckles lowly as his grip on my wrist tightens before he dips back down to continue licking at me. 

My whole body is shaking as his tongue zeros in on my clit. My thighs squeeze around his head as my chest heaves. My back arches off the bed as my fingers continue to pull at his hair. 

“Aegon, fuck Aegon, please,” I whine bucking my hips as pleasure bursts through me all over his face. He pulls away from my core with a wet face and a wide smile.

“Love when you do that,” he licks his lips before he shoves his tongue into my mouth. 

I moan into our kiss as I feel his length press against me. He humps against me and my legs quake in anticipation. He slips into my core and my eyes shut. His hands grab mine to hold them above my head as he pounds into me. 

“Gunna come again for me? Taking me so fucking good,” his pelvis grinds into my clit and I sob as pleasure ripples through me and I feel as if it’s never ending. 

He rolls his hips as pleasure begins to wash through him. I come clenching around him once more as my vision blurs. When my eyes open again he’s peppering kisses all around my face. As he moves I can still feel him buried deep in me and I whine squirming.

“I always think you’re the most perfect when you’re thoroughly fucked, flushed cheeks, still squeezing my cock.” he groans grinding into me. 

“Aegon,” tears prick at the edges of my eyes as he still pushes into me. 

He slowly pumps in and out chuckling at my whimpers. He pulls out which leaves me feeling empty. He slides down and lays between my thighs resting his head on my stomach. I run my fingers through his hair as we both come down from our highs. I shut my eyes as I keep my fingers tangled in his hair as his arms wrap around me tightly. 

“Do you love me?” he mumbles against my skin.

“You know I do, very much.” I hum still petting his hair. He snuggles into me as we drift off not caring what tomorrow holds as long as we’re together. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌 

this was super self indulgent 🫣😅 

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @anaviieiraaa @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @zanygot7straykidsbonk

[jezebelblues]

𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐔 ‘𝟗𝟐 | 𝐇.𝐒 ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐮, ‘𝟗𝟐. (a summer love he’ll never get back).

𝐂𝐖: allusions to smut+18 (piv), sadrry :( exrry, angst, unedited, fem!reader, time jumps between 1992-2012

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 4.5k

❏ i need to take a break from angst fr i’ve been putting toooooo much of it out lately. this fun was to write tho. love doing lyric based things. anyway! thanks for reading :*

masterlist

sometimes the heat made every breath stale. you’d inhale, and the air would hit the back of your throat in a dry, sun-scorched blow—hot and sharp as a blade through your nose. it’d coat your tongue in something arid enough that the words couldn’t bear the weight of themselves anymore. they were caught there, chafing against the tip of your tongue, dragging to a sputtering death before they even touched your lips.

but the air was saccharine, cotton candy floating from pink clouds and lingering in the breeze. every now and then, the waves would lap gently enough that it sounded like a lullaby—the sand just warm silk between toes, soft enough to fool you into thinking the world could be kind.

harry didn’t know YN, not at all. not before that summer.

the summer she fled from the midwest like it might collapse behind her, leaving only dust and cornfields and parents who thought love was autocratic.

the same summer harry visited the states for the first time, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, still trying to find himself in a world that felt too vast.

a summer, that’s it—fleeting, but heavy enough to settle against your sternum until your chest caved in. like the season tried to resuscitate that feeling over and over again until ribs would splinter under the pressure.

now it just left a hollow.

the airport was no less stale than the air outside—now just bathed in white fluorescents, cold and sterile like a morgue, buzzing flies and all.

he kissed her anyway, and she swore it wasn’t goodbye, but harry knew better. he could taste the finality on her lips—something unresolved laced with something copper, sanguine, tragic. maybe she bit her tongue to keep things together, or maybe she bit it back to prevent the three words they should’ve said to each other but didn’t.

he still remembers the tang of it; still wonders if she bled for him that day.

she didn't have the money to stick around, not for long, anyway. her whole life packed into a bag, she tore through the season like a comet. motel rooms when they could scrape together the cash, but mostly they lived out of harry's borrowed car.

a piece of shit, really. the kind of car that rattled when it hit fifty and burned your thighs on the vinyl seats. but to her, it was perfect. she loved it most at night. they’d park somewhere desolate on the shore, right in the sand—the waves crashing in whispers, the windows fogging up just enough to bare evidence to the way she’d ride him in the backseat, claiming the length between his thighs as her own.

he didn’t have as much tattoos then as he had now, but his favorites weren’t inked—they were the ones she left herself—bruises kissed into his neck, dark as midnight, tender as promises.

and the motel 6 that was on the corner of palm canyon and serra bore the imprint of their young, naive vows—right in the pavement.

the sky was painted lavender and steel blue that night, bathing them indigo underneath the cool, flickering light of the motel sign.

harry remembers her laugh—airy and light, like it came easier than breathing. she pulled him under yellow caution tape toward the fresh concrete.

“isn’t this bad for our skin?” harry muttered, glancing over his shoulders warily as the two of them kneeled down. “‘nd what if we’re caught?”

she laughed, the sky and the sign and the silver glow of the rising moon coloring her in like art. “don’t be a wimp, h.”her smile broke him, it really did. her shoulder brushed his as she pressed her hand flat into the wet cement.

the concrete was cold to the touch, thick and dense like dead flesh as she held her hand flush against it.

he followed, YN’s kiss on his shoulder pushing him forward. his handprint was so much larger than hers, like they weren't even made for the same world.

he had tried to wipe his soiled palm against the dew of the grass as YN wrote their initials underneath the imprints of their hands with her index finger, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide.

“there.” she murmured, leaning her cheek against harry bicep. “now it’s forever.”

he believed her then. he believed it in the way you believe the sun will rise, like the natural rhythm of breath—like it was written in stone.

but now at the age of thirty-nine, he knew better—knew how cement dried, how it cracked, how time eroded things. perhaps he should’ve known it was a bad omen the way it was solidified in cold petrichor, left to dry and harden just as they did.

as the years wore on, harry would come back once every blue moon, if he had the expense for it. the quiet part of the beach where they'd park his car wasn't so quiet anymore. it basked in fairy lights and neon glow, in the bustle of seaside shops; the sand stamped with footsteps of tourists that came and went.

sometimes, when he got drunk enough, he'd try to walk the path back to where they stayed. but the tire tracks in the sand were long gone, and the waves crashed farther up the shoreline than they did twenty years ago.

he could remember the way she'd slip out of the car, the door creaking faintly as it swung open, and how the dim light from the moon framed her face. her hair was a mess of salt and wind, strands clinging to the curve of her jaw and the hollow of her throat, and his sweater hung off her like it was never meant to belong to anyone else. it was too big, swallowing her, the sleeves pushed to her elbows. his name clung to her, silently.

she turned back to him, holding the door open, bending at the waist slightly as she leaned in. she tipped her head, her eyes catching the light just enough to glitter as she threw him a look—all flushed cheeks and teasing lips. “c'mon, lover." her voice was a breath. an invitation, an inevitability.

and harry didn’t hesitate. he never did, not with her.

he slid across the cracked leather seats in the back, his shoulder brushing against her arm as he dipped out, the soft brush of fabric on skin setting something electric humming in his veins. he slammed the door behind him, the sound loud against the hush of the waves.

he remembers the way the way her giggles bubbled, how the backs of her thighs felt pliant in his hands as he lifted her like she weighed nothing—like the earth itself would let him defy gravity for her—setting her atop the hood dusted with grains of sand blown awry from the wind, clinging right to her skin.

her fingers were in his hair before he even kissed her, tugging gently, threading through the curls like she was mapping him out. when his lips found hers, she tasted like summer—like sun-warmed strawberries and sugar and something he couldn't name but would chase for years. he nipped at her bottom lip, teeth pulling it back enough to meet her gaze—just to find her looking at him like he was the only thing real in the universe, like he’d been carved from air and fire and the aching edges some long-forgotten dream.

she’d wrap her legs around his waist, his chest bare and his shorts still damp from the ocean during sunset.

her fingers tightened, her nails lightly scraping against his scalp as she tipped his head back to reveal the curve of his neck, the column of his throat.

and she had pressed her lips there, a searing kiss where his throat dipped, where his pulse beat unsteady beneath his skin. her lips were softer than they should've been, her teeth sharper than he expected as she left the marks he loved so much.

he remembered the way his laughter cracked as her teeth grazed the curve of his shoulder, his hands tracing up her thighs, his dimples cutting deep. “people are gonna think m’yours if you keep leaving ‘em.” he smirked, tilting his head back down as she ran her hands down his chest, glancing up at him.

“aren’t you?”

“am i?”

she nodded, tracing the lines of the butterfly on his tummy, the wings fluttering with every breath. “until you aren’t.”

her words had knocked a breath from his chest. they weren't cruel—she wasn't cruel—but there was something devastating in the simplicity of them, the way they slipped so easily from her mouth. like she'd already made peace with whatever came next.

he narrowed his eyes down at her, watching her intently as her gaze remained distant, fingers gliding along edges and lines of his muscles he didn’t know existed until she found them.

the three words sat right on his tongue that night—sour, heavy, unspoken.

after a beat, she stilled her tracings, looking back up at him with her eyes so full of something he couldn’t quite name yet. she had pressed her palms against his chest, pushing him gently, only knocking him off balance enough to rock on his heels while she let out a breathy chuckle. “you’re overthinking it.”

he parted his lips to speak, but YN was already sliding off the hood of the car, brushing past him with a faint pat to his bum, her smile almost too small to catch.

she had lifted his sweater over her head, revealing her bare chest, her nipples tightening in the breeze, arms stretching upwards before she let it fall into the sand.

next was the bikini bottoms she had been wearing since their swim, sliding down her thighs so easily he wished he had done it himself.

she walked in reverse, shooting him a teasing look before she spun on her heel, jogging toward the water that reflected the moon and stars above, twinkling in the blue.

“move it, styles!” she shouted, dipping her head beneath the surface, her hair slicking back once she rose again. “we’ve got another thing to cross off the bucket-list!”

and again, harry hadn’t hesitated.

the motel 6 wasn’t there anymore either. it was demolished in 2007. serra retreat, it was called—an overly expensive peaceful reprieve for the rich, flanked by huge mansions that sat perched in the rolling hills, overlooking the water.

but harry and YN still existed there, only there, right in the worn, cracked pavement.

and in a way, the corner of palm canyon and serra road would always be theirs—a testament, a vow, a grave.

the weeks after she left he went back home to cheshire, a shell of the young man he was before he left. he came back a heartbroken, blubbering mess that cried for his mom.

he remembers it vividly, because then, it was the first time he sobbed into his mother’s shoulder for comfort since childhood.

and anne would try to remedy his pain, she really would. she’d wipe his tears and make him tea, listen to the stories he’d whisper if he felt up to it—memories spilling out of him in fits and starts, mumbled right into his bent knees.

for a while, he’d save up money from the small checks he’d earn at the bakery to buy calling cards. at first, he’d get at least four a month—one international call each week. she answered occasionally, maybe once or twice.

but he did it again, and again and again—whether it was her that answered or the sound of her pretty voice layered over static in the background.

hey, it’s YN! reached the right person at the wrong time—you know what to do after the beep. later!

and as the time stretched enough to let silence sit between the spaces, he’d walk over to the community library with an obstinacy soaked in hope���saturated so heavily that it would weigh down on him like the threat of an executioners blade.

he didn’t go there to study, or to read, or to pray in the small chapel nestled into the basement of the building, the exact room his grandmom had told him about after seeing only tired, distant eyes since he had come home.

“he’ll listen, sweetheart. he’ll take your sadness bit by bit and offer you solace in place of it.” she promised, (although she didn’t really have the authority to) her voice weathered with age, concern woven between each syllable.

but harry would press his lips into a tight line as he nodded politely, tuning her out after that.

he’d wear the (something he felt was no longer his) silver cross pendant against his chest every day as if it was attached to him. but, at that point, he wondered if it was just a force of habit rather than a symbol of faith.

because the less she answered, the more hopeless he felt—and the silence began to wrap around him like a noose waiting for the ground to give out.

instead, he’d go straight for the row of clunky white computers that whirred so loudly it ought of been told to hush by the librarian. his leg would bounce while it would dial up, his hands clammy as he typed in search of what he came there for—what’s the time difference between cheshire and ohio?

he had taken out his little notepad that was tucked into his back pocket, writing the answer down in the spotty blue ink just so he could do the mental math for every time he called.

and, eventually, (even after he took the time to consider time differences) it dwindled down to only buying one calling card for the month—because her answers were just becoming more and more scarce.

for a while, he’d call on the third of each month like clockwork (it was her favorite number—three). so much so, that during that summer, after one too many cheap beers they bribed the clerk to let them buy, him and YN got matching tattoos. she had gotten a small three on her left wrist, right along the curve of the bone; while harry got a small little shamrock in the very same spot—her number, his luck.

“in concrete and skin.” she smiled, the two of them walking out of the small parlor, leaning into his chest as she laughed.

“careful,” he smirked, nudging his hip against hers as they continued down the jagged sidewalk. “sounds like you’re making a vow there, angel.”

“isn’t it?”

he’d sit down atop the kitchen counter, his feet dangling as he pressed the landline to his ear. it would ring, the trilling brrrttt a taunt that sounded awfully similar to the whispers that’d pick and pry at his brain—you’re part to blame, you’re part to blame, you’re part to blame.

that’s what he thought, at least. maybe if he had just said i love you at the airport they wouldn’t be separated by an ocean, both the atlantic and a sea of regret.

the sound of her voicemail only answered again.

nearly twenty years later in july, (three weeks ago) he found himself in malibu again. it was like an attachment he couldn’t let go of, an addiction that wouldn’t set him free.

he held onto this unrealistic idea that he’d see her again—kneeling into their handprints, retracing old memories marked into the ground, as if it’d bring them to life again—just as he was.

harry knew it was delusional.

he visited the pavement every time he came, grass and weeds starting to sprout through the cracks in their initials—but it was still there.

he’d visit it like one visits a headstone, mourning what once was.

when he was back in london, in his own house now, he did something stupid. he did something impulsive, he did something he wish he had never done in the first place—he’d call her again.

it had been over ten years since he gave up calling YN. what the hell was he expecting? for her to pick up? for the number to even still be hers? he didn't know why he was doing it. maybe it was the date he'd just come back from—nice enough, but nice was the kind of word people used when there was nothing else to say.

she wasn't her, and it was starting to feel as if nothing would ever compare to the way he felt at nineteen.

he cracked open another beer, the neck of the bottle slick in his palm. he held it too tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared at his phone. his heart slammed hard enough in his chest to make him dizzy as he dialed the number ingrained in his memory.

this was stupid—pathetic, mostly. and deep down, he hated himself for it. twenty years of heartbreak over a fucking summer, over a girl he had known for basically only four months.

he took another sip.

but it’s ringing, the trill looping and looping—meaning the number was still connected. it wasn’t empty, he wasn’t calling into the void. so, despite himself, he didn’t hang up.

he’d be calling a stranger either way he cut it: either someone he had never known answering, or the older version of a girl he had fell in love with two decades ago. stupid. pathetic. pathetic—

“hello?”

his beer slipped, the bottle thunking hard against the counter. he barely caught it in time, his grip unsteady as the voice on the other end sent a jolt through him.

his lips parted as his jaw went slack, the words caught somewhere at the top of his throat. his hand shook, his thoughts racing. she didn’t sound all that different, older, yeah, but still her.

she said it again, a little sharper this time, like she might hang up if he didn't respond. "..hellooo?"

his stomach churned and his breath wavered as he forced her name out, “Y–YN?”

there was a pause on the other line, faint shifting and rustling in the background like she was leaning into the phone. “yes, who is this?”

he could barely get his own name out. “harry.”

silence.

it stretched thin and tight, his pulse pounding in his ears. he swore he heard her suck in a breath, heard her lips part.

there was a breathy stutter, as if she was fighting the words she didn’t quite know how to articulate. “how–how are you?”

and all he could do was stand there, clutching a half-empty beer and shaking like a kid, because for the first time in twenty years, he heard her voice and didn't know what the hell to do with it.

but, he exhaled a laugh, though it came out more like a nervous puff of air, and scrubbed his hand over his face. god, how would you even begin to answer that after twenty years? "uh, i'm–m’good. yeah, good." he lied.

the bottle in his hand felt suddenly too heavy, so he set it down, dragging his fingers along the edge of the counter instead. "and you? how've y’been?"

