#and now that the novelty has faded

[bloomzone]

2025 #8 The Power of 3: Divide Your Year, Reclaim Your Time

Happy New Year—it’s 1st January, and 2025 is finally here woooooaaaaah. A blank slate, full of possibility. But this isn’t about resolutions. This is about creating a system—a life strategy that works every single day, not just for a few weeks in January. (This is my mindset rn !)

✒️..That’s why today, we’re talking about the 3-3-3-3 Method. Your year isn’t one overwhelming block of time. It’s not a marathon you burn out on halfway through(trust me). It’s a cycle of seasons—each three months long—designed for you to grow, adjust, and conquer in stages.

[You don’t need to control 12 months at once. You need to master each quarter.]

Why 3-3-3-3 Works

The biggest mistake people make is thinking success is linear. It’s not . Life happens in phases. When you divide your year into 3-month blocks, you give yourself permission to focus, recalibrate, and restart four times a year.

[Three months is long enough to see results but short enough to stay motivated.]

Four separate quarters means you have four fresh starts. No wasted time, no excuses.This structure keeps you accountable, productive, and adaptable.

Breaking Down the Year

Let’s go quarter by quarter !!

Q1: The Groundwork (January-March)

This is your foundation. These three months are about clarity and direction. You’re building the systems and habits that will carry you through the rest of the year.

Set specific, actionable goals for Q1—just three.

Focus on discipline, not motivation. Build habits that align with your goals.

Start small, but be consistent. Every day you show up, you’re stacking bricks.

Your mantra for Q1? “Brick by brick, I’m building my future.”

Q2: Growth Season (April-June)

This is where the seeds you planted in Q1 start to sprout. Now it’s time to double down.

Push yourself harder. Challenge the systems you built.

Evaluate: Are your habits working? If not, adjust them.

Stay consistent—this is the quarter where most people quit.

Your mantra for Q2? “I don’t stop when I’m tired; I stop when I’m done.”

Q3: The Grind (July-September)

This is the toughest quarter—it’s hot, it’s long, and the novelty of the year has worn off. But this is also where champions are made.

Stay focused on execution. Don’t lose sight of your goals pleaaaase I know u can do it

Keep your pace steady. This isn’t about speed; it’s about endurance.

Reflect: What’s worked so far this year? What hasn’t? Cuz we are not perfect!!!

Your mantra for Q3? “I thrive in the grind. I grow in the struggle.”

Q4: The Finish Line (October-December)

This isn’t the time to coast. These last three months are your chance to finish strong.

Tie up loose ends. Complete what you started.

Celebrate your wins, but don’t get complacent.

Plan for the next year. Use what you’ve learned to set bigger goals for 2026.

Your mantra for Q4? “I finish what I start. I don’t quit—ever.”

Tasks (ideas) for Each Quarter

1. Q1: Build Your Base

Identify three goals.

Break them into daily and weekly tasks.

Track your progress daily.

2. Q2: Expand Your Reach

Push your comfort zone.

Evaluate and adjust your systems.

Focus on consistency, not perfection.

3. Q3: Commit to the Grind

Keep going, even when it feels tough.

Reflect monthly: What’s working? What isn’t?

Stay disciplined, no matter what.

4. Q4: Reflect and Rebuild

Finish strong—don’t leave anything undone.

Celebrate, but use failures as lessons. FAILURES ARE TEACHERS !

Set the stage for a powerful 2026.

1st January: it's a Now or Never

It’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of a new year. But here’s the truth: excitement fades. Discipline doesn’t. If you want this year to be different, you have to act differently.Today isn’t about January 1st being special. It’s about what you do with every day after this. Divide your year. Build your plan. And most importantly—execute.Because when December 31st comes around, and the world is reflecting on what they’ve lost or didn’t achieve, you’ll stand tall knowing you didn’t waste a single season. You didn’t just live through 2025—you mastered it.

one quarter at the tiiiiiime!!

@bloomzone 📇

[weekendlusting]

A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 3

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

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Charles Leclerc sat in his hotel suite, fingers drumming impatiently against the glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t even drinking it—just swirling the amber liquid in the dim light of his room, as if the motion itself could steady his thoughts.

Alex was late. Of course, she was. She had a way of dragging things out, prolonging the inevitable, believing that if she held on long enough, reality would bend to her will.

He heard the sharp knock at his door and exhaled slowly before getting up to open it. Alex stood there, all too put together—her blonde hair in effortless waves, her lips curved in a knowing smirk, like she already thought she’d won whatever game she was playing.

“Chéri,” she purred, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. “Miss me?”

Charles shut the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Sit down, Alex.”

She turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh? We’re being serious now?” She strolled over to the couch, sitting with the grace of someone who still thought they held all the cards.