"i'm... alright," she said, though there was a hesitation, a weight to the word that made him suspect otherwise. her voice had softened in that way people's voices do when they're not quite sure how much to say.

the line hummed with static as he searched for something—anything—to say that wouldn't sound absurd. twenty years had passed. two decades. and all he had was how've you been? pathetic.

"you still in ohio?" he asked finally, hating how desperate he sounded to know something, anything about her life now.

"no." she replied quietly, and he could almost hear the faint shake of her head in her tone. "no, i moved. i'm in jersey now.”

the word hit him like a quiet ache. not malibu. not where it all began, not even back home in ohio, the whole reason she left in the first place. "right." he murmured, running his thumb over the edge of his counter. "makes sense. sounds...jerseys nice."

a faint laugh filtered through the line, and he almost forgot how much he'd missed the sound of it. "yeah, it is. what about you? uk still?"

"yeah, london now. still-still england." he struggled, tripping over his own tongue like a schoolboy.

"good." she sighed softly, but it hung there like an echo, as though she didn't quite know what else to add.

silence stretched out between them, not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy with all the words they weren't saying.

finally, she broke it, her voice lighter, almost cautious. "harry... why'd you call?"

his heart thudded, the question slamming into him with the weight of every regret he'd carried since the day she left. why did he call? he didn't have an answer that didn't sound like an excuse or a confession. "i... i dunno." he mumbled honestly, and his voice cracked just enough to betray him. "i just... i wanted t’hear your voice, i guess."

another pause. he could hear her breathing on the other end, steady but shallow, like she was processing something she didn't know how to hold.

"it's been such a long time.” her words were as much a statement as they were a question.

"mm-hmm.” he hummed quietly. "too long."

and there it was again—that silence, louder now, the weight of two decades pressing against them. his grip on the phone tightened.

"you didn't have to wait this long, you know—to call, i mean." she murmured, almost like an afterthought.

his stomach twisted, guilt tinged with frustration unfurling like a vine through his chest. "you stopped answering.”

her breath hitched faintly, and for a moment he thought she might hang up. but instead, her voice returned, quieter, more guarded. "yeah. i–i guess i did."

he swallowed thickly, feeling like he was standing on the edge of something too fragile to hold. "do you regret it?"

she didn't answer right away, and when she finally did, her voice was heavy with something he couldn't quite place. "do you?"

his throat tightened. he could lie—should lie—but he couldn't bring himself to. "every day."

another breath of silence, and then, "me too."

for a moment, harry could feel the years peeling away, leaving them bare again, like they'd been when they were young. when it was simple. when it was summer.

but it wasn't. it wasn’t 1992. they weren’t teenagers anymore, and they definitely weren’t in california.

"it's funny," she breathed after a while, her voice a bit steadier now, though there was something in it— some hint of resignation—that made his chest tighten. "i hadn't thought about malibu in... i don't even know how long. and then you call, and it's like i'm eighteen again."

he closed his eyes. eighteen. nineteen. it cut deep. "i've never stopped thinking about it, YN." he admitted delicately, his voice low, rough. "about you."

her breath caught, barely audible, but he heard it.

"harry." she sighed, a warning in the way she said his name, like she was afraid of where this might go.

"do you remember?" he pressed, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "the beach? our bucket-list? our promises? us? how we said—how we said we'd never forget it?"

she was quiet for a long time, long enough that he thought maybe he'd gone too far. "of course i remember. how could i forget?”

and for a second, it felt like he could breathe again. like the two decades of distance between them weren't so insurmountable after all.

but then her tone shifted, growing firmer, almost bittersweet. "harry, we can't go back. you know that, right?"

his chest ached. "why not?" he asked, hating the way his voice cracked.

"because it's been twenty years.” she lamented, and there was something final in the way she said it, like she'd been rehearsing this conversation in her head for years. "because we're not the same people we were back then."

"so what?" he rushed, the words coming out sharper than he meant them to. "so what if it's been twenty years? so what if we've changed? does that mean it didn't matter? that it wasn't real?"

"it was real, harry.”she countered, and he could hear the emotion building in her voice now, raw and unsteady. "it was the realest thing i've ever had. but that doesn't mean we can just pick up where we left off."

"why not?" he asked again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "why can't we try?" he felt pathetic.

"because," YN insisted, then there was a pause, and he could hear her struggling to find the words. "because i'm not yours anymore, harry. i haven't been for a long time."

his heart dropped, the weight of her words crashing into him like a tidal wave—no, worse than that. "what do you mean?"

there was a long, shaky exhale on the other end of the line. "i'm married.”

he felt the air get knocked out of his lungs.

“i have a husband. a life. a... a house here in jersey."

he froze, his hand tightening around the phone. "a husband.” he repeated numbly, the word foreign and strange on his tongue. "you're... you're married?"

"yes.” she frowned, and he could hear the apology in her voice, even though she hadn't said the words. "i didn't think you’d ever find out—or need to.”

his head spun, lips threatening to tremble. "does he make you happy?" he asked after a moment, his voice shaky and quiet, almost a whisper.

there was a pause, “yes.” and it sounded like the truth, but it also sounded like something she was still trying to convince herself of.

he nodded to himself, even though she couldn't see it. "good..” he trailed off, his voice hoarse. "that's—um. that’s good."

"harry..." she started, but he cut her off.

"no, s’okay.” he croaked, forcing a small, bitter laugh. "i mean, of course. what did i expect, right? twenty years is a long time."

"it is…" she said quietly, and he could hear the pain in her voice, like she hated this as much as he did.

"you've got everything now, huh?" his voice trembled, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "money, a nice house. someone who probably doesn't spend two decades thinking about a summer that's long gone."

"harry, that's not—“ she paused, clenching her jaw. “that’s not fair.” her voice was a bit sharper now, but he just shook his head, his eyes glassing over.

"no, you're right," he said flatly, "s’not fair. none of this is fair."

silence fell again, heavy and suffocating, and he closed his eyes, letting the weight of it all settle over him.

he thought he heard a sniffle on the other line before it crackled. "i…should go, harry. m’sorry, i can’t.”

"yeah," his tone was short, his throat tight. "yeah, you should."

"take care of yourself, harry.” YN murmured, and then the line went dead.

he stood there for a long time, the silence of his empty house pressing in around him. twenty years, and all he had left was the ghost of a memory, the echo of a voice he hadn't heard in two decades, a stupid fucking vow sealed into the earth half way across the world like a taunt.

in twenty years she had forgotten malibu—but harry hasn’t left since.

[moomine]

backwash | daisuke

author's note: part one of a future series... the mouthwashing brainrot is real... if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) The first day on the Tulpar is short as the reader and the rest of the crew adjust to their new day-to-day life in space. While settling in, she gravitates to Daisuke, the ship's impromptu intern, during a brief but meaningful encounter

word count: 1,153

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: Mook - "Malmo"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 001—

My mom wasn’t happy I accepted this job. She knows —like all of us do— that space transit is a dying market. She said: “It’s all automated now. People don’t belong out there anyway.” And yet, Pony Express is still afloat, despite it all. Why did I want to go? I don’t really know. This is all I seem to understand. I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to do with this degree? With my piloting certification? This has been my dream my entire life. If you can tell me that there’s anything better, then, please, let me know. I know I’m under contract now, and there’s no backing out. I don’t plan on it. This is what I love, isn’t it?

DAY ONE—

You would never forget the feeling of the Tulpar taking off. The shaking. The back and forth of force and resistance rocking the old ship as it exited Earth’s atmosphere, launching itself into space. It was similar to riding a rollercoaster. The build up in your torso as your stomach seemed to rise, lifting up and up until it felt like it was bulging at the base of your throat. Then it fell deep into your belly, as if trying to push itself out of your body all together, tipping over the peak of a tall slope. After a moment of nausea, there was nothing. A staggering stillness as the ship settled within the embrace of zero gravity. The persistent rocking ceased. The whining of metal warping hushed to a whisper, and then into a chilling silence. The adrenaline which had built up blended with something else. Something almost euphoric.

The cockpit was a sickly green, illuminated by the various nearby screens that signaled the take-off was a success. Under the tight grip of your seat belt, you shifted in your chair, attempting to loosen the rough fabric fastens.

Captain Curly leaned into the microphone and spoke over the intercom: “All right, folks. Thank you for flying with Pony Express,” he laughed at his own joke. “You’re free to walk around and get yourself acquainted with our lovely ship. Afterall, she’ll be housing us for another three hundred eighty one days. Let’s make this haul a good one. Cheers.”

He looked over his shoulder from where he sat, a proud smile gracing his lips. It was an almost cocky expression. He appeared proud of himself, maybe even happy to get to show off in front of a new pilot.

“How was that?” Curly asked in your direction.

“Incredible,” you said breathlessly. Your eyes were still wide from the excitement.

The pilot let out a low belly laugh. His smile stretched from ear to ear. “Always happy to please.” He turned to his co-pilot, Jimmy, whose face was almost as green as the screens that surrounded you. “How about you, Jim? Doing okay?”

“Never better,” Jimmy croaked, his eyes closed as he focused on not being sick.

Curly’s smile transformed into a smirk. A rough, friendly hand landed on Jimmy’s shoulder as Curly gave it a good squeeze.

“Still acting like a first time flier,” Curly teased him, eyes flicking back to you. “Go ahead and get settled in. Make some friends. All of that good stuff. Tomorrow the real work begins.”

“Right. Thank you.” You nodded in response. There was a quiet click as you unfastened your seatbelt and stood up straight. Your legs swayed beneath you, still adjusting to the feeling of being upright again.

The walk to the sleeping quarters from the cockpit was a short one. As you ventured down the hall —drawn deeper within the belly of the Tulpar by the sound of distant conversation— the rib-like pipes groaned as if greeting you. The door opened with a low hiss, revealing a short hallway with two rooms on either side and one at the end of the hall. In comparison to the cold, metallic halls from room to room, the sleeping quarters were a warm and welcoming sight. Out-dated wood paneling stretched up the walls, the floor a tacky linoleum in a similar tone. Inside of that tiny hallway, you started to forget you were on the ship at all.

“Listen, kid.” You saw an older man, Swansea, standing in a doorway, his north-eastern accent heavy as he spoke. “It’s all right to take it easy today, but tomorrow I’m gonna need you to take this seriously. It won’t be all coloring books and cartoons out here, you understand?”

“You got it, sir! You won’t have to worry about me one bit, I’m pretty self sufficient. Y’know, my friends back home say I’m the best-” Another younger voice spoke from inside of the room before quickly getting cut off.

“I don’t need your life’s story, kid. I just need you to pull your weight,” Swansea said.

You walked down the hall quietly, trying not to disturb the two as they continued back and forth. Each door had a last name displayed on the front, with yours at the very end of the hall. As you passed, Swansea looked over his shoulder at you and offered a small nod of acknowledgement. Just past him, you could see Daisuke who stood in the middle of his room, saying something about how he would do his best.

Daisuke’s gaze shifted from the older man in his doorway to you. Although it was only for a moment, his eyes seemed locked on yours as a soft smile spread on his lips. He stopped what he was saying, and raised a hand to wave at you. A short, but sweet gesture, which you happily returned.

“We’ll see about that,” Swansea spoke up, grabbing Daisuke’s attention once more. “I’m gonna nap until dinner’s ready. Your first task is to leave me the hell alone. Think you can do that?”

“No problemo,” Daisuke responded. He raised his hands into finger guns, shooting two shots at Swansea.

Shaking his head, the older man rolled his eyes while trying to suppress his obvious annoyance. “God, what did I get myself into…”

You entered your room as Swansea entered his, closing your door behind you. The room glowed with soft, yellow light. It was small, and almost clinical, but somehow cozy at the same time. In one corner sat a twin sized bed with a red blanket and golden sheets, and in the other was a mid-century dresser. Your bags and belongings rested in a less than neat pile in the middle of the room, clearly shaken from take off.

The high of your adrenaline had fizzled out significantly. Although you knew it would be wise to finish unpacking, your head felt heavy and your body ached, yearning to lay down for a bit. You kicked off your boots and crawled on top of the scarlet comforter. Before you knew it, you were like old Swansea, napping just before dinner.

[ameliiorate]

"You'll find out if my technique is really lacking soon enough. I was just stating the obvious ways that we can literally measure." But there still is plenty that they will need to figure out. It's a competition, after all, and since they will now be the only two judges, they would have to find a way to declare a winner. Though it does in some ways feel like neither of them would be losing when they would be getting each other off. "Oral should be our first challenge. Or...handjobs, maybe?" Saint shrugs, unconsidered with the particulars of it. "So we are going to your place then? That's not up for debate too?" He snorts, poking Percy in the nose. "Oh, you don't have to worry your pretty little head about any of that. I'm not the type to sleep over, nor am I the kind of person that likes to cuddle. So we're in the clear for that even being a possibility. Doubt you'll tire me out enough to make me change my mind on staying over."

"There's a lot to measure with this," Percy nodded, mind already turning the wheels of all the 'challenges' they'll need to set. And with each other, even if they were still going to argue about who did what better and who lasted longer than the other, at least they'll all have experienced it together. "So what do we need to figure out? Bigger, longer, sure. But size isn't all that matters--makes me think your technique is lacking if that's all you focus on," Percy said with a smug look. "Oral would be very important, though of course technique would be different considering on we end up going down on after this," he continued, speaking as if this was just a normal experiment. "Eh, you say that now. Don't let me catching you staying too late in my bed the next morning."

[landograndprix]

「Feel the magic ๛ l.n」

part i

✧.* you're going back home, your new teammate is all too excited and his fans aren't afraid to call him out.