Charles didn’t sit. He remained standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I told you this was over.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she crossed her legs. “And yet, you called me here. Mixed signals, don’t you think?”

“I called you here,” Charles said, voice measured, “because you don’t seem to get it. We are done, Alex. Finished.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes. “Are we?” she said smoothly. “Because I keep hearing your name next to mine. The media still calls me your girlfriend. You haven’t exactly rushed to correct them.”

Charles clenched his fists. “I shouldn’t have to. We broke up. You just refuse to accept it.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Or maybe you’re just confused. Maybe this—whatever this little tantrum is—will pass, and you’ll realize that I am the only woman who truly understands you.”

Charles let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tantrum? You think I’m throwing a tantrum? Alex, I am exhausted.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it quickly. “Exhausted of what?”

“Of you!” His voice rose, exasperation lacing every word. “Of the mind games. Of the manipulation. Of the constant need to control everything, including me.” He pointed at her. “You think if you show up enough times, if you insert yourself into my life over and over, I’ll just—what? Change my mind?”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t have to insert myself into your life if certain people weren’t trying to replace me.”

Charles exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we go.”

She stood, arms folding as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. That little actress you’ve been parading around—Ahaana.”

Charles’s eyes snapped to hers, his posture stiffening. “Ahaana has nothing to do with this.”

Alex scoffed. “Please. You think I don’t see the way you looked at her that day?” She stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “She is nothing. She’s a novelty. A shiny new toy for you to play with. And once the excitement fades, you’ll realize what I’ve always known—you and I are inevitable.”

Charles’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “You are delusional, Alex. And actually fucking crazy if you think that Ahaana has anything to do with this.”

Her lips curled. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he snapped, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “I have never—never—been more certain about anything in my life. We are over. I am breaking up with you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.”

She inhaled sharply, but before she could speak, Charles continued.

“You want to know why? Because I see you now. For who you really are. You’re not the woman I fell for—you’re a version of her, twisted and bitter, clinging onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re right about one thing. I do look at Ahaana differently. Because she isn’t like you.”

Alex’s face twisted, her hands curling into fists. “She will never be me.”

“Thank God for that.”

The silence between them was thick, charged with something dangerously close to hatred. Charles had never wanted to hate Alex—had never even imagined he could—but looking at her now, seeing the pure, unfiltered malice in her eyes, he realized he might be close.

She straightened, lifting her chin. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

She stared at him, something almost desperate flickering across her features, before she masked it with indifference. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.”

Charles said nothing. He just watched as she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she stormed toward the door. But before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” she said, voice eerily calm.

And then, she was gone.

Charles stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

But then he exhaled, shaking his head, as if shedding the last remnants of whatever hold Alex had on him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Meanwhile not too far away,the hotel room was bathed in soft hues of twilight, the warm amber glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains. Ahaana sat curled up in a chair by the window, her phone resting idly on the armrest. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a coffee mug, long gone cold. The day had been uneventful, yet her mind was anything but still. The ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows, whispering doubts, tugging at old wounds she had worked so hard to forget.

India.

Film city.

Even the thought of it sent a strange chill through her veins. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the weight of something unfinished, something unresolved, lurking in the corners of her memory. The industry that had once been her playground had also turned its back on her when she had needed it the most. And yet, here she was, being offered a way back in.

What the fuck is happening? She sighed to herself, rubbing her temple.

The phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting yet another half-hearted PR email or a message from her manager. But instead, a name lit up the display, and for the first time that day, she felt something shift inside her.

Varun Dhawan.

She hesitated for only a second before answering. “Hello?”

“Finally! Madam has answered my call.” His voice was light, teasing, filled with the familiar warmth that had always made her feel like home.

Ahaana huffed out a small laugh. “Hi, Varun.”

“Hi, she says. That’s all I get? After ignoring me for days?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Really? Because Karan and I were starting to think you had developed some severe phone phobia. Should we be concerned?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me? Never.” His tone dropped slightly, losing some of its playful edge. “Ahaana, you know why I’m calling.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she did.

“You and Karan are relentless,” she muttered, leaning back against the chair.

“Because we believe in you,” he countered immediately. “And because we know you still love this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She exhaled slowly, staring out at the dimming sky. “It’s not that simple, Varun.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened. “You were born for this, Ahaana. And you know it. Whatever happened before—”

She stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that.”

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t let the past dictate your future. You’re not that person anymore.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. And we’re still your people, Ahaana.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She had spent so long pushing everything away, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have people who cared. People who wanted her back.

Then, before she could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. “Has she said yes yet?”

Karan Johar.

Ahaana let out a small laugh despite herself. “Karan, are you eavesdropping?”

“I don’t eavesdrop. I supervise.”

Varun snorted. “He’s been pacing for the past ten minutes, by the way. I think he might actually combust if you say no.”

Karan’s voice came through again, a touch more serious this time. “Darling, you’re a star. Stop dimming your own light.”

Ahaana stared at the city skyline, a myriad of thoughts swirling inside her. But for the first time in a long time, the hesitation didn’t feel quite as heavy. Maybe Varun was right. Maybe Karan was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.

She inhaled deeply, a quiet moment of clarity settling over her. Then, she spoke.

“Okay.”

A beat of silence. Then Varun whooped so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “YES! Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”

Karan’s relieved sigh came through the speaker. “Finally. I was this close to staging a full intervention.”

Ahaana laughed, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”

“And you love us for it,” Varun quipped.

She did. More than she cared to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.

The gang had game nights far too often then they'd like to admit, Max and Kelly were ofcourse there, Ahaana was there, Carlos and Rebecca joined, Lando somehow always inserted himself in even though everytime he cheated and got himself uninvited. Even Alex Albon and Lily joined them from time to time, but couldn't make it this time and Charles was with them for the first time ever.

The night was young, but the energy in the room felt like the start of a Grand Prix itself—fast, loud, and filled with the potential for absolute disaster. The gang had gathered in Max’s hotel suite for a game night, and true to form, it had already descended into chaos.

“I’m telling you, Lando cheats,” Ahaana declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he smirked from his spot on the couch. “There is no way you won that round fairly.”

Lando, lounging back with all the ease of someone who had just scammed his way into victory, dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “How dare you? I am an honest man.”

“Honest, my foot,” Kelly interjected, shaking her head. “Even Charles saw it, didn’t you?”

Charles, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, blinked. “Huh?”

“See? He wasn’t even paying attention,” Lando scoffed. “Probably too busy thinking about how free he is now that he’s finally dumped his psychotic ex.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Rebecca, who had been stacking poker chips, froze mid-motion. Max, who had been snickering at Lando’s misfortune, raised a brow. Ahaana, who had been preoccupied trying to figure out how Lando had managed to win five rounds in a row, looked up.

“You finally did it?” Carlos leaned forward, grinning. “You actually told Alex to get lost?”

Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was not exactly smooth.”

“Of course, it wasn’t,” Max said. “She’s like an overly attached leech.”

Kelly winced. “Oof. Harsh, but fair.”

“I don’t even want to know the details,” Lando said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Actually, no. I do. Tell us. In detail.”

Charles groaned. “Why are you all like this?”

“Because this is the most entertainment we’ve had all season,” Rebecca quipped. “Now spill.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but he recounted the story of his final conversation with Alex. The room responded accordingly—with gasps, laughter, and a few muttered curses aimed at Alex’s name. When he finished, Ahaana just shook her head, unimpressed.

“She’s delusional,” she said simply. “Absolutely delusional.”

“I would’ve paid money to see her reaction when you told her it was over,” Max admitted, grinning.

Charles smirked. “It was… satisfying.”

“Okay, enough about the she-devil,” Lando said, stretching. “Let’s get back to the game before Ahaana starts accusing me of cheating again.”

“You do cheat,” she said without hesitation.

“I do not—”

“Lando, you have a history of cheating at literally every game we’ve ever played,” Max said, unimpressed.

“I prefer to think of it as strategic improvisation.”

“Strategic bullshit,” Rebecca muttered.

The next hour was filled with absolute mayhem. There was yelling. There was a near-brawl between Carlos and Lando over an Uno reverse card. At some point, Kelly got so frustrated she threw a playing card at Max’s head, which only made him laugh harder. Charles, for the most part, found himself entertained just watching it all unfold.

Ahaana, in particular, seemed to come alive in the chaos. Her laughter was light, effortless, and every time she rolled her eyes at Lando or tossed a witty remark at Max, Charles found himself watching her just a little too long.

“Alright, alright,” Ahaana said, throwing her hands up in surrender after another brutal loss. “I need a break before I throw Lando out the window.”

“Jokes on you,” Lando said. “I’d land gracefully.” To which Max snorted.

Ahaana got up and stretched, and that’s when she casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, I officially start shooting for Jigra in 17 days.”

The room went silent.

“What?” Max was the first to react, blinking.

“You’re actually going back?” Lando added.

Rebecca gasped. “Finally! You’re returning to the big screen!”

Ahaana smiled, a little softer this time. “Yeah. It’s time.”

There was a beat of silence before Max, ever the older brother figure, crossed his arms. “Are you sure?”

She looked at him, understanding the weight behind his question. “I am.”

Max studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Alright. If anyone gives you trouble—”

“I know, I know.” She grinned. “I’ll call my attack dog Verstappen.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

After a long round of jenga and then stuffing their faces in food, the last slice of pizza appeared on the table, and the room instantly went silent, all eyes locked on it.