✧.* another fic? yeah 😔 I don't know about you guys but I need a good dose of cutesy lando fluff in my life after all the angst I've written so far. reader is older so once again, if that's not your cup of tea, don't drink it 😉 anyway, taglist for this fic is open and I hope you enjoy it as much I I enjoy making it ☺

✧.* next part

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y/nusername posted to their story

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redbullracing

📍 circuit of spa francorchamp

liked by maxverstappen1, y/nusername and 78,652 others

redbullracing brining home another 1-2! 🥇🥈

#f1 #redbullracing #belgiumgp

view all 345 comments

leon187 amazing drive from both drivers!

julieeeexo robbed my girl from p1 like usual

luvy/n for real, she was way faster than max and yet they refused to let her pass..:/

norrizz you might want to treat your 2nd driver a bit better, you should be embarrassed

patrickm there's a reason woman should not be in f1 and y/n showed us why.

norrizz oh shut up you dumbwit, all women on the grid ended up in the top ten today, y/n even got on the podium just say you have a small dick

norry4 their dicks be bigger than the average male fan, ofcourse they're scared

benmorris would've loved to see y/n in p1, fingers crossed for the Dutch gp.

maxmaxmax sir they are in love 🥰

bott_ass they're both in a relationship..

maxmaxmax no offense but that never stopped y/n 💀

bott_ass girl you did not go there 😂

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mclaren

liked by y/nusername, landonorris and 110,672 others

mclaren Bringing the rebel, the birdie and our favorite girl back home 🧡

tagged: y/nusername

view all 563 comments

mclarensnorris back where she belongs 🧡

mclaren where it all started 👏

markklein what a disappointment..

hamilt44n y/n and lando are gonna bring mclaren back to the top, mark my words

norrizz did somebody check up on lando yet? Does he know yet?

clsixteen lando 'I have a crush on y/n' norris losing his mind right now 💀

landonorris sick bro, gotta watch my back from now on

y/nusername if you can get infront of me, yeah..

landonorris fair enough, you should watch your back then

landolando omfg I already love this duo 😭

sharl16 lmfao I never knew I needed this duo in my 😂

mcy/n the queen is coming home 🧡

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, milouberger and 283,672 others

y/nusername girls girls girls ☀

tagged: milouberger, cecilemoulin

view all 726 comments

f1ladiess seeing the girls do things together outside of f1 is my favorite thing 🥰

charlos16 live laugh love grid sisters

julieeeexo God y'all so hot what the fuck?!

cecilemoulin we should've left milou at the bottom of the ocean but hey, who am I?

milouberger I wish you did.

y/nusername girls, no fighting without me..

cecilemoulin okay mom 🥰

zhou_ey just a little bit jealous..just a little 🤏

landonorris invite?

y/nusername no boys allowed

cecilemoulin put on a dress and you're welcome

norr4slando this is the grid that I adore 😭

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y/nusername posted to their story

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if you want to be removed from a taglist, let me know ☺

feel the magic taglist:

everything taglist: @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @softboystarkey @buffysummrsx @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs

lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people

[amongemeraldclouds]

The Slytherin Boys as Disney Princes

Ft. Theodore Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Blaise Zabini, Tom Riddle, Draco Malfoy, and Lorenzo Berkshire. Also features x f!Reader as their equivalent Disney princesses.

© amongemeraldclouds I do not consent to having my work shared or reproduced elsewhere. Please do not claim as your own, tumblr is the only place I share my written work.

✿ Masterlist | 1.8k words

From the Wizarding World to magical fairytales, let’s crown our beloved Slytherin boys as the following Disney princes:

Theodore Nott as Prince Charming (Cinderella)

Note: Prince Charming doesn’t have much personality in the original 1950s film, but we learn more about him in later films, where I drew information from.

✭ Raised in privilege as a prince, Theodore Nott lived a very charmed life just as the name Prince Charming suggests.

✭ With only royals and commoners to distinguish class, he is less prejudiced and more accepting of others. His father taught him at an early age that they have a responsibility to their people just as their people serve them.

✭ Because of this, he is open and friendly to everyone, including animals. He was once hunting down a deer only for it to be a game in the end, him and the deer are actually friends. (Note: Yes this is canon Prince Charming and is very Theo as well.)

✭ If Disney were less wholesome, Theo as Prince Charming would have regular lovers, but it will only always be physical. He has not yet found a connection with anyone, but it doesn’t matter because he enjoys sex. He certainly never runs out of women to sleep with.

✭ Beneath all the charm, he secretly hopes to find a love match. The kind of relationship that transcends strategy and status. He longs for passion and romance, much like in the books he reads in the castle’s library, though he’ll never let anyone know.

✭ His father in the meantime is keen to see him married to an eligible maiden so he threw a ball. He rolled his eyes and yawned when no one was looking, initially bored because he still couldn’t find the connection he longed for. At this point, he doubted he’d ever find it. 

✭ Then he met you. You in your light blue dress and glass slippers. Everything about you sparkled and it ignited something in his heart. He never knew romantic love before you, but he recognized it right away.

✭ He wouldn’t care that you were a commoner, he’d admire your courage and kindness once he got to know you. Besides, true love was far more valuable than any precious metals and gems.

✭ After you ran off, your glass slipper gave him hope. He was going to stop at nothing to find you, his true love.

Mattheo Riddle as Flynn Rider (Tangled)

⋆☀︎. Left to his own devices, Mattheo Riddle would go on countless adventures across different kingdoms and forests, thieving only as a means to an end so he could survive. 

⋆☀︎. He enjoys the rush, being chased by the authorities and not being held down by rules or responsibilities. (Except they can never get his damn nose right on Wanted signs despite the distinct cut he has on the bridge of his nose iykyk.)

⋆☀︎. With his charming personality and irresistible smolder, he’s an expert in banding together with fellow criminals and often smooth talks his way into ladies’ beds. All temporary partnerships for his on-the-go lifestyle.

⋆☀︎. Until one day he comes across you, the girl with golden hair and big eyes — not to be underestimated with your ferocious pan wielding tendencies. He learns the last part a little too late, the hard way.

⋆☀︎. As he promised to take you to see the floating lights in exchange for the crown, he finds himself having fun swinging his fists and learning about your power to bring out the good in people.

⋆☀︎. You managed to charm tough guys in a bar, getting them to talk about their dreams—of being a florist, of performing on stage, and of falling in love. He realizes it may not be so bad to go on adventures with someone else.

⋆☀︎. He was already mesmerized before he learned about your magical hair. He saw the light within you long before that enchanted night when lanterns floated through the air like stars hung low just for you. And of course, they were always meant for you.

⋆☀︎. Before Mother Gothel could plunge the weapon in him, he already knew he was a goner. He knew he could never go back to who he was. He was now and forever going to be a moth to your flame, your soul as radiant as the sun even long after your golden hair turned brown.

Blaise Zabini as Kristoff (Frozen)

•❅*ִ Much like Kristoff, Blaise Zabini exudes a quiet confidence that does not need to declare itself.

•❅*ִ As an ice harvester who works with ice picks, hooks and ropes, he has an athletic build and a tough exterior, but do not be fooled for he has a soft heart within.

•❅*ִ Having grown among trolls and reindeers, he sometimes gets frustrated when interacting with people. He believes reindeers are better than people, but all that changes when he meets you.

•❅*ִ He is very practical and honest, but when he is blunt he often means well. He is quick to call you out on the fact that you’re about to marry a man you hardly know.

•❅*ִ He initially agrees to help you end winter to save his ice business and get a new sled. However, the more challenges you face together, he grows to admire your fearlessness and determination.

•❅*ִ While you initially find him to be annoying, you soon discover his charming and funny side.

•❅*ִ He will however suppress his feelings for you, thinking it’s better to let it go because you’re already engaged anyway. But when truths are revealed and no one is who they appear to be, you’ll melt his frozen heart with a kiss on the cheek.

Draco Malfoy as Li Shang (Mulan)

✿ To Draco Malfoy, loyalty and family legacy is important, just like Li Shang who aims to be just as great as his father, the head of the Imperial Chinese Army.

✿ He is disciplined and has mastered both physical and strategic ways of waging war. He has a lot of traditional beliefs, including making a man out of his troops using elaborate physical training.

✿ He starts questioning those beliefs when he sees your determination as Ping, using both weights to climb up the pole even though it took you countless failures throughout the night. What were these confusing feelings in his chest?

✿ Yet he couldn’t deny it, nor would he try. He was ready to lay his life down for you even before you saved him. It didn’t take him long to return the favor when he found out you were a woman and so he spared your life.

✿ Despite his firm upbringing, he was always loyal to his heart. Even though you betrayed the army, he knew your intentions had been good and that your hard work made you a skilled soldier.

✿ He listened and trusted your last ditch efforts to save the Emperor, even resorting to cross dressing as part of the plan. It all paid off as you saved the Emperor and all of China. 

✿ In the end, you were absolved of your deceit and honored for your heroism, finally letting your reflection show who you are and what you’re made of. Your final crime was stealing his heart.

Tom Riddle as Aladdin (Aladdin)

✶ Tom Riddle grew up as an orphan and resorted to a life of crime to survive in Agrabah. Secretly, he enjoyed it too.

✶ Smitten by your beauty, he saved you from a merchant at the market and he was impressed with your agility when it came to dodging the authorities.

✶ When you reached Aladdin’s home, you revealed you were from the palace and left thinking you’d never see him again. He longed to visit the palace to get another glimpse of your beauty.

✶ Named as a diamond in the rough, Jafar recognized Tom’s talent and recruited him to steal the magic lamp from the Cave of Wonders. Encouraged by the promise of riches (therefore power) and a subconscious need to please Jafar, he takes on the task, saving a magic carpet in the process.

✶ Back at the palace, your father sought to marry you off to find a successor to his throne. You met suitors, including a flashy prince called Ali from Ababwa.

✶ On a magic carpet ride, you trick Ali into admitting he’s the thief you previously met at the market. He manipulates you into thinking he’s the prince and the thief persona was just an act for him to get to know the city better.

✶ When Jafar uncovers Tom’s identity, he steals the magic lamp and wreaks havoc using the genie’s wishes. Understanding Jafar’s ego, he tricks him into wishing to be the most powerful being in the universe, which imprisons Jafar in his own lamp as a genie.

✶ Instead of using his last wish to continue being the rightful prince who can marry you, he used it to free the genie, as he has now learned how power corrupts others. It wasn’t worth it.

✶ Crowned as the next sultana, you recognized how our actions and choices defined us. Despite Tom’s manipulations, he showed up and was willing to learn. He was not afraid to look into the dark and make the right decisions when it mattered, a husband fit for a ruler.

Lorenzo Berkshire as Jack Frost (Rise of The Guardians)

Before you come at me, I know Jack Frost is not a Disney prince, but I’m a Jelsa truther so here we are.

❅ Lorenzo Berkshire mirrors Jack Frost’s love for mischief and games. As the guardian of fun, he enjoys playing harmless tricks on children and hearing them laugh as a result.

❅ Beneath the playful exterior, he deeply cares for those around him, having saved his sister from a frozen lake. His ultimate sacrifice led to his untimely demise, which the Man in The Moon rewarded him by making him immortal and granting him powers. 

❅ He never found much need for romance, opting to spend his days playing with children and visiting his fellow guardians instead. Until one day, he visits the Enchanted Forest and comes across you, its mighty protector.

❅ Despite the initial distrust, he wins you over with his easy smile and sincerity. You never realized it until then, how lonely it was to be an ice queen without her king.

❅ Jack was also amazed to find someone else who could play with the magic of snow. He felt seen and understood like never before. For once, the loneliness in his heart melted away.

❅ So you spent your days together, laughing over silly jokes and exchanging stories. The cold never bothered you, but being with him made you understand why people enjoyed the sweetness of hot cocoa and why they cuddled close to a fire.

❅ Both your friends and family were happy for you. One day, Jack asked you to invite everyone so you can have a contest on who built the best sculptures. Your audience and judges comprised of Jack’s fellow Guardians, Queen Anna and King Kristoff, Olaf, and Sven.

❅ You showed off with iced gardens, towers, and even the shape of Sven, but none was more impressive as when you turned around to find Jack on one knee, a gleaming diamond in his hand. It was a picture perfect moment with ice sculptures in the background, celebrated with loved ones. 

❅ And soon, the ice queen would never be without her king.  

✿ Masterlist <- read more!

[wolfpackenthusiast]

Hiii!!! SO I really hope that you get to write mine!!! I want to request a Jacob x f!reader, in which the reader is a famous ballet dancer, and while in the preparation of one of her biggest nights, jacob proposes. So this makes the reader super busy with dance practices, shows, and wedding preparations, and one night at Emily's (obviously the whole pack is there), she has a breakdown since all the stress got to her.

I really hope you get to write this please. Thank you in advance ☺️ 🫶

Overwhelming Grace

♡ Paring : Jacob Black x f!reader

☆ Summary: The most special events of your life are also the most stressful and overwhelming.

☀︎ Warnings: not proofread

♪ A/N: HII!! Im back dears! I’m safe from the fire and i’m gonna start writing again! Though, i’m still gonna be a bit busy with school but i’ll get to your requests asap keep sending!!

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Sitting down on a bench in your dressing room, you put on your ballet shoes getting ready for practice, you had a big performance coming up and today was another day of practice. Letting out a sigh, you turn over to your boyfriend, the one and only Jacob Black.

“You’ll still be here once i’m done, right?” You asked, earning a nod from him, “course,” he said, taking a seat next to you on the bench, pulling you into a side hug, “you’ll do great, you always do.” He encouraged, you always appreciated him and what he’s done for you.

“I got a surprise foe you when you get back, so don’r be long,” Jacob said, ruffling your hair a tiny but as you giggled, “okay, i won’t, see you.” You said, giving him a quick peck on the lips before you were off to practice.

Once you finished changing back, you left your dressing room, looking for Jacob, “Jake?” You called our, walking around the studio, looking in the places he usually goes to while you’re up on stage,

He wouldn’t have left, right? You thought, walking outside, opening the exit door to the studio, you see Jacob, on one knee. “Jake?..” you breathed, was he doing what you thought he was doing, “Y/n, you’ve made me the happiest man alive ever since we met, you’ve been the light if my life and i want to spend forever with you, so..”

“I’m asking you to marry me.” He spoke sincerely as he pulled out a Saphire ring with a wolf cressant, representing loyalty and faithfulness. You gasped.

“Jacob.. are you…” you were speechless, your hand covering your mouth as you stared down at him, your gaze moving from him to thw ring constantly.

“Of course i’m serious,” he said, practically reading your thoughts, “do you think i would’ve bought this ring if I wasn’t?” He asked, you, knowing the obvious answer, “No..”

“So, what’s your answer?” He askwd eagerly, he was never one with patience, everyone knew that. You stayed silent for a moment, before caving, “my answer is.. yes!!” You said, Jacob, standing up on both legs, pulled you into his arms, holding you tight as you rocked back and forth slowly, his face in your hair.

“Thank gosh, I was so worried you’d say no..” he murmured in a relieved tone, rubbing your back. “Why would I?” You asked, rhetorical question.

He chuckled, pulling back just a bit, grabbing your hand and sliding the ring on your finger, before pulling you into a kiss.

Ever since then, you’ve been quadruple booked every single day, stuck practicing for the performance and wedding preparations, you barely even saw Jacob anymore, and things were getting stressful. You two had planned the wedding to be a few days after your performance, so you had about a month left to plan.

Stepping into Emily’s house and shutting the door behind you, you let out an exhausted sigh, this is one of the few times you get to relax and hang out with your 2nd family.

“Hey, Y/n!” Emily spoke up, heading over to you excitedly, “when’re we going dress shopping?” She asked, you had picked her to be your maid of honor, since she’s practically your sister. “Uhm.. i don’t know yet, ‘m sorry.” You said softly, putting a hand on your forehead, of course, you couldn’t escape the questions and planning for the wedding. “I’m just so busy.” You explained, Emily’s eyes softening, “it’s okay, Y/n, take all the time you need.” She said comfortingly.

She held her arms out for a hug, which you immediately took, then it all slipped out, tears started to drop as you hugged Emily tight, “Em, it’s so much.. I can’t relax at all..” you spoke softly through your sobs, your voice cracking as you hugged her tight. “Oh, dear..” she murmured worryingly, setting you down on the couch, the boys were on patrol, but they’d definitely be back soon.