Ahaana leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, look who’s in the spotlight now.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been eyeing that slice for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, please,” Ahaana shot back. “You just noticed it now because it’s the last one.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna fight over pizza? This is an all-time low, even for you.”

“Shut up, Lando,” Carlos grumbled. “It’s mine.”

Max chuckled from the side. “This is gonna be good.”

Ahaana picked up the slice like it was some sort of prized possession. “I’m just saying, I’ve had a long day. So I think I’m entitled to this.”

Carlos shot up from his seat, but Ahaana held the slice just out of reach, her smirk widening. “Nice try.”

Max shook his head, watching the two of them. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Ahaana, sensing victory, took a deliberate bite of the pizza. “Too slow, boys.”

Lando leaned back, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

Later that night, after the raucous energy had settled slightly, Charles found himself watching Ahaana from across the room. She was laughing at something Lando had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled in amusement. The dim lighting softened her features, casting warm shadows over her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

He didn’t know when it started, this quiet admiration of her. Maybe it was when she first walked into his life with that effortless confidence, like she belonged in every room she entered. Maybe it was when he realized she wasn’t just sharp-tongued but also deeply, frustratingly kind. Or maybe it was moments like this, when she wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just laughing, existing—and yet, she managed to pull his entire attention like a force of gravity.

There was something in the way she carried herself—unapologetic, bold, yet with an underlying grace that was hard to ignore. She was an enigma, a storm and a lull all at once. And he was starting to realize he liked that about her. A little too much.

“Are you staring at Ahaana?”

Charles nearly choked on his drink. He turned sharply to see Max smirking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“No,” he denied, a little too quickly.

Max hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. And I’m a level headed person when angered.”

Charles groaned. “Can you not?”

Max chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, mate. I definitely can.”

Across the room, Ahaana caught his gaze, a small, soft smile playing on her lips. Charles smiled back but quickly looked away because he was scared his blush would be way too evident, but the warmth on his face lingered and Ahaana caught it anyway, chuckling a bit at the very handsome man, which Charles heard.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

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ᝰ.ᐟ third part! hope you guys like it!

next

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel

comment to be added to taglist

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© weekendlusting

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[heylittleriotact]

⚰ＷＩＰ ＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ⚰

I've been tagged by @xxnashiraxx and love seeing their work pop up on my dash - thank you <3

The Soup du Jour is... smut! Plotless, pointless, porntacular, horny Emmrook smut.

We've got praise kinks, we've got flashing, we've got grinding, we've got trying-to-distract-this-poor-man-from-his-work, we've got Rook biting off more than she can chew when Emmrich calls her bluff. It is in this piece that I am (ultimately) going to make good on my threat of Emmrich reciting erotic poetry intimately into Rook's ear while he makes deeply passionate love to her, because that idea has lived rent-free in my head for days now and I need to manifest it. But first I need Rook to be a brat, and for Emmrich to... deal with that.

I was having doubts about this one because I am forever afraid of writing OOC, but honestly I'm just trying to chuck it in the fuck it bucket and have fun.

Tagging: @preciouslittlebhaalbae (you have TIME now MWAHAHAHA), @allofthebarks (don't hold out on me), @emmg (I know you're cooking 👀)

Under the cut because it is ✨EXPLICIT✨

𝒱𝒾𝓈𝒾��𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃:

A funeral event where the prepared body of the deceased is reposed in the casket (open or closed) so that mourners may pay their respects, say their goodbyes, and grieve communally prior to the formal funeral service.

She knew exactly what she was doing when she pulled on the flimsy little camisole. She had very specific plans in mind when she slipped into the thin leggings that she knew were just a little too tight. There was a distinct reason she had chosen to completely forgo underthings. 

She tied her thick hair into a low bun at the base of her skull so her neck was clearly visible… as was the somewhat faded love bite from their previous encounter - the one that made Lace turn beetroot when she laid eyes on it at breakfast. The one that prompted Taash to reach over the table with a congratulatory high five. Emmrich had coughed awkwardly and subtly adjusted his own collar, clearly hoping the marks Amina had left on his neck in return were concealed.

She padded barefoot down the hallway to the laboratory, stomach fluttering and turning on itself in a not unpleasant way with the sheer anticipation of being in his proximity again. She couldn’t help but be drawn to him - his immense gravity could not be ignored; her need to be near him was insistent. She put little stock in the novelty of fate before Emmrich, but there was no doubt in her mind that there must have been some sort of cosmic ruling in which they were unwittingly sentenced by the stars to find one another. Her belly smouldered at the thought of such a thing… of such belonging.