Emily sat you down on the coach as she say down beside you, pulling you ibto another comforting hug as you sobbed, “let it all out hun, i’m here.” She spoke comfortingly as she rubbed your back. “I..I can’t.. I need a break..” you murmured, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Take one, have you thought of postpone the wedding?” Emily asked, “no, no i can’t.. we’ve done so much..” you started, not wanting to finish, but Emily got the point, “it’ll be okay, everyone will understand your predicament, it’s supposed to be your special day.” She reasoned, then, the boys came in.

They were rowdy as ever, but when they saw the situation, the room went quiet, with the exception of a few whispers. Jacob was the first one to ask, rushing to your side, “hey, what happened??” He asked worryingly, you pulled away from Emily, facing him, you wiped your eyes with the back of your arm, “nothing bf.. i-it’s nothing… i’m just.. overwhelmed..” you murmured softly.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight as you buried your face in his chest, “i’m sorry, Y/n/n, i know it’s a lot, i should’ve proposed later,” He said, “i didn’t mean to make you this overwhelmed with everything,” he said, blaming himself for your current situation.

“No.. i-it’s okay, ‘m just not used to being this busy and i need to adjust.. it’s not your fault..” you reassured during your sobs. “I’ll be okay.. jus’ need to calm down..” you said, trying not to worry him.

“No, it’s clearly too much for you, i’ve never seen you this stressed and overwhelmed before. You’re taking a break tomorrow.” He said softly, yet firmly. Looking up at him, “what?” You spoke, confused.

“You need a day to relax, it’ll be tomorrow.” He said, caressing your cheek, “I- don’t know if I can do that.. Jake,” you said, “you are going to, tomorrow you don’t have practice and i’ll let someone else take care of your wedding duties for the day.” He said, you knew how stubborn he was, so there was no changing his mind.

You let out a defeated sigh, “okay okay..” you said, honestly relieved, you did indeed need a break. “Good,” he said, kissing your forehead before he hugged you tighter.

When you had your break day, it was the best, Jacob was there the whole day, making sure you were pampered and relaxing at all times, free from your responsibilities, even when the day ended, you felt refreshed and ready to start working again.

When time came, the Performance went smoothly, and so is the wedding.

“I love you,” You spoke, “really, i’m so glad i’n your imprint.” You spoke sincerely, he gave you a smitten smile, “i love you more, Y/n Black.” He said as the priest announced he can kiss the bride, he dipped you low and you both shared a deep, romantic kiss, the best day of your life, indeed.

But with fortune comes hard times.

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♯ Word count: 1168

[light-of-delphi]

An E-Offering and Prayer to Lord Apollo ☀

O, Lord Apollo, God of the Shining Sun, bringer of Light, Radiant Son of Leto and Twin Brother to Artemis, I graciously thank you for all you have done, will do, and continue to do for me. I welcomed you into my life with open arms, And from the moment I felt your presence I never wanted to let it go. Glorious Apollo, Who selflessly carries the sun across our sky, Who blesses us with lovely tunes and pleasing art, I thank you for these privileges of which you have given to us, Of which you have taught us, And I once again thank you, endlessly, eternally.

Χαίρε!

[noncrush]

☀︎☁︎ — MILES MILLER: druxy

(“It's winter. You ask me about love and I tell you about violence. I'm sorry. I thought that that's what love was.” — Katie Maria, ‘I used to be a hole in the ground’.)

miles miller x reader | 8k | mentions of death&guns, angst, fluff, yearning, very introspective, lots of backstory, MDNI 18+.

⤷ desc. when you get hired at the el royale, you don’t imagine you’ll be staying there long. you don’t imagine you’ll find the love of your life, either. as it turns out, you’re wrong two for two.

here is my submission for “quiet winter nights” with miles miller in @lewmagoo’s wonderful holiday celebration!!! enjoy this monster (that i blacked out for most of! this is perhaps not the best prompt fulfillment lol) tis the season of yearning everybody :)

Druxy — (adj.) something whole on the outside, but rotten inside; of timber, having decay in the heartwood.

i.

Working at the El Royale used to be easy. When you were still starry-eyed and bright, not yet overtaken by the suffocating, roiling waves of that horrid hotel.

“This job is just a stepping stone, that’s all,” you’d told Miles after your first rough week. He eyed you wearily then, knowing the grim unreality of those words—he’d done the very same, just happy to have a job at all after discharge… before quickly succumbing, a noxious fate he wouldn’t wish on a single soul. But he couldn’t warn you either, not when you started on the Californian bar: forced to deliver rounds of bronze booze and burnt sienna spirits with your piercing steel shaker until the end of the night. There were so many things Miles lost the chance to say, and later he’ll tell you he hates himself for it; later, you’ll hold him close and tell him you could never hate him for it.

You used to pray that promise beneath your breath, just a stepping stone, while staring up at the swelling water damage of your popcorn ceiling. It was a kind of foreshadowing in the tapestry of your life, telling you the longer you worked the harder it’d be to keep your head wading above water. Those early days at the hotel had you reluctantly settling into a seedy dingbat shoebox a few blocks away, the dip of your chin already beginning to sink into high tide. It’s odd to think of that part of your life in retrospect when you were first starting at the El Royale living all by your lonesome-- familiar head of tawny chestnut locks not yet lying beside your own at night. 

That hopeful, almost manifest, mantra was repeated again and again: in quiet hallways, collecting the pieces of your shattered morale off the wooden epoxy bar top, after a customer yelled at you for giving him too little ice. In a dank backroom corridor, after you caught Miles stumbling around with a heavy Vidicon tripod.

“What do you actually do here?” 

“I… I can’t tell you. N-not before you’ve been here for longer than a year. It’s standard procedure, and- and Management doesn’t trust part-timers.” 

Panicked circles paced into the carpet at your discovery, his burdened shoulders growing ever heavier; some sudden shimmer of pity overtaking your words, “Miles-- Miles, it's okay. Just a stepping stone, remember? You… don’t need to tell me, and I promise I won’t tell anyone.” 

After you parsed Miles' calendar at the clerk's desk and caught a glimpse of the date. The frustrated heel of your palm digging into the nasal bone: “It’s November, Miles, it’s been-- god, this was supposed to be a stepping stone, something temporary…” Suddenly realizing your life still hasn’t picked up the slack; stranded, your job inquiries left unreplied, buried beneath the unsavoury status of your currentemployment. 

“I have an address. I-- have an entire year's worth of paystubs. I have everything they could possibly ask for.”

“Did--did you tell them you worked here? B’cause… the El Royale’s been losing its prestige day by day, and—Management’s sayin’ we’re lucky we still get our cheques.”

Finally, letting “just a stepping stone” die on your tongue when rent was jacked up, and the thin string of normalcy in your life went frayed. You made little as a bartender at an understaffed hotel, just enough to pay the current rate, and the increase would quickly make your wallet grow ugly and barren. Suddenly, you had found yourself forced to choose between the hotel or your apartment block’s curb; meagre belongings packed up and trailing behind, head growing dizzy with smothering waves of shame clawing up your throat. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to ask, but I--“ Shoulders wilt. Head hung low. The hotel lobby light flickers above you; once, twice, a spark cinders. “I have nowhere to go.”

His mouth, slightly ajar. What could crawl out of there, you wonder: a laugh, an apology, an insult? “California is full, and- er, Nevada’s under renovation.” 

A rejection. Beads of sweat trickled down your trembling spine. Heart sinking into the pit of your stomach; nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nowhere to exist—

“B-but I have a room. In the back. If… if y’don’t mind sharing.” 

Kindness, in a place as consuming as this. You thought every dreg of it had long since been digested, surrendering to the dreary structure of the ogee pattern walls. The fact it existed in the heart of Miles, however minuscule, made your own flicker with light. Hope stirring, unafraid despite how brutally it was beaten down; it was always so stubborn, ceaseless, almost Sisyphean.

However, uncovering Miles’ poor living conditions while shuffling into that one untouched room in the entire hotel made your lips pull into a tight line. You were left completely aghast, as you realized he had not simply been leaving early before you could say goodbye, but had been ducking behind doors and slinking into his closet home. Esteem quickly overtook you: for that shy man, who was awkward, but just as well sensitive, gentle and compassionate to the very bone. Who offered his room up for you, sacrificing a part of his life for the hundredth time without remorse, because it was kind. 

You lay elbow to elbow with Miles that first night, not looking at each other but just speaking, letting the low timbre of tones fill the air. A figurative ball dance: persuading information out of one another and testing the boundaries–akin only to seeing how low you’d let him drag his palm against your back in that imaginary hall, how tight to ischemia he’d let your hand squeeze his own. 

Him, warning you of the worst aspects of the job; giving you an out, because taping others in the privacy of their rooms weighed like lead. “It’s a sinful thing,” said Miles, the words mumbled and scraped off the backs of his teeth, stuck to the enamel like taffy shame. “To reveal other people like this, even if they’re helpless. Even when my meddlin’ realizes the worst consequences.” Consumed with fear his soul would only grow darker by tainting your own. “Those tapes… those tapes are never pretty. Sometimes they’re downright… ugly.”

You, knowing for a fact it was dirty and invasive— but also that you were really very small and very poor, a wretch whose dreams would be out of reach for eternity. A wide-eyed housekeep and a listless bartender having to band together to maintain the El Royale’s realm of order after the other staff left sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. However, choice was a privilege you no longer possessed–you were there entirely out of necessity: “Who else will hire me? Certainly nobody in this town, nor the next one over.”

Two sets of drooping eyes drifting across his clean ceiling, so unlike the swelling, waterlogged one back in your apartment. There's something here, you thought then, something to be said about having an odd heart-to-heart with the man you’ve had less than five full conversations with in an entire year. All the while feeling an odd comfort at the faint cracks littering his ceiling tiles—like pockmarks had existed, once upon a time, but were cared for and repaired with a familiar gentle precision.

Alas, duty continued, and Management swiftly utilized you—now trusted, for you were thought to be living and breathing the El Royale just as Miles did. But being implicated in the true nature of the hotel's existence, via the increase of sordid dignitaries — fortuitous in their decision to stay at the hotel, but brusque and oddly knowing in such a way you knew the El Royales’ name was being recommended in dangerous places — made the job so very hard. You became thoroughly equipped with the all-consuming fear you could spend another lifetime being good, scrubbing yourself clean of the hotel, and still have your fingers stomped on trying to reach the pearly gates. 

As though you could spend mere hours in there and come out thinking a decade had gone by, time in that decrepit hotel served as a mere suggestion. Perhaps, that’s why moving into the hotel seemed to make so much time alone with Miles. It seemed more impossible for a connection not to foster: that quiet night sent your relationship journeying from an acquaintance, to coworker, to dear friend. Shyly circling one another’s empty orbits before growing inseparable. A lifetime of affinity condensed into years, compacted by common sin and mutual memory. A bond that grew ever proximate, stunned by having someone just like you, right there—just as tormented, just as unfulfilled. 

A friendship of comforting one another in the dark: Miles tenderly coaxing you out like a feral animal unused to attention that didn’t quickly follow with a beating, or your attentive fingers gently working the self-imposed restraint out of his muscles, unthreading traumatic memories from beneath his skin. (“You don’t have to say sorry, Miles—I know you don’t have a mean bone in your body.” “Shh, shh, just listen to the sound of my voice. The thunderstorm’s din has nothing on me.” “When you have a nightmare, tell me—I don’t mind, promise.”) Understanding the fear that gripped you at the sensitive scruff, why you woke up floundering beside him in the middle of the night like the weight of your unfulfilled life was pressing itself on the nape of your neck. Uncovering Miles' extent, and what set him off—what made him dig his fingernails into the bed of his palm or bite his sharp canine into his lower lip. Settling your head onto Miles’ left pillow at bed— your pillow, finding that you knew his heart betterthan your own. Fondly remembering the time spent winding the words out of him until your palm recognized him like it did scars marring your skin. 

Naturally, you grew protective of him. How Miles’ remained so tender is a mystery – it felt impossible to live there for so long and not come out the other end worse off; chewed up, spat out, torn into two and put back together all wrong – but that very kindness had invited you into his home, and you worked to protect it like nothing else. Only ever manning the bar when the need was immediate, more content to linger close behind Miles when he checked in customers. Learning to bare your teeth, going from, “My complete apologies for any offence I’ve caused,” to “The El Royale provides poor patience toward guests who threaten the welfare of our establishment.” 

Slowly, the thought bleeding through the air, you began to worry your love for Miles would die in this black hole. Extinguished in the very same place it was first lit, unable to survive the hotel’s suffocation. Nondescript was your relationship, blurred lines wavering between romantic and platonic at every turn—but love nonetheless. For days on end did a familiar chill wrack your spine: some primal, precognitive feeling of guilt, of dread, that something bad was going to happen and you would never be free of it. How your ears pounded, blood rushing because it felt like if you didn’t leave now you’d rot in that hotel’s hollow, refrained to the point of murder or madness. 

You desperately tried to quell that feeling, chalking it up to years spent with your guard up. Thought you’d merely turned spiked and jagged; rough around the edges, making others jerk away at the gentlest touch. The way a Venus flytrap withers and dies, because nobody is brave enough to care for something so biting. Several severe years turned you into the serrated rim of a broken carafe glass—like the chipped Blendo one Miles kept in his room for safekeeping, after you sold off all the other expensive china just to keep the hotel lights on for another exhausting day. Just… paranoid, your fear of losing Miles — and being completely alone again as a result — merely growing insistent and anxious. 

But the last straw was in December of ‘68; a frigid winter, practically turning the hotel subnivean with its wet and heavy blizzards; snowing the place in deep. A night at the El Royale and a quiet night in general, the kind with long, exhaustive hours– a shift that never seemed to end, despite the small number of customers (a group of skiers on the Nevadan side and a family on the Californian) before finally resigning away from the clerk desk at a bleak four in the morning. You’d long since shooed Miles off, “You first, or I’ll take all the blankets in my sleep,” content to man the place on his behalf. He’d gone so long without support, persevering through fatigue and illness with no choice, it was the least you could do,--and you would always rather he woke up with light eyebags. 

You were locking up, stashing the bell in the desk cavity with your neck craned low—when you felt the trained gaze of another over you. You pressed back up to meet eyes with a customer, his horn-rimmed glasses decorated with slow melting flurries: “If you would be so kind to check me out for a back-cabin along tha’ trails, that’d just about make my night, kid.”

“Unfortunately, sir, the bungalows are unserviced and unavailable in the off-season. Our frontward facing lodges, however, are wholly available—“

“You mean to tell me they’re off limits? Why, I jus’ saw someone leavin’ one of those cabins.”

A shiver traipsed down the column of your vertebrae. No door was open to let in a draft, and no winter winds hit your form; it was pure intuition making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. The week before last, Management thrust a sudden assignment onto you two— Nevada room 7, tenured professor travelling across state lines for a conference, democratic and incredibly vocal about it— and Miles’ was supposed to develop the tape yesterday, mail it off this morning. But Miles didn’t develop the tape yesterday, no, there’d been a burst pipe in the casino bar instead, and the two of you spent lunch till early dawn fixing it. 

The man shot you a discomfiting smile. Stretched wide across his plain, glib face. “Say,” and he leaned in just as your heel planted you an inch back, gesturing to the photographs of celebrities strewn around, “September ‘63. Sinatra owned this place, and let politicians mingle with Hollywood’s leading ladies. You know anythin’ ‘bout that?”

Anxiety dragged upon your skin. Where was he going with this? “I didn’t-- work here in 1963, sir. Suffice to say I didn’t know much at all about the comings and goings of the El Royale yet.”