She knocked gently on the door. “It’s me - may I come in?” 

She didn’t have to wait for an answer, nor did she have to turn the knob herself: she heard a chair scuff over the flagstone, the muffled jingle of gold - a sound that set her heart racing more often than not these days - and the door was flung open. Emmrich stood in the threshold, beaming affectionately down at her. 

“Of course, darling.” He took her hand and pulled her into the room, reaching over her shoulder to shut the door once she was inside. She might have been embarrassed that the sound of the lock clicking behind her made her breath catch solely due to its implication, but she was having a hard time feeling much of anything but barely restrained lust for the man in front of her. 

He drew her in close with an arm around her waist, still holding her hand between them, massaging her palm with his thumb as he bowed his head to kiss her sweetly. Her knees went weak when his lips met hers and his familiar scent filled her nose, rendering her brain incapable of anything other than inwardly chanting the same base sentiment over and over for as long as the kiss lasted: Home! Home! Home! Home! You’re home!

He straightened and looked at her, smiling as though he hadn’t heard the hungry little moan that had slipped from her, nor perceived the way she’d pressed as much of her body against him as she could during their embrace. “How are you today?” He asked, genuinely interested - as always. He knew. Surely he knew that she was positively bursting with need for him.

“Fine,” she breathed, returning the smile, watching as he started back towards the desk that was covered with books, inkpots, and parchment. “I’m well, thank you. Just thought I’d come say hello, see what you’re up to.”  

He pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the desk for her to sit on. She opted to remain standing instead, her eyes flitted over the pages of drying ink spread over the desk. 

“More letters home?” She waited until he was settled in his chair again, the quill back in his hand, and she bent at the waist to take a closer look at a recent anatomical drawing he’d completed. She could feel the cozy heat of the laboratory caress the exposed peaks of her breasts as the insubstantial shirt draped downward, offering a generous eyeful to anyone who might be sitting directly across from her. 

Her eyes flicked up from the drawing when Emmrich didn’t answer right away, a clever smile pulling at the corners of her mouth when she caught him red-handed; his eyes locked on the dainty swell of her breasts. 

He came to his senses when he felt her eyes on him and he comprehended the coquettish smirk on her face. “Yes.” He licked his lips. “Yes. Maintaining alliships and channels of communication is vital as we draw closer to our confrontation with the gods.” He swallowed and smiled again as Amina straightened and rounded the desk, settling against the wood on his side now.

“A fine plan,” she concurred, leaning back on her hands, her very visible nipples more or less eye level for the handsome academic to admire. “I hope I’m not distracting you: it’s so rare that I get a few hours to just relax these days.” She made a bit of a show of tilting her chin up and slowly rolling her head from side to side, stretching out the muscles of her neck and making sure Emmrich could see the soft plum-tinted bloom of colour he’d imparted on her skin as he sent her over the edge with his name on her lips, buried to the hilt between her legs as she clenched hard around him, her fingers curled tightly in his soft, thick hair. ‘You are incredible, darling,’ he had sighed against her tingling skin afterwards when they were little more than a tangled, panting heap of limbs. It had taken a good hour after that before she could walk again…

Amina squirmed against the desk a little at the thought, aware of the burgeoning wetness that was accumulating at the juncture of her thighs. 

Somehow Emmrich managed to maintain the discipline required to look back at the letter he was working on, his lips curling quaintly. “Not at all, my dear - quite the contrary in fact: I’m so glad that you’re finally taking some time to look after yourself.” He dipped the quill, tapped it once, twice, and then brought it to the paper.

She observed him in silence until he seemingly made peace with the fact that she was not going to sit on the chair he’d brought over for her, and instead pushed his own back slightly, pulling her down onto his lap where she perched gleefully, having gotten what she wanted. 

“I must concede that you are somewhat distracting, so I will need your assistance in proofreading these before they’re sent out - I do have an academic reputation to maintain, regardless of the beautiful woman on my knee.” 

“Is that so?” Amina purred, nuzzling into his neck, her lips barely ghosting over his skin that smelled organic and clean - crisp soap and freshly cut sage… a lingering hint of pipe tobacco and expensive brandy. 

Oh yes, she was going to be one hell of a distraction…

“She sounds like a real piece of work, this woman. It’s a marvel that you get anything done at all with her around.” She tilted her hips ever so slightly. Not enough for it to be claimed that she was trying to get a rise out of him, but enough so that the fingernails of his left hand dug into her side a little where he gripped her. A pleased smile took her lips at the feeling of him against her, already half hard: he could pretend to be aloof and composed all he liked, but she knew that there was only one possible outcome for this encounter. 

“I was just having a similar thought, as it turns out,” he murmured, breath catching slightly when Amina ground against him more deliberately this time. “She’s cornered me in my laboratory no fewer than three times this week, you see: my productivity has utterly plummeted.”

The way he whispered those words, his voice so sinful and cunning…

“Oh dear…” Amina tutted. “Well we can’t have that now, can we?” She moved to slide from his lap, fully prepared to at least pretend that she cared a whit about Emmrich’s ‘productivity’ of late. 

He held her fast though, keeping her on his lap with his hands and arms, and the sheer fact of his existence alone. She rewarded him with a satisfied hum and another agonizingly slow roll of her hips, suspecting that she was probably beginning to soak through her thin pants.

His hand dropped from her waist to her thigh and he palmed the expanse of hard muscle there, dragging his fingers towards her hip as he leaned forward and his hot breath washed over the sensitive shell of her ear, driving a small gasp from her as she flinched in his grasp: he had not been idly boasting during that dinner date about his anatomical prowess.

“I fear I wouldn’t have it any other way…” he confided, those artful, nimble fingers of his straying to her waistband and slipping beneath it. He sharply inhaled through his teeth and uttered a soft ‘oh’ when he found her waiting for him, slick and needy. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he said, “She is intoxicating, you see…”

She moaned encouragingly as he swirled a finger through her, clearly enjoying the experience of her arousal alone: she could distinctly feel his hardness against her rear now.

Oh how she longed to ravish him - ride him to completion on this very chair, or on the floor perhaps. Maybe against one of the many bookshelves that lined the room - they had dallied against one the week before, her leg hitched up around his thin waist, pulling him deeper as he set a pace that stole her breath from her lungs and hit angles that caused her to see stars. 

Or she could bend over the railing of the balcony upstairs and feign interest in the curious nature of their environs while he slammed into her over and over again, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips… 

Of course there had been the rather awkward instance a few days earlier where Manfred had wandered in on them both in a state of partial undress: Emmrich’s waistcoat hanging open, Amina dragging her hands through his hair, her own shirt piled in a careless heap on the floor nearby and Emmrich’s hand down her pants as she tried to kick off her high-heeled lilac slippers without removing her lips from his skin. Manfred had launched himself between the two of them with a consternated hiss, clearly interpreting their entanglement to mean they were fighting instead of well… the other thing. The following day, Emmrich gave his first in a series of many lectures to Manfred about the birds and the bees - and reiterated the invaluable virtue of always knocking before entering a room that might have someone else in it.

She was snapped from her musing at the sublime sensation of Emmrich’s finger dragging along the ridges of her walls as he slid the digit inside of her. She let out a small gasp at the intrusion and reflexively clenched around it, hips rocking against his once more. 

“... but I really must finish these letters.” There was a playful, coy edge to his voice as he slowly withdrew his finger and slowly pushed it back in. “This striking woman of mine will need to exercise patience today, it seems…”

Something about being his striking woman in particular sent a jolt of arousal straight through her very soul. She could feel the cool metal of his rings against her feverish skin as he cupped her sex, his thumb brushing almost tauntingly over her aching clit. 

“Please, Emmrich…” she whined, arching up into his touch, making her need plain. 

The demonstration of manners earned her a second finger, but her lover did not deviate from his task as he leaned forward, dipped the quill, and began to write once more. “In good time, my precious love,” he soothed. “Try to relax for the time being - I shan’t take long.” 

“It feels so good though…” 

“That’s wonderful, darling - I want you to feel good.” 

She fell silent, the wind in the sails of her desire to argue stilling as she let her head fall against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, allowing herself to exist in the moment - holding on tight to every emphatic response of her nervous system as Emmrich touched her with a capable familiarity that suggested he’d touched her a thousand times before; the erotic symphony of the quill scratching over the parchment mingled with the sound of his fingers moving within her… her breathy moans… his many bangles shifting gently with each purposeful gesture…

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured eventually - she had lost track of time - kissing her shoulder before returning to the letter. He had to be nearly done, hadn’t he? “So good for me… my sweet Amina…”

She whimpered at his words - the reverent praise tolling something deep within her that was starved and lonely. She writhed on his thigh as he placed tender kisses all over her cheek and crooked his fingers, stroking that euphoric place inside of her that made cognizant thought impossible and made her thighs tremble like she’d been in the training hall all day. He took her apart slowly, casually… effortlessly, and before long she was fluttering around him, cheeks and lips flushed a delicate pink, staring down an orgasm that was about to be everyone in the building’s business - she could feel it: the deep fire in her belly roiling and twisting on itself, going taut, so tense and eager that one more touch could snap it, yielding the most decadent release…

And then he was gone, the absence of his touch keenly felt as her walls flexed and tensed around the sudden nothingness. 