He studied carefully; mandible still tilted into that barren smile, but eyes set and stony behind the thin frame of glasses you weren’t even sure were real. The customer set his suitcase down with one hand and his briefcase down with the other, before patting down the wrinkled fabric of his suit—intentionally, or unintentionally, flashing the hilt of a Black Eagle Ruger slung low on a belt holster. It wasn’t uncommon for customers to be sporting some kind of self-defence, especially in dark hotels such as these–but still.  “Your associate, then?” 

“What?” Your blood ran cold, freezing into thin slivers like icicles hanging from the roof outside; like the one that pricked you in the shoulder, and made Miles aid and soothe the wound. 

Miles entered through the front door of the lobby, hair silken with powder-soft snow, murmuring to himself as he dragged his work-issue loafers in. The man jutted his thumb unceremoniously toward him, a calculating sheen lighting his green eyes. 

“Hey, you—“ and he waved Miles over like he were cattle or a dog, “d’you remember any blonde Hollywood Ingenue’s rooming here in September ‘63? You’d know her—hell, she’d have you stumblin’ over so bad you couldn’t just forget her.”

The look on Miles’ face — wide-eyed and perturbed, tired steps creaking to a stuttered stop at the digestion of the man’s words — made the pit of your gut swelter: how cruel to make him flounder, for Miles was skittish. You’d learned to slow your movements and keep steady to ease him, but this would surely frighten him. “Sir? I-I don’t know what you’re…”

You swallowed thickly. “He didn’t— he didn’t work here yet either. Alright? I mean, look at him—he’d barely be out of school.”

The customer’s stubborn smile dropped into thin-lipped obscurity. “Well, it was wortha’ try. Made a bet with some of my buds who heard I was stayin’ here– those sonsabitches thought some kinda tape existed.” He regarded you suddenly with a plain look: acknowledging, bored, seeking your professionalism rather than your conversation.

His look sobered you, making the tremouring buzz of your thoughts (get miles get out of here something bad is going to happen) go quiet. You snapped back into smooth, managerial tones, swiftly checking the man in and handing him the logbook. He hoisted his luggage and left just as suddenly as he’d arrived, leaving you in possession of one odd Laramie Seymour Sullivan signature in cursive. There was something… off about that salesman—be it the thin, almost prescription-less distortion of his lenses, or his odd accented twang of no particular origin—and you hoped his stay in the Nevada room was short-lived.

“Miles?” your gaze snapped up from the logbook you were inspecting to find Miles gone. Fortunately, not out into the thick pillowy avenues of snow from which he came, but forwards: his thin loafers tracking wet stains onto the floor. You set a mental reminder to mop that melt before morning, but Miles’ panic took precedence. He had the habit of scampering away in the face of danger, like a rabbit through dry autumn leaves–and you would never let him deal with it alone.

Finally, you traced your dear friend's prints to the maintenance room you shared; slightly ajar, warm lamp light filling the room, his soaked shoes haphazardly strewn by the doorway. There, you saw him crumpled upon the threadbare cot: on his knees lying down, almost in prayer with his silver rosary wrapped tight around the dry skin of his knuckles. It shone like the glimmer of the sun under that incandescent bulb, and you could hear a panicked recital of scripture along his tongue.

“Hey, hey,” you slide past the door gently, descending onto all fours so as not to box him in or raise the height of his fight-or-flight response. “C’mere, hold my hand,” you crawled over and laced his free fingers into yours, settling into a criss-cross apple-sauce position; knee bumping into the ankle that never healed right after he sprained it gardening last summer.

“Just listen to my voice, okay? Remember what we were doing last winter? Remember when every customer had left two evenings before to make it home in time for Christmas? We were sitting here, reading a book together. You told me the print company made a mistake after you saw a thread pop out of the inner hinge’s book bind. I was massaging your crown, then… I miss your long hair sometimes. The radio was playing, too–an auditory rerun of that musical you like so much. “A Christmas Carol” for "Shower of Stars", was it…”

You were fully equipped to spend the rest of the night coaxing Miles’ out of his panic, soothing tones drowning out the tantamount alarm running circles in his mind–but then, he lifted his head from the clothed caps of his knees and brought your intertwined fingers up to his warm cheek. “That man.. the-the- tape, he was talking about a ta-tape with- with…”

Your hand squeezed his in time with the patterned buzz of his pulse, pressed along your own wrist; thump-squeeze, thump-thump-squeeze… “It’s just you and me, Miles. Take your time.”

A shaky breath. Then another; better, easier. “The tape he’s talking about. It’s, it-t’s real. B-but nobody was ever-- supposed’t know it exists-- how did he know about it, how?”

“Miles… a tape? He knows about what you sent to management?”

“No, no, I never sent it! I never did, I kept it… I kept it because he was kind, and-- and…” And Miles is letting go of your palm, instead wrapping his lanky arms around the circumference of your waist, collapsing in your lap. He’s murmuring still, mere vibrations lost to the human capacity of Hertz, as your mind spun: once upon a time, Miles confessed to you a certain 60s starlet coupled up in Nevada 5 with one of the most influential and married politicians of that decade, before their deaths in– 

That was the tape?

Your heart hammered in your ears. Miles’ sobs simmered down into stammering breaths; his ever-softening palms gripping the fabric of your shirt between his fingers in some sort of self-soothing measure. Has your heart swapped with your brain? Is that why you’re so suddenly remembering how cruel it'd been for Miles: how he’d been at the El Royale so much longer than you, been beaten down so much smaller, was much closer to the edge? That Miles was crumpling atop you now with the rumblings of great, inescapable despair because the weight of these corrupt secrets was toppling him over?

It was then that you pet him, the man your heart swelled far past capacity for, fingernails tracing over the splattering of freckles along his neck–and then, that your survival instincts overtook.

“Miles, Miles, it’s okay. Don’t say sorry, s’not a problem. We can… well, we can… leave. Take the tape with us; burn it, destroy it, whatever you want. But we leave.” Deciding at last that enough was enough because you could either leave now or suffocate in silence forevermore. Curl into yourselves, like far neglected flora, until one of you dies and the other quickly follows.

In the hours before dawn, you’d suddenly pieced together a jilted, desperate plan of escape. You’d head an innocuous journey from the El Royale to Reno, wandering eccentrically so as not to leave a tangible trail. In that tawdry tourist town, you’d gather yourselves and map another path out again: to a smaller, quieter place, like Waterford, or Dunsmuir, where you could build yourselves a life anew. It would be hard, and frightening, and cold, and unkind—but above all it would be worth it.

Above all, this chapter would draw a close, and you could have the rest of the pages in your life to be selfish. The thought made your stomach flutter and clench with the foggiest of dreams, fluffy fox-tailed feelings beginning to run through the dim corridors of your heart: ideas of being free, of coming into your own, of maintaining a gentle realm together without the enduring pressure of the hotel. Of being able to sleep in and graze over the bony ridges of Miles' spine like you were allowed to—like you were supposed to, and would never be struck down for it.

That glassy night in late December of ‘68 was your final one in the hotel. You barely remember it: just the important stuff, the why and the how and the coaxing of two lonely souls who occupied the El Royale like ghosts from out of the shadows. You can’t remember the few days after very well either, not with the fear still so deeply imprinted on your souls– and certainly not with the anxious hush that fell over you: a silly vow of silence, to keep yourselves from revealing too much to potentially dangerous strangers. Words were chalk in the mouth then; you barely got them out before you were coughing, gasping, heaving for soothed breath-- then quieting, swallowing, holding back your voice in the crevice of your cords.

You did, however, remember the generous days that came after the fleeing and the hiding… and, understandably so: why allow your memory to remain preoccupied with the same dread you’d digested for years when you could keep space for the rest of your life to arrive? 

You sat atop that beat mattress in Miles’ drab room with him in your arms, halfway through dreaming up the rest of your life away from the hotel… and soon, sooner than you could’ve ever thought, you blinked and opened your eyes to find yourself living that merciful existence. Like the colour television channels Miles’ would always call you over to watch: you got a sparse glimpse once a year, the kind of magic you always swore you’d catch up to, but were always so busy with the bar (and the gardening and the kitchen and the–) to see. The hotel had the all-consuming quality to draw you away from any fulfilling aspects of life: friends, a better career, happiness, and like some sick inside joke, colour television.

Now, you were living the sweet life NTSC colour system shows portrayed—and were able to watch colour television whenever your heart damn well pleased. 

No longer did you let the days twist and swell around you without recognition, no– you allowed yourself the selfish possibility of listening to the day's whistle by, drinking in every peaking pitch: the dull flutter of Miles’ steps along your oak floor, your kitchen laminate, your soft bathroom rugs. The wispy rustle of crinkled grocery lists, checking through them in your kitchen on an early Sunday—shopping right when the supermarket opened, because the both of you cringed at the sight of busy aisles and overworked lanes. (The raspy, sniffled laughter of the elderly lady who ran the store, remarking, “Still in the honeymoon phase, huh?” as she checked you out. The squeak in Miles’ throat when you played along, pressing a peck to his cheek in mock confirmation.)

The stream of water from the creaky yard hose, sometimes pressurized to the point of injuring Miles’ poor petunias, and other times so frail you had to lug out his otter-shaped turret sprinkler to keep them healthy instead. The howling wind against your house walls on autumn nights, bouncing along the window sills as though ghosts roamed your halls. (Having to build a fort in the living room with Miles, after a “ghost” had spooked him on his nightly tread for a glass of water. He refused to brave the hallway to your bedroom again, and you refused to leave him there.)

The gentle snip-snap of scissors along Miles’ delicate head, telling him, “I’m not going as short as last time, even if you ask me to, ‘cause you’ll get cold and snag my earmuffs again.”  The sleepy purr of Miles’ in the morning, wrapping a lithe arm around your waist and greedily tugging you back to bed; grown spoiled with the days that go by so sweetly, used to having you all to himself. 

Drinking in these little moments, appreciating the mundanity of it all. How you simper, when doing laundry with Miles, sorting whites from colours as you regale him on the time you mixed in a blue sock by accident; is that why my button-up turned blue? When gardening side by side in the spring, Miles cooing to perennial flora as he packs down healthy fertilizer nearby; grazing a gentle finger over an unfurling petal and promising, you’ll grow up nice and strong when m’done with you. When sitting on the counter and watching Miles bustle about, trying to perfect his Tunnel of Fudge in time for the holidays and handing you the battered whisk; honey, you know I don’t care that there’s raw egg. 

Going through the motions of this post-hotel life, practically epilogic, with the relationship’s lines of platonic and romantic ever wavering. Ever thinning. Warbled by the merciful existences you reap: why focus on the status of your relationship when you could focus on the love itself, focus on your now-uninhibited freedom to love? 

But a rubber band snaps eventually. The lack of labels stretched wide and narrow around your intimate forms; never relieved, never named—never agreed upon, therefore just as well never reciprocated. Years after the hotel faded into a mere memory, just a faint speckle among the colourful mosaic of your existence, you wake with a pit drowning in your gut. Love burns in the bottom of your belly: no longer that comfortable love that rested so sweetly in the smiling swell of your cheeks, but more so a love that swallowed you whole—sudden, voracious, terrifying. You loved Miles, and you had for years… but just now did you realize you were in love with him. 

The distinction makes your heart hammer against its cage, starving for any kind of answer. The two of you never acknowledged it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there—it was always there, always lingering, providing the very allowance to be so intimate, be so loving. You’ve slept in one another’s bed for more than half a decade, for Christ's sake: tenderness is all you’ve ever known of each other. A deathly nerve deep within your gut strikes, begging for either reciprocation or rejection, not this limbo you’ve been living in. Imploring a tangible answer, an exacting label you can build the rest of your life upon.

Because the thought of staying trapped like this forever? Never fully friends and never fully lovers? That mortified you. It could all fall between the gaps of your fingers, even after decades, because none of it had ever been said aloud. 

The realization of being in love, and not just loving was kept under tightly wound wraps as best as you could. But Miles notices the little things over time: how you draw away easier, hugs growing brisk and polite rather than long and hearty. The tension in your shoulders, and how you no longer accept his tender offers to massage familiar knots out—even when you both know he can map out your problem areas just like that. Brushing off touchier advances, resolve greatly disturbed by Miles’ ever-constant need to hold hands, cling to your hip, hang onto you at all. He’s funny about that kind of thing: somewhere along the way, between the farm he grew up on, Vietnam, and the El Royale, to now, he picked up the miraculous ability to tune into moods at the drop of a hat. 

It gets worse as the week goes on, however. Not that you’d been very inconspicuous about your gloom—you sat up the fourth day quietly strained, trudging to the bathroom like a wet t-shirt that’d been wrung out and hung to dry in all the wrong ways. Misshapen, wrinkled, too burdened for the clothesline to hold up; the briefest of winter winds trickles past the window Miles forgot to close last night, and makes you shiver as you step in. But he doesn’t get the chance to intervene, not when you were heading off to work (there were so many things Miles lost the chance to say, and later he’ll tell you he hates himself for it–), and the two of you only see each other again when you’re back home. 

His first instinct when he sees you, mumbling your arrival in the frostbitten doorway, is to take your coat and set it on the wooden hanger; shuffle your fur-lined boots onto the shoe rack beside his own tassel loafers; dust the flurries off your clothes. Clean and take care of you, because that’s what he knows best. You half expect him to extend his arm out and point down either side of the hall, “Warmth and sunshine to the west, or hope and opportunity to the east,” on the tip of his tongue.

“Hi,” mumbles Miles, lip quivering as some semblance of a nervous smile inches across his face. “Um, welcome home.” 

That man is far too sweet for his own good. His greeting is the product of an offhand comment all those years ago, “It’s always the sweetest thing when the husband comes home and his wife welcomes him back.” Winter nights in the hotel when there were so few customers, management would skimp on paying the bills, and you’d huddle chest to chest with Miles to conserve heat. Breath visible, palms splayed beneath one another’s shirts to extinguish the chill racking through you. A random channel on his old RCA Victor Sportable playing a Brigitte Bardot special, if just to distract yourself from the very real, very harrowing possibility that you could fall asleep and never wake up.

“Miles,” out comes a dull whisper, scratchy and unreal in your own throat. You’ve tried all week to make a habit out of biting back too-sweet words, letting your blatant adoration die in your lungs. Speaking to him should be an activity gone stale, lest you forget yourself and allow you two to fall back headfirst into that exhausting will-they-won’t-they purgatory. 

But then you notice his clothes–an old cream cable knit and dress trousers, his Sunday best for weekly visits and the obligatory holiday ones–and his hair, neatly coiffed along the smooth crown of his head. You raise a brow–it’s incredibly unlike the pajamas and chestnut bedhead he usually sports; mussed and ruffled with the telltale stylistic edge of blankets and cotton pillowcases. Had he gone out, or is he going out now? 

That thought makes your heart thump and clench in its cavity: of Miles being swept off his feet by someone other than yourself and having to accept it with a choked nod, because you’re dancing around asking him “What are we?”, in paralyzing fear that you are the only one truly head over heels. You resign yourself to asking, “Going somewhere?” whilst gesturing to his unusually formal state of dress.

His rounded cheeks flush. Cobalts widen in tune with the sandy brows along his forehead rising. Your gaze hasn’t made it there yet, but you can bet his lips have slid ajar into a tiny “O” shape-- and there it is. His delicate expression of surprise is the same as it has been for years (and you fear how easily you predict it. You know him too well, and it’s never the one who knows another too well whose heart remains unbroken. But then again: between Miles’ delicate heart and your own… you’d rather you devastated.)