She glowered at him, though her stomach flip-flopped enthusiastically as she watched him taste her on his slender fingers with a dignified poise she should have expected. “That was cruel.”

“Is it cruel to strive to linger in a garden of untold majesty forever, even knowing forever is unobtainable?” He stroked those same fingers gently over her lips and she caught the tip of one between her teeth, flicking the very tip of her tongue over the fleshy pad of it. “I want to savour you, my dear.” He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. “Let me take my time.”

[thecameronchronicles]

Sunkissed

TW: mentions of self image issues. Angst. Heavy flirting.

SUMMARY: JJ reminds you just how beautiful he knows you are.

REQUESTED:

Anonymous Asked

Hey sooo glad ur back ☺️⭐️💗💛 idk if u take request but I love ur body positivity fics could u maybe write one with JJ and chubby reader ??☺️☺️:)))

Sunkissed

"Maybe you should just go without me..." You try to hide the disappointment in your own words but it weighs them beyond the attempt. Your eyes fall and yet JJ comes up behind you, lips on your shoulder as it worsens the tightness in your heart.

"Did you get too hot on the Pogue, princess?"

"No...I..."

"Do you need some water? Here..." He offers his and your chest tightens. Not once has your boyfriend ever made you question your worth in the curves of your figure. But being surrounded by those that are a stark contrast to that society claims you should be, you feel inadequate.

"What is it sweetheart?" He asks a hand to your waist as you shuffle away without drawing immediate attention. You pretend to need something from the cooler although the diversion only makes you feel worse when you look over your shoulder and see JJ setting his hand over his chest, a telltale sign his own anxiety was getting the best of him.

"Are you...happy?" You move quickly to him.

"You make me the happiest I've been been, JJ-"

"So if you aren't dumping me and you know I'm crazy about you, why are you acting so...distant?" He steps closer, taking your hands in his. The warm comfort, slightly calloused from the odd jobs to make ends meet, it makes you exhale in the remembrance he matters more than the thoughts in your head. It's the laughter of Sarah Cameron and Kiara Carrera that make you compare yourself again.

He slowly nods before taking your hand and leading you into the Chateau.

"JJ-"

"What is it? I wanna hear you say it."

"J-"

"Y/N. Tell me." You stand in his room, the one practically gifted to you and him by John B as you linger.

"I just...don't wanna be around them in my swimsuit."

"Good."

Your eyes water and your brows fall.

"I don't want you in your swimsuit around anyone else either. I don't want them to see how smooth and beautiful your skin is or the shape of your-" he bites his back teeth. "I have to constantly remind myself to be better for you because better is what you deserve, princess, but it takes everything I have to not either mark up your skin with my teeth and leave proof you belong to me or punch out the lights of any guy-or girl- that looks at what's mine."

"JJ..." You shake off the thought as you know his kindness has always been that. Kind. You worry being with you is a novelty. A kink even. And even if he's tender and rebellious, passionate and eager, you're worried it'll fade with either summer or the fade of interest.

"You wanna know something? I am not going to say I don't care about your body because honestly it makes me hard as hell. But what really makes me just..." He sighs, repressing something between desire and the need to prove, as he takes a step closer to you.

"What really makes me love you is that you look at me. Not through me. Not to judge me. You go along with all my jokes and pranks, you were there when everything with my dad-" he paused, you step closer when you see how it effects him.

"You know when to be strong and when to let me do that for you. You touch me and I feel like I can't control my hands...or my eyes- my mouth. I want you. I love you. But if I'm being completely honest, Y/N. What I want right now? Is you out of this swimsuit. You're right. You shouldn't wear it. Because it makes me fucking crazy and I'm already one day closer for being committed for it."

You stand in awe, his words poetic for someone who insists you read him the books he gets too bored to even try and crack open. You hate how he doesn't apply himself for what he's capable of and yet you set to prove it in how you support him everyday.

"JJ-"

"I mean it, sweetheart. I'll beg if I have to. But suit. Off." You swallow hard as he closes the door and you understand one thing as his eyes darken in lust.

Before him you were swallowed by the darkness of your insecurities. Being with JJ is like being beneath the sun. Touched and basking in its rays, you forget the worries outside of it. You are kissed by the sun, loved by it- by him. You feel the strength of his love in every touch and the confirmation of his desire by the hold of his eyes on you in any distance when you aren't in his arms.

There is no question of love. And for the days you cannot feel that for yourself, JJ reminds you every reason why you will.

One sunny kiss at a time.

MASTERLIST

[another-lost-mc]

SIMEON x gn!Reader 0.6k Words | SFW | Fluff, Slightly Jealous Simeon -> Prompt: "You normally don't like PDAs" [ 2K Event Masterlist ]

Spending time with you in Celestial Realm is everything Simeon hoped it would be. The three realms are enjoying a rare time of peace which means you're able to travel freely between them.