“Yes, well-- I’m going out with someone.”

“You’re going on a—“ How interesting. “…O-kay.”

Your offset okay has the tips of Miles’ lips twinging upward into a tiny, knowing smile. Smug, almost, if you pretended it wasn’t how Miles simply looked when content. It makes you frown instead. “Oh,” you mumbled, wincing as you brushed past him, hearing just how monotone; crestfallen; stupid you sounded. “Have fun, then.”

Your own cheeks burn, your harried footsteps clattering against hallway hickory wood: he was taking someone out? Miles’ had been venturing out on his own more often — your heart preened prideful praise at this, as he’d downright avoided public outings like the plague since his discharge all those years ago — so you knew it wasn’t at all unlikely he’d caught someone’s wandering eye. Miles was rather handsome, too (even downright pretty, which he rarely let you say aloud, since it made steam practically fume out of his ears) with the gentle brush of his blond lashes, framing the brilliant sheen of blue eyes, and that captivating curve of his nose, sloping high and elegant. 

But for however proud you were, the hurt still made your throat swell in its tender column. Suddenly, you realize it’s never going to be you who accompanies Miles in that way: because you are slow and cowardly. You are the decay that would make Miles’ heartwood go druxy– and for his sake, it cannot be you that accompanies him. Like understanding a language but never being taught to speak it, you can spot love easily even when it’s unspoken and barely there, but you cannot replicate it aloud. I love you is an unintelligible language twisted wryly on your tongue; you miss accents and mess up grammar, and before you know it those words as old as myth have gone sour. 

You’ll hurt him worse than rejection hurts you. But rejection, any kind of it, is still a quiet, burning thing that overtakes you like the wash of high tide. Digging its claws into the rapid flesh of your palpitating heart, you can’t help but desperately seek isolation. The balls of your feet practically jump over the threshold where the hall and your shared room meet… but he’s quick to follow.

Miles’ sock-swaddled thumping is slow at first, before speeding up and careening to a stop at the door of the bedroom. His fingers (originally rough with domestic work but grown soft in the simple life you’ve built around each other) cling shyly to the side jamb: “Are…” and his words warble at a pitchy high, like they’re curling around a pitiful lump balling up in his throat, “are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” your reassurance is fast, uttered quicker than you can think or blink or even turn. But because your back still faces him, he asks again, are you mad at me? Murmurs, I’m sorry, a moment later, polyester-padded steps inching over the sill. Miles continues closer, appearing in the background of your mirror while you shed your outside clothes off; practically undergoing chrysalis into your pyjamas.

His words are childish, almost, and you have half a mind to shoo him out of the room for privacy–but you know Miles. Though his words are uttered gingerly, the nervous apology of a scolded child, he isn’t any less desperate, any less earnest; he’s genuine, and that genuinity has no bounds. 

The bed creaks behind you, and your mind buries the consuming temptation to look. Desire calls out your name, supplying imaginary images of cranberry Christmas sheets straining beneath Miles’ pretty, slow crawl. And the apology is part way through stumbling out of Miles’ mouth yet again when you finally turn to meet him: slim torso folded along the long edge of the bed, knees planted on the hardwood. Looking up at you with an impossible expression that pleads, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Are you mad at me? Please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m– 

His sweet head buries itself into the clothed cushion, and you can hear him sniffle; holding back a worried sob, are you mad at me? filling the ridges of his tongue. It’s so hard to seek solitude, to want to soothe yourself at all, when Miles is falling apart in front of you; fingers curling possessively into the sheets like he usually would your clothes. 

The tear that escapes the corner of Miles' eye dribbles into your bed. It makes your obstinacy waver. And then, you’re descending onto the bed too, scooping his weeping form into your arms, gently soothing him with shapes drawn into his cheek. Coaxing the tears away with a low hum cooed into the shell of his ear, shh, shh. M’not mad, just surprised. Just tired. 

Cries that finally dwindle into stuttered sniffles and tiny pecks along your inner wrist. The drag of his bottom lip on the ulna bone makes a ribbon of warmth run through you, and you cringe—you should be normal about this kind of thing because he’s perpetually starved for touch. This intimacy is nothing special, and you just happen to always be there. But it starts to feel less than normal: kisses growing hungry and adventurous, desperate to litter your skin with his presence… eventually reaching up to the top of your shoulder, just so gaining the confidence to sink his canines into your skin…

“Miles!” You yelp, squeezing at the nape of his neck and peeling his rebellious teeth from your side like you would a puppy. You bring him face to face, grip sliding to the mandible; his eyes half-lidded, lips wet with a doggish, slobbery sheen of saliva, brows knitted tensely in the middle. You meant to comfort him, rid the alarm from muscles that held memory so tightly. Instead, an entirely different neediness is roused out of him: he’s crawled halfway up your body, rigid knees subconsciously brushing between your thighs, pressing you to the mattress with the thick weight of his utterly relaxed lower body. 

He begins to slowly blink, as if coming out of a feverish daze, going ever-scarlet in realization. “Sorry, I– didn’t mean to…ah, just missed you so much, that’s all—” squirming to hide and bury his face into the pillows again, whining when you stop him with another squeeze of his cherubic cheeks.  

“What,” You’re breathless, and you reckon your pulse is beating as fast as Miles' is beneath your fingertips: rapid, floundering, like a marathon has been run four times over. “What was that, sweetheart?”

The nickname makes Miles shiver atop you; his head swivelling low to rest upon you, his everything pinning you down. Your huff of gentle (confused, frustrated, coy) air breezes along his brow bone, and he looks up to peer puppyish up at you. 

“Wanted to make you feel better,” he supplies, head tilting to rest the side of his face upon your skin too. “You-- you've been t-tense—and don’t lie, I can tell. So, so I was tryin’ to ask you on a date in the doorway… but then y-you stormed off on me! I thought you— I thought, maybe you don’t want thatkinda relief, so… so…”

“Oh, Miles.” you melt, hand cradling his face gently, thumb brushing against his lower lip, crooking the bed of your palm closer when he turns in to provide a chaste kiss. “I… didn’t realize you were trying to ask me on a date,” and your gaze darts away shyly, voice dropping to a ginger murmur, “in all honesty, I thought you were going out on one.”

“Me?” he asks, head tilting again in pure confusion. Cobalt blue eyes glistening with a disbelieving curiosity–like he couldn’t entertain the prospect logically in his mind long enough for it to make sense. “Who would I be going on a date with but you?”

Who would he be going on a date with but you? 

The silence of the room rings swirls in the junction of your ear. You think you hear a pin drop, but it might very well be your heart; trudging up the shaky interior of your ribcage, softly parsing through the meaning of his words… and finding it to be completely genuine. No sarcasm, and nothing of rhetoric: a true, confused question, uttered from those gentle lips. Who would I be going on a date with but you?as if the very notion was impossible. Like you just told him you’d reached up and plucked the sun for his garden. Like you just said, I miss the hotel.

For some odd, unknown reason, that is what makes your heart roar to life again. Makes your stomach churn with the familiar achings of hope. Those simple words, that glaring confusion, twist your entireviewpoint. How blatantly he says it: that there's nobody on this planet Miles’ would rather be with but you. This may not be very clear right now, but the path to it is, and one thing remains certain: you’ll be loving each other, no matter which way.

A small laugh tumbles out of your mouth, transforming your solemn features into something of silly belief. How foolish were you to think otherwise? That this gentle man, who offered his tiny room to you all those years ago, would suddenly let you slip out from his fingers at the prospect of someone else? Just as there's never been anyone else for you, there's never been anyone else at all for him but you.

How slow your realization was, too: you had been shying from Miles for days, worrying deep in your gut that he’d eventually disappear at the drop of the hat. Whereas, he had been entertaining big dreams of spending the rest of his life curled into your corner; cheering you on for all the world to see. Completely understanding that nobody better could be found; could be loved, could be known than you. 

Your laugh seems to make Miles’ smile twitch up too, and you can’t help but snicker a little louder when you catch his murmur: what are we laughing about now? Because that’s the kind of man Miles is, and always has been: a gentle lover, but fiercely loyal, tender to the very bone; happy to ask the silly, stupid questions when you don’t want to. 

“Nothing,” you shush him, letting your cold, fresh-from-work feet dip beneath the edge of Miles’ soft trousers, toe trailing along his bare Achilles and making him wince. 

“Y’cold,” he whines but doesn’t push you away. Miles doesn’t think he could ever push you away; even through a bout of worrying, self-imposed distance that made panic rise in his heart this week, because Miles’ knows you better than that. You know one another far better than that—and one thing you taught him, bits and pieces of philosophical advice littered into your early conversations, rings true now. Never stop trying. You never stopped trying to fulfill yourself at that trepid, consuming hotel– and you came out the other side with the love of your life tucked gently into your side. So Miles learned never to stop trying for anything at all– and certainly not for you. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. But you’re not for very long, especially when he sidles up real close to you, ducking his head right into your Plender gap and breathing you in.

You don’t know where the years went, but love peeled the layers back from Miles so quickly: paring away his skittish demeanour from back then, when he’d been afraid to leave any mess at all, afraid to give into his mild intrigue of you, to even stir the air with the gentlest inhale of his breath. Continuing to unravel him, until he was the greedy man caging you in now, unabashedly needy and unafraid to stake claim on what’s his. Wanting you by his side has never changed, and never will. 

Slowly, the two of you shift, roll, twitch and tug until the sheets are furrowed, comforter wrapped oddly around your legs-- but also until you’re comfortably in one another's arms, foreheads grazing every time one of you breathes. It gives you the most explicit look of his face, into those cobalt blues, through the brush of lashes you so admiringly yawp about when he puts lotion on his face — to the point Miles has to shut the bathroom door on you in the bedroom, just to continue his bedtime routine without melting out into a stammering pile of goop — and of the faint dustings of freckles you noted all that time ago.

Barely noticing the window Miles’ has the terribly endearing habit of keeping open—even on this quiet winter night—because in the summer it coaxed you to sleep and you thanked him for it the next morning. Eyes resting as you focused on the comforting murmur of Miles’ familiar breathing pattern, wrapped in silence so thick it was almost palpable—making you two feel like the only real things in the entire world.

You may have thought your love was nondescript and barely there — imperceptible if not for the top notes of intimacy and adoration lingering on the pulse points of your skin like perfumed oil — but it’s always been noticeable. Always been rich and heady, forever dabbled on the dip of your neck where he lies his head; a fervent scent of pure love blooming, caught on the hem of yourself like you sprayed a pump too much. And nothing, not even Miles’ cries or your own misunderstanding, would ever change that. 

[mirbaw]

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Hello, I am Mohammad Taysir, 34 years old, a Palestinian living in Gaza. I am married to Basma, and we have two children: Joud, who is 3 years old, and Yazan, who is 2 and a half. I am writing to you from the heart of destruction and suffering in Gaza. Our lives used to be normal, filled with hope and hard work, until war came and destroyed everything. Before the war, I worked as a mobile programmer, and my wife was a schoolteacher. We had many aspirations and lived a simple yet happy life, dreaming of a bright future for our children. The war came and changed everything. Our home was destroyed, we lost our jobs, and we became homeless. We tried to flee to safer areas in search of security. But safety in Gaza has become nearly impossible. Death and destruction are everywhere, and our children live in an endless nightmare. Opportunities for education and entertainment have vanished, and basic necessities are scarce. We are suffering from poverty and despair. We are now searching for an opportunity to live in a safe place outside Gaza. However, this is very costly, and we are in desperate need of your support. We want to provide a dignified life and a better future for our children. We believe that humanity and compassion still exist, and that there are those who will respond to our desperate plea. Every donation, no matter how small — $5 or $10, or 50$ will have a significant impact on our lives. Your contributions will help us cover the costs of travel and living in a safe country. We want to start a new life away from fear and destruction, giving our children a chance to dream and hope again. Thank you to everyone who wants to help and support my family during these difficult times. We believe that goodness still exists, and that there are those who share our hope for a better life.

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[aemondapologistfrfr]

The Knight of Your Dreams

addam velaryon(of hull) x targ!fem!reader 

Summary: You help Addam learn the ways of dragon riding. Feelings start to emerge the more time you spend with him.

Warnings: 18+ swearing, oral(f receiving), fingering, p in v

Authors Note: me wanting to read an addam ff but there’s like 2 so i’ll do it myself!!, reader is rider of silverwing bc that’s a pretty ass dragon let me be obsessed w her, oldest daughter is the therapist for mothers and i recognize that as the baby, jace was kind of bitchy in ep7 and it’s reflected in here bc i was lowkey gagged like i get his trauma but damn acting like harwins traits aren’t fine asf 🙄

Word Count: 3k

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

Jaces voice cracks as he begs Rhaenyra to get rid of Seasmokes new rider. I feel for him but in a time of war for the crown we need all the help we can get. Rhaenyra is at a loss for words and looks to him sadly. I turn to him as his tears begin to fall. 

“Brother,” I start. 

“No,” he sniffles. “You wouldn’t get it. You have the silver hair and violet eyes. Everyone knows what I am.” he words have a bite behind it like I had a choice in my parentage, like any of us had a choice in our parentage. 

“Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra walks to him to comfort him but he’s running out of the hall. She turns to me and sighs. She walks back to her desk as takes a seat. 

“I’m sorry.” I whisper not knowing what to say to comfort her. 

“It’s not your fault. I just never expected him to say those things.” she looks to me sadly as I take a seat on the other side of her desk. 

“I don’t think he meant it out of malice. It’s just something he’s felt his entire life and it seemed to be bubbling over.” I try to find reason in his actions and words. 

“Have I too not had accusations and insults thrown at me for the entirety of my life?” she places her head in her hands. 

“You have had more years to subjugate those accusations.” my words are soft. 

“Yes, I know. I had just thought maybe he wouldn’t have blamed me so fiercely. I’m trying. This was his idea after all. I can’t change the past and I won’t be dismissing Addam.” my ears perk up at finally hearing the new riders name. 

“I don’t think he blames you, mother. What could you do? Father didn’t have a taste for women like us.” a playful smile comes to my lips. 

“And I never faulted him for that. He was a kind and caring man. Who raised you regardless.” she looks off as our minds drift to Laenor. 

“If it makes you feel any better he seemed to also blame me.” I shrug my shoulders looking to her. 

“It doesn’t,” he exhales deeply. “I don’t want this to cause a rift between you two, but I fear what I’m going to ask of you may further it.” her eyes look to mine pleading. 

“What can I do?” I ask tilting my head. 

“I need to focus on finding a rider for Vermithor. I need you to help train Addam. You know what a fresh bond from a full grown dragon feels like. Help him learn some commands, take him flying, do what you must to prepare him. Please, daughter.” her eyes begging. 

“Of course,” I nod my head and begin to rise. 

“Thank you,” she rises with me and offers me a hug before I leave the hall. 

I walk out of the hall and begin my journey to the guest chambers. I have no idea what to expect from this man. As I’m approaching the door Corlys walks out. 

“Lord Corlys,” I nod my head to him. 

“Princess, what can I do for you?” he stops in front of me. 

“I’m to help Addam learn the ways of dragon riding.” I offer him a smile. 

“He worked hard on my docks and I expect nothing less from him in the skies.” his words sound almost proud. 

“I would expect nothing less from the man Seasmoke claimed.” my smile widens. Corlys nods to me once more before leaving down the hall. I let out and exhale and knock on the door. 

“Come,” a deep voice comes from within. I slowly open the door and turn my head around the corner. The man standing before me takes my breath away and I’m quick to advert my eyes as I seal the door shut behind me. 

“I am Princess Y/n. Rhaenyra has sent me to help train you in the ways of dragon riding.” I smile softly to him as I walk deeper into his chambers. 

“I’m honored, Princess.” he bows deeply as I chuckle walking to him. 

“We have no need to bow as dragon riders.” I stand in front of him as he rises with a sheepish smile. 

“Of course, Princess.” he starts to bow his head again but stops himself. 

“Y/n.” I softly correct. “No need for titles either.” as I look up to him at his full height. 

“Y/n,” he smiles down to me and I can’t help but smile back. “I am Addam.” he offers me his name.

“Addam.” his name falls off my tongue. “Rider of Seasmoke. Tell me how that happened.” I go to sprawl across his couch. 

“He hunted me down himself.” he claims a chair across from me. “I was on the shores and Seasmoke started circling the sands. He usually flies around Driftmark so I thought nothing of it. Until he started flying directly at me. I’ll admit I fled to the trees. He had no trouble finding me anyways.” he bites his lip sliding his eyes to me. 

“He claimed you?” I sit up on the couch searching his eyes. 

“Yes, only a fool would approach a dragon.” he shakes his head. 

“So you think I’m a fool, Addam?” I tilt my head smirking.

“No, I didn’t say that, Princess,” he stutters and looks at me worriedly. 

“I claimed a dragon. I wasn’t gifted a dragon egg as a babe, but that wouldn’t stop me. I used to sneak through the pits to look at them and one day I got too close to Silverwing and now I have a dragon.” I smile thinking back to that day. Rhaenyra was livid but so proud. 

“I didn’t mean any offense, Princess.” he uses my title once again. 

“Y/n,” I correct rising off of the couch. 

“Y/n,” he looks up to me. 

“Let’s go to the library. I’d like to help you learn some commands and High Valyrian.” I hum as I walk to the door and hear him jump to his feet. 

“I’d be honored if you taught me, my Prin- Y/n,” I smile at his correction. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

We’re all sitting around the dining table enjoying a meal in silence. Jace has somewhat settled over the past fortnight about Addam and sourcing another for Vermithor. Addam has been doing excellent in learning High Valyrian and is getting more comfortable around dragons. 

“How fares your classes with Y/n?” Rhaenyra asks looking between me and Addam. 

“She’s been absolutely perfect. She’s very patient with me, yet never fails to give me a hard time.” he turns and smiles to me chuckling.  

“You usually deserve it.” my eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across my face. 

“I’m thankful you’re feeling more confident.” Corlys nods from Rhaenyras side. 

“Flying is just..” Addam trails off not being able to find the word of how euphoric it truly is. Jace lets out a scoff and I feel Addam turn in on himself next to me making my brows furrow. 

“What the fuck are you still so mad about?” I snap down the table at him. 

“Y/n,” Rhaenyra scolds. 

“You’ve avoided Addam for the past fortnight. He isn’t here to begrudge you. Seasmoke chose him and he had no choice in the matter. What is it that you want us to do, Jace?” I rise from my chair to look at him. 

“Y/n, please,” Addam looks up to me with pleading eyes. Jace mumbles something under his breath before scraping his chair against the stone and leaving the hall. 

“To your chambers.” Rhaenyras eyes narrow on me and I roll my eyes and leave the hall. 

I walk up the stairs as anger and frustration are still flowing out of me. I don’t know why I’m so protective over Addam. He’s just so sweet and so innocent. I don’t know why Jace wouldn’t try and bond with him. They have more in common than he knows. I push my chamber doors open and slam them behind me. I pull a book out from my shelf to get lost in for a couple hours. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

“Come,” I call looking up from my book to see Addam enter. “I hope my mother wasn’t too angry after I left.” I smile as he clicks the door shut. 

“No, just a little frustrated.” he sits next to me on the couch. “What are you reading?” he pulls the book out of my hands playfully and begins to read aloud. “So the knight rushed up the stairs to save the Princess and-“ 

“Addam,” I whine trying to pull the book from him. 

“Oh, but it was just getting good.” he smiles raising the book above his head out of my reach. I go to stand to reach it and he stands himself to tower over me. “Seems like you’re too short, Princess.” he chuckles looking down to me. 

“Addam,” I pout looking up to him. 

“You’re too cute.” he pinches my cheek with his free hand and I can feel my blush creep up my neck. “I was coming to see if I could sneak you out of here and we could go for a moonlight ride?” he offers my book back to me. 

“I would love to.” I snatch my book from him. 

“I’m surprised you’re so willing to abandon the knight of your dreams.” he chuckles as I toss my book to the couch. 

“I’ll return to him later.” I hum as Addam chuckles pulling me out of my chambers. 

We quietly make our way down to the pits and our dragons greet us. We offer them warm greetings before we mount and take our saddles. We emerge into the moonlight and our dragons quickly take to the skies. I sigh in relief as the wind whips through my hair. I turn to look at Addam who is equally enjoying our time. 

Our dragons twirl and dip around each other playfully. Silverwing drags her claws playfully into the water causing it to spray up on me as I giggle. We slowly start flying back to the pits as Seasmoke sings us a low song. Once we dismount Addam begins to laugh at my sea ruined dress. 

“She’s lucky this isn’t one of my favorite dresses.” I huff as we start into the castle. 

“It’s not? But you look so pretty in it.” his eyes scan me over as I feel my cheeks heat. 

“Thank you, you’re very kind.” I say bashfully. 

“I have to compete with the knight in your book somehow.” his fingers dance around mine as I feel my heart pound. 

“There’s no competition.” I say hushed grabbing his hand. 

He walks me back to my chambers with his hand still in mine. The halls are silent save for the low grumbles of the dragons below. As we stop outside of my chambers he lingers looking down at me. 

“Addam,” 

“Y/n,” we say each others names at the same time. 

“I just want to say thank you. For your kindness, and your patience, and for how much you care. It’s always unexpected.” his eyes search mine. 

“You are deserving of kindness and compassion.” I say hushed bringing my hand to his cheek. He dips down and kisses me quickly. 

He pulls back before I can even start to enjoy the moment. I furrow my brows and pull his face back down to me. The second kiss is more fierce and passionate. Our tongues dance and caress one another as I melt into him. We pull apart breathing heavily. 

“Enjoy the rest of your night and the knight of your dreams.” he smiles down to me before he opens my doors. 

“I’ll imagine him as you.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I slip into my chambers shutting the doors behind me. A small giggle bursts out of me as I’m still giddy from his kiss. 

“Princess,” Addams voice comes through my doors once more. 

“Yes?” I ask opening my doors. 

He lifts me up and brings his lips to mine again. He kicks the door shut as I sigh into his mouth. His hands are digging into my backside as my arms wrap around his back. My hands roam all over his muscled shoulders and back while I get lost in his kiss. 

He breaks the kiss by setting me back on the ground as I look up to him trying to catch my breath. He looks to my swollen lips as he licks his own. My hands travel to his chest as I start to lift his shirt off. 

“We don’t have to, I didn’t mean to barge in here.” his words tumble out of his mouth as my fingers trail over his muscled torso. 

“Mm, but I’m so thankful you did.” I smile looking up to him. 

I turn to him so he can begin untying my gown. His fingers make quick work of my gown and I’m soon stepping out of it. I turn to face him as his eyes roam over my body that the slip is doing nothing to hide. Once his eyes lock back onto mine he stalks over to me and kisses me. 

His hands ghost along my thighs before he slowly starts to lift my slip off of me. He steps back and groans as he takes in my body. He pulls me back to him as his hands begin to roam across my skin. I whimper into his mouth as his hands cup my breasts. His thumbs brush against my nipples pulling a whine from me. 

“The noises you make are simply divine.” he whispers against my lips. “I want to hear more.” he says lowly before bringing a hand between my thighs. 

“Addam,” I moan as he trails a finger along my slit. 

“Mm, I quite like that.” he chuckles as he swirls around my clit as I grip onto his arms. 

His other arm supports me as he begins to speed up his movement. My breaths are coming out in pants as my hips chase the pleasure his fingers are offering me. He slips a long finger down to my core and begins to dip in. 

“Let me know if it’s too much.” he whispers as he begins pumping slowly. 

“Not enough,” I whine breathlessly grinding down on his hand. 

He removes his hand and I cry out. He chuckles and pulls me to my bed. I fall back as he continues to push me further up the bed. He begins to unlace his trousers while looking to me. Once he’s freed my eyes drink in his body and my thighs spread open a little more taking in the length of him. He settles between my thighs with his face at my core. 

“I don’t care who hears, I want to hear you.” he says lowly before attaching his mouth to my wetness. 

My hips jolt up into his face as his tongue laps at my clit. He circles two fingers around my entrance before slowly sliding them in. A sob tears through me as my legs shutter. His free hand trails up my torso and claims one of my breasts and begins to tease one of my nipples. 

“Yes, please Addam,” I beg as my hand rests around his that’s pinching and pulling my sensitive bud. 

His tongue quickens at my words and my jaw goes slack as whimpers fall from my mouth. His fingers start to pound into me as my hips grind into his face. I cry out his name as pleasure washes through me as he starts to untangle himself from me. 

He snakes up my body before crashing his lips into mine. I sigh against him as I taste myself on his tongue. As he settles between my thighs I feel his length gliding through my wetness. 

“Are you ready?” he pulls back looking down at my squirming body. 

“Yes,” I nod as my chest rises and falls rapidly. 

He begins to push into me watching my face and drinking in my noises. Once he’s fully sheathed he brings his lips to mine. I whine as his hips begin to slowly rock into me. The stretch of him is making my head spin as I become lost in the pleasure. My legs wrap around his waist and his hips snap into mine at the new angle causing me to sob out. 

“‘m sorry.” he grunts trying to slow his movements. 

“More,” I whimper bucking my hips into his. 

He kisses me fiercely once more as he begins to snap his hips into mine. I moan into his mouth as his pace speeds up. I’m slowly sliding up the bed and he continues to move with me lowly chuckling. My head hits the headboard as I moan loudly. 

“Sorry,” he breathes out and places a pillow between my head and the wood. 

His hips never falter as he brings a hand between us and starts to circle my clit. I sob as pleasure course through me as I clench around him. His hips shutter but his fingers and hips keep up their movements as I screw my eyes shut at the repeated pleasure. Shockwaves continue to flow through me as his trusts become stronger. 

“Addam,” I whine as pleasure starts to burst through me again. 

He twitches inside of me and I feel warmth spreading throughout. My legs fall from his waist as my breaths continue to come out in pants. He pulls out of me and falls to the other side of the mattress. We sit there catching our breaths before I turn to him and kiss him once more. 

“Was I better than the knight in your book?” he offers me a lopsided smile. 

“Considering the knight in my book is just my fingers, yes.” I giggle kissing him again. 

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹ ⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆

masterlist 🔌 

[kryptznnn]

♛- PLAY-HARD I

1st part/ 2nd part (Mature Audience Community Label)

Series Masterlist ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

➳ INTERESTS; - olo’eyktan!jake x fem!omatikayan reader

➳ BACKGROUND; - working alongside Mo’at has helped you and your family in various ways, as a way to repay her for your free working she pairs you along side Toruk Makto to aid him in small departments he needs assistance in, but more importantly to find a Tsahik suitable for the Olo’eyktan, but he isn’t always cooperative.

➳ WARNINGS; - 3.1k wc slight age gap (25 and 21), takes place after the great war, eventual smut, slow burn, sexual tension, use of alcohol, vomiting (mentioned once), wet kisses, hickies, jealousy, power imbalance, pet names, fluff, bit of angst if you squint, nipple!play, slight p!play.

➳a.i; first fic i’m very very nervous, but i hope u all enjoy ^^, i take requests so just hit my inbox 🌸my main navigation

*na’vi translation will be provided*

Mo’at was not joking when she spoke of Jake Sully and his stubbornness, the reason why she decided you’d be a perfect aid is due to your patience, which was running very thin at the moment.

“I’m here to assist you, but i cannot do my job if you refuse to go against my requests.” you stated sharply, his ears pinned against his hair and his lips tightened into a straight line, he simply crossed his arms. This was the 3rd date you’d set up for him that he’s rejected.

Not the first, or the second, but the third time. To make matters worse whenever you’d complain to Mo’at she’d simply tell you to just push a little farther.

“I told you I didn’t like her” he said sternly, repeating the same statement he has for the past 2 weeks. “skxawng, [moron] you’ve said the same thing for the other 2 na’vi i’ve tried to pair you with, do not be selfish, think of the future of our people-“

“That’s all I think about y/n, I might be many things but selfish isn’t one of’em. You can’t just force someone with me, if im going to be with some girl for the rest of my life at least let me make my own decision.” He quickly cut you off, now unfolding his arms and placing a hand at his side, eyeing you up and down. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t make any good points, if you were in his place you’d be more than frustrated, but regardless you’re job here was to help and provide for the olo’eyktan, which is exactly what you were going to do.

“Mr. Sully, please-“

“Jake. It’s jake kid” He buds in, smiling softly.

“Jake, I understand what you’re saying and how you feel, but part of my job is providing, and what i’m doing is providing for you and your future” You correct yourself, giving him a pleading look, searching in his eyes for a look of understanding, which you soon found. He relaxed a bit and wasn’t as tense as before, nodding in approval. You quickly smiled, thankful this situation didn’t have to escalate to a serious argument like it has before hand. Those times were the worst times for the both of you, and thankfully you’ve both been able to talk them out and set boundaries and learn from past mistakes, if anything Mo’at would repeat how times like those strengthens the relationship you two share, and she wasn’t wrong.

“m’sorry” He said quietly, but loud enough for you to hear, rubbing his hands together and sitting down, his tail curling up beside him with his head down. “syeha si tam [breathe, it’s okay], you have nothing to apologize for, i’m sorry too, the position you’re in isn’t easy, trust me I know” you said calmly, slowly walking over to him, just for him to open up his arms. You slowly walked over to him, quickly embracing him just for him to do the same with you. You sighed and smiled softly, your head resting on his.

Come to think of it Jake was always a physical kind of person, “touchy” is what the term is. Whenever things would go wrong with him or the clan he would drain out quickly, before he didn’t have anyone to rely on, not a friend close enough for him to talk to so he would create a relationship with Mo’at, asking her for advice and methods to aid him, right before he came across you. You would be seated with Mo’at, mixing herbs for her while listening to their conversations, on specific days jake would speak about certain na’vi women attempting to court him, which made you giggle when you first heard it

“Who is she?” Jake asked quickly glancing over at you, as you quickly covered your mouth to stop any other laughter. Mo’at turned to you and back at Jake softly smiling. “Her name is y/n, I love her like a daughter of mine,she’s been under my arm for the past 12 years” She said proudly, Jake nodded his head, not taking his eyes off of you, watching as you walked over and stood beside Mo’at.

“Ohe ahasey sa’nok” [I’ve finished mother] You said, placing the bowl in Mo’at’s hands, smiling at her, she thanked you and introduced you to Jake. “Te suli, this is y/n, y/n this is tsyeyk suli, our olo’ektyan” She stated, directing her hand to you than back to jake. You quickly signed the “I see you” gesture saying “Oel ngati kameie” as he nodded and repeated the same action. You looked him in his eyes, just to realize he was looking at you this whole time, you quickly looked to the side and began to distract yourself.

He had such an intense gaze, does he look at everyone like that? You asked yourself, your tail thrashing back and forth recalling the scene that happened just seconds ago.