He's overjoyed at the prospect of finally being able to invite you for lengthy visits to his home. The brilliant daylight makes you look even more radiant, and he surprises you with sweet gifts you can only find here: delectable treats, pillowy-soft clothes, and the most beautiful wildflowers.

Simeon reminds himself that he has to be patient while your novelty in the Celestial Realm fades away. Lunch concluded not too long ago, and he sits at the banquet table with his arms crossed over his chest. You’re across the room from him, and he watches his fellow angels crowd you for attention.

It feels like being in the Devildom all over again, only now he has to contend with greedy angels that wear innocent smiles and feathered wings. He suddenly thinks that dealing with Lucifer and his brothers would be preferable to this.

“You’re frowning again,” Raphael mutters quietly beside him.

Simeon makes a tch noise under his breath. He told himself that he wouldn’t be selfish with you during this visit, and he’s trying to make good on his promise.

The other angels are all desperate to see for themselves why their bretheren from the exchange program speak so highly of you. They want to get to know you better and be your friend. You were so nervous coming here at first, and they're doing everything they can to make you feel welcome.

This is a good thing, Simeon reminds himself over and over again like a mantra as he watches you mingle among his brothers and sisters.

An airy laugh catches his attention, and Simeon narrows his eyes and resists the urge to crumple the tablecloth beneath his hands. Metatron is standing closest to you, that absolute flirt of an angel, and he paws at you like a touch-starved kitten wanting attention.

He wonders if you would be terribly upset if he came up with an excuse to pull you away from the crowd. Before he makes a decision, you glance at him over your shoulder. Your smile is a little strained, and he can tell that you’re looking for an escape.

I thought you’d never ask.

He stands from the table quickly (ignoring Raphael’s amused chuckle behind him) and he strides across the room to join you. He slides between you and Metatron so he can wrap an arm around your waist and pull you close. The other angels greet him, but he ignores them all as he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your nose scrunches up so adorably when you look at him in confusion.

“You wanted to visit the gardens today, didn’t you?” he asks you pleasantly, and he feels more satisfied than he should when the other angels nearby grumble under their breath.

You glance down at the hand curled around your hip and offer him a genuine smile that’s equal parts relieved and adoring. “I would love to,” you agree sweetly.

You offer your new friends a rushed apology as Simeon escorts you from the dining hall and down the hallway that leads outside. His arm is still wrapped around your waist.

“Simeon?”

He hums a lighthearted sound that sounds convincingly innocent.

“Not that I’m complaining, but you normally don’t like PDAs,” you mention casually as you nudge playfully at his side.

Simeon chuckles and looks a little bashful. “Sometimes I can’t resist the temptation to touch you even when the others are near. I like being close to you, and we don’t have to hide our feelings anymore.” He sounds more serious when he asks, “Does it bother you?”

He’s giving you the choice to create boundaries if you’re uncomfortable. He’s always been so considerate of your feelings and your needs, but luckily for both of you, you feel the same way he does.

You bite your lip shyly and wrap an arm around his waist too, and it doesn’t escape your notice that Simeon’s chest puffs out just a bit, or that his smile sharpens into something a little more smug.

“Not at all.”

[huramuna]

wine red, tears gold - chapter 4.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 3.5k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

this comes from the inside - the living tombstone • oblivion - grimes

warnings: p in v, creampie

Being close with another person can be such a precarious thing. Not just in emotional closeness, but physical as well. 

Lyanna never much liked being touched, not even as a child. She would shy away from courtiers pinching her cheeks, from her mother’s outstretched arms, from her father’s heavy hand upon her shoulder. Being touched felt like a burden of sorts, as if someone expected reciprocity from putting their hands on another. 

She never wished to give it in return. 

Since moving to the Red Keep, she has changed— in more ways than one, of course. She quite liked being touched now by her good mother, Alicent’s touches were soft and warm. Mayhaps it was because the queen mother was there to hold Lyanna at her lowest, and she found some comfort in her arms that she never derived from her own mother. 

Then there was Aegon. His touches were… confusing. He seemed much at war with himself, like a stray dog wishing for affection, a scratch on the cheek or pat of the head, but didn’t know how to ask, how to convey he wanted it. His proposal to Lyanna of exchange of pleasure for nurture was a strange one, to be sure. 

It must’ve been the wine, that would be why she had said yes, wouldn’t it? 

Certainly not the fact that her husband seemed… jealous. Jealous of a Dornish prince putting his hands on her and making her laugh. Aegon, being the same one who had said she wasn’t a beauty that men go to war for. Aegon, who couldn’t even flow in the same atmosphere as Lyanna for weeks. Aegon, who fucked a whore the morning after their wedding