“If you need extra assistance I can always have y/n accompany you, she’s always wanted to to explore other fields of work, I think she could help you a lot” Mo’at spoke soothingly, placing the bowl you gave her down and adding bandages to it. Jake continued to watch you, listening to Mo’at’s words carefully, still grinning ear to ear.

“I’d love that” He said, slowly standing up to take his leave.

That was 4 months ago, since then Jake has been very open with you, always in need of a hug and consolidation, which you were happy to give. Although it was painful how often you’d have to remind yourself not to mix pleasure and business, you’re helping you’re olo’ektyan, he’s just worn out and exhausted. Surely tonight would help him, deeming the celebration would be in his favor, celebrating his successful raid with his party and no injuries or casualties were gained.

“I’ll see you tonight?” He asked,slowly releasing you from his grasp and looking up at you, you just looked down at him smiling and nodding softly. “Of course, just don’t expect me to be there early, i’ll be coming with Za’yukto” You said, slowly backing up ready to leave, jake quickly grabbed your hand as soon as you turned around.

“Who is that?” He asked, you turned to face him to see his demeanor quickly changed. His jaw had clenched and his grip on your hand was getting tighter by the second. “Just a friend of mine, he didn’t want to go alone so I volunteered to take him, just for a while” You said harmlessly, he tilted his head, looking at you up and down before responding. He opened his mouth just to slowly close is and take a deep breath, making direct eye contact with you. “Just… just don’t be too late okay? I’ll be waiting for you” He said softly, his ears lowering slightly as he let go of your hand.

“Of course, and if you ever get too bored you can talk to all of your other friends there” You joked, quickly getting your belongings and leaving shortly.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

You glanced in your small reflection for a final time before leaving your small hut. You haven’t done much to your appearance other than brushing out your braids and changing your purple beaded top to a red one, you’ve always liked how the colors looked on you.

This’ll do. You thought, it was too late to turn back and change now, you’ve already gone so far anyway. You looked pleasant, eye-catching, which was the exact look you were hoping for, hopefully you’d get someone to look at you during tonight’s celebration, or maybe a specific someone. Of course that specific someone being non other than J-

“Y/N!! Are you here?” You stopped dead in your tracks quickly walking over to the entrance of your hut.

That’s Za’yukto’s voice. “Hi, sorry, ohe am lonu to sìltsan” [I’m ready to go] You stated, stepping outside and quickly setting down the entrance of your hut with a smile, looking up at him. He smiled in response and complimented you, to which you thanked him and began making your way to the spirit tree for the celebration.

Soon after you two arrived, you quickly began to adjust your top, brush off your loincloth and hair, saying your goodbyes to Za’yu as you made your way to look for Jake, thankfully finding him quickly-

He’s with someone, you thought, seeing him off to the side laughing with a large drink in his hand, obviously being alcohol, of course stronger than any human substances and yet tasting even sweeter than anything you’ve ever had before. Seeing him happy like that did nothing more than make you smile a bit, he’s been stressed lately, he needs some sort of release. You quickly walk to the side getting closer to him just to see he’s doing more than just talking.

More than just laughing, and not with any someone, with a woman.

And he’s…. he’s kissing her? They’re kissing, they’re definitely kissing, and he’s not kissing just any woman, it’s the first na’vi you ever brought towards him to consider that he immediately rejected, simply telling you “There’s nothing special about her”.

Ewya.

You didn’t even bother making your way over to him, you’d already seen enough, feeling your face heat up out of sheer embarrassment and your eyes beginning to burn. On one swift motion you turn around to find Za’yu and to your surprise he already had a large cup waiting for you. You quickly grabbed it and chugged it down, your face immediately going from a sour look to more relaxed.

“Syeha si y/n!!” [Breathe y/n!!] Za’yu said, quickly taking the now empty cup from your hands as you just smiled at him. “I’m fine, come dance with me?” you asked, holding his hand. He just shook his head and placed the cups down on a table beside him, quickly taking you to the center of the dancefloor and began dancing with you in his arms.

This is a party, a place to let loose and celebrate, and that’s exactly what you planned on doing. You hooked your arms around Za’yu’s shoulders, pulling him a little closer, and looking at him intensely. You’d be lying if you said Za’yu wasn’t attractive, he was insanely attractive and overall perfect, everything a woman would look for in a man, he was skilled, intelligent, good looking, and strong? A complete package. Especially with the fact he’s such a gentleman, that’s what triggered your friendship so quickly.

He looked down at you, his hands traveling from your back to your waist, grinning at you. You slowly pushed yourself up against his body, feeling your beaded top clink against his broad chest. You slowly climb up on your tippy toes closer and closer to his face, as he too moves in closer, just for you to reach towards his ear and kiss it.

“Can you get me another drink please? I’m so thirsty” You ask him playfully, rubbing your 4 fingers against your throat slowly, licking your lips at him. He nodded and reached down to your collarbone, kissing it softly before leaving to get you a drink.

Soon after dancing by yourself you feel a hand rest on your stomach and trail down to your pelvis, holding you securely as your back rests on his back, you lift your head up quickly to see Za’yu, with your drink in his hand as he smiled down at you. You slowly got onto your tippy toes and kissed him, just to taste residue of alcohol that he previously consumed, smiling at the sweet taste, and taking the cup from his hands and quickly finishing it, dropping the cup and turning to face him, kissing him again.

Honestly at this state you’re wondering where jake was, if he was enjoying himself with his dick probably down that girls throat, but at the same time you were too fucked out and having way too much fun to care. Your shared kisses with Za’yu quickly became more intimate and more active, exchanging saliva and practically moaning into his mouth while still dancing, now slowly beginning to grind yourself onto him.

“Za’yu-“ You moaned softly against his lips, barely being able to catch your breath. “I know tìyawn, I know, mawepey” [I know love, I know, be patient] He said softly, his kisses trailing from your lips to your jawline and down to your neck, beginning to suck on you softly.

You rested your hand on the back of his neck, slowly playing with his hair and mewling softly, your ears perked up and your tail curling around your leg. He continued however, lowering down to your collarbone, kissing it softly before continuing his assault.

“ ‘Yu, can w- can we go back to my place? Please” You whimper softly, as he slowly moves his head up to look at you, kissing you softly. “Whatever you want y/n”. He said, quickly going to hold your hand, just as you turn around someone crashes into you spilling their drink all over you.

Of course it was none other than Ninat, whos throat Jake was previously shoving his tongue down. “Shouldn’t you be all on the olo’ektyan?” You muttered quietly, thankful no one heard you. Before listening to her pleads and apologies you simply just shoved past her, clinging onto Za’yukto tightly. “Don’t worry we’ll get you cleaned up, come on” He said.

Soon enough you both arrived to your hut , walking straight into the back of your hut and dragging him along, to which he quickly obliged. You stepped into the small pond behind your hut and began removing your strained top and loincloth, ushering him to do the same, which he quickly did.

“I’m going to clean you up first” He said, smiling down at you and grabbing a nearby rag to wipe any access alcohol off of you. He was gentle and caring, he only looked above your collarbone and refused to look lower, to make sure ‘you felt comfortable’ was his excuse, you found his caring and respectful nature cute though, knowing there were a lot of navi men out there who would not do the same. You just helped guide his hand to where he had to clean off until he kissed you again, letting his hands trail up from your waist to your soft breasts.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly, looking in your eyes for complete confirmation, to which you nodded and smiled in response. He let his fingers graze against your nipples a few times before toying with you, lowering his head before taking your left breast into his mouth, rolling his tongue onto your nipple, making you moan softly, quickly gripping onto the back of his hair softly. “That’s not the only place that needs attention, i’m still dirty elsewhere” You teased, he looked up at you repositioning himself, giving you a cocky look before answering.

“Oh yeah? Where would that be?” He asked, you quickly took his hand to show him, hovering over your stomach, but before you could continue a wave of sickness hit you, making you pause. Za’yu quickly took notice of this and how your expression changed. “Hey, what’s wrong what happened” He asked, now completely serious as you now grabbed onto his shoulder for support. “I feel a little sick” You managed to make out weakly, he quickly finished cleaning you off and immediately got you out of the small pond, drying you up and taking you inside to get you into something, but not before you threw up on the side of the mossy ground twice before crying.

“It hurts” You said, your voice hoarse and dry, which reminded Za’yukto to get you some water, he instructed for you to stay in your room and get dressed as he fetched you something to drink along with a small herb to help with the burning of your throat.

You quickly got changed, sitting patiently for Za’yu, and he soon came telling you to swallow one of your own handmade herbal medicine and a glass of water behind it, which you did. “You need to get some rest, you’ve had a long night” He said, placing his hand onto your shoulder, rubbing it softly and smiling at you. You didn’t respond, only placing the glass down and sprawling yourself against your bed, your back now facing Za’yu.

A moment of silence has passed, he hasn’t left and you haven’t fallen asleep yet, why is he still-

“I’ll stop by tomorrow to check up on you” He quickly stated, interrupting your thoughts, you don’t answer and he takes the silence as a sign you must be asleep, big mistake.

“Hopefully tonight didn’t change anything within our friendship, i’m not looking for a mate or to court anyone now, it was never my intention to move so quickly with you” He mumbled, but loud enough for you to hear, and shift in the bed as a response, you waited to hear the flap of your hut close before letting the tears in your eyes roll out over your nose and stain your bed.

This was going to be such a long night, and tomorrow morning even longer.

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn

[mdzsxperience]

☀︎ Lan Sizhui names etymology

Here's a complete post on the etymology of our lovely Sizuhi's various names. I've always appreciated how authors would give out names that fit their characters so well, which is why I chose to share this.

Both Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian's are already up on my profile. ▷ MDZS Home Page

Birth Name - Lan/Wen Yuan

Lan 藍 (lán) – blue In Chinese, Lan 藍 is literally blue.

Wen 温 (wēn) – lukewarm

Yuan 愿 / 苑 (yuàn) 愿 – honest, hope/desire 苑 – park & emperor's garden

Sizhui’s other name bestowed by LWJ, Yuan (愿), means ‘hope’. Just like how he saw Weiying again shortly after meeting A-Yuan, maybe he’s also hoping for the moment that familiar voice will beckon his name once more. His name as a Wen is also Yuan, though written as 苑, meaning ‘emperor’s garden’. In the past, the imperial family built gardens for pleasure, to escape from the rigid rules and etiquette of the palace and worldly matters. It was also built to impress.

I think how this is juxtaposed against the Burial Mounds, an unliveable place that WWX and the Wens worked hard to make into not only a habitable but enjoyable living space, away from the perceptions and condemnation of the outside world. A little piece of heaven from the barbaric world, just like the imperial gardens. It was here that WWX found a sliver of hope – the author used 神清气爽 (‘refreshed, invigorated’) to describe his feelings after the Wens held a dinner to thank him. It was here that he began to question if walking on a ‘single-plank bridge to darkness’ will be dark after all. It was also here that he could focus on demonic cultivation and his inventions in peace, eventually becoming the revered Yiling Patriarch.

Courtesy Name - Lan Sizhui

Shizhui 思追 (sīzhuī) – to recollect and long for

Sizhui, his courtesy name or zi, derives from a rhyming couplet from the author Mo Xiang Tong Xiu herself. “思君不可追，念君何时归” (sī jūn bù kě zhuī, niàn jūn hé shí guī) translates to ‘yearning for but cannot chase after you, longing for someday when you will return’.

Let’s not forget that Sizhui is a love letter between LWJ and WWX. Aside from the pair of rabbits, perfume sachet, copies of Lan Sect scriptures and the Chinese peonies, Sizhui is the last ‘thing’ under LWJ’s protection who symbolises their shared memories, having been brought up for more than three years by WWX. Though Sizhui himself did not remember his life as a Wen after his illness, it’s inevitable that whenever LWJ looked at him, he would have been reminded of his mental turmoil during WWX’s seclusion at the Burial Mounds – his inability to stand by his side and yearning for bringing him back to the Cloud Recesses. Raising Sizhui as a lineal descendant was intentional – he could not save WWX but at least he could save his ‘son’.

Author Note: I am not an expert in Chinese at all, English isn't my native language either - I hope everything is correct.

▷ MDZS Home Page

[ completed ; 09/08/2024]

★ ⁺. ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა ˖⁺‧₊˚

[landograndprix]

「Feel the magic ๛ l.n」

part xv

✧.* adjusting to your new lifestyle has never been easier with lando by your side

✧.* just something peaceful and sweet after the last chapter 🥰 this is a psa for the people who wanted to be on my taglist but never got tagged, i didn't forget or ignore you, I simply am unable to tag you and therefore removed you from the list feel free to ask me again so I can take a look at it. Taglist is open Love ya ❤️

✧.* prev part - next part

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y/nusername

liked by maxfewtrell, landonorris and 761,542 others

y/nusername summer break(ing bones) ☀

tagged: landonorris

views all 1,012 comments

norry4 well at least you can joke about it 😭

carlandooo good to see you're doing okay! <3

hamilt44n love that the color of your cast matches with your nails 😂

y/nlandooo so happy to see you're doing great and are spending time with your family!

bott_ass please I'm so happy to see you living your farm life again, it's been too long since we got to see the animals 😭

sharl16 I can't explain it but the duck and y/n have the same vibe

landonorris who's that handsome guy?

y/nusername Mickey 🐴

landonorris I wasn't talking about the horse

y/nusername well I am..

norrizz pls get married, have babies, grow old together, stay together forever 😭😭😭

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y/nusername posted to their story

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, pierregasly and 699,561 others

y/nusername with the man of the house 🐱

view all 999 comments

yukisan wish I could spend all day in bed..

hamilt44n girl we don't get to see what she does all day and so what, give her a break 💀

norrizz my girl is chilling like she should!

maxmaxmax oh to be an animal in y/n's household :(

landonorris that should be me in your bed

y/nusername shouldn't have fled the country then

landonorris someone's gotta make a living..

landoscar girl it's in the middle of summer why you cuddled up in thick blankets 😭

norry4 man of the house? Lando has left the chat 😂

grussell63 something tells me lando doesn't have a say in this house 😂

landonorris you're right

grussell63 im sorry 😭😭

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y/nusername

liked by cecilemoulin, maxfewtrell and 701,761 others

y/nusername 🧜🏻‍♀️

tagged: landonorris, cecilemoulin, maxfewtrell

view all 1,111 comments

maxmaxmax now who's idea was it to have a boat day knowing damn well y/n can't go in the water with her cast 😭

fewtrelllando the besties back together once again 🥰

julieeeexo couldn't they find something else to do..idk, something that can be done with a cast lmfao

y/nusername it was my idea and I did dip my feet in the water, that was enough to cool me down 😉

norry4 don't know why y'all are freaking out, let them do their thing

cecilemoulin great great great great great day ❤️

maxfewtrell did you have a great day?

bott_ass good to see y'all back together, I was getting worried 😭

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Feel the magic taglist: @celesteblack08 @mrsmaybank13 @cha-hot @judesgfirl @roseseraj @kissesandmartinis @jpg3 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @marialovesf1 @silkenthusiasts @luvrrish @laneyspaulding19 @emily-b @formula1bby @buckybarnessweetheart @strawberrychita @iifloweringnightsii @buendiabebeta @babyvinnie @mishaandthebrits @hockeyboysarehot @ironmaiden1313 @justdreamersdream @dreamsarebig @for-our-moony @sadg3 @gaslysainz @goldenharrysworld @okqur @baw-sixteen @dark-night-sky-99

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05

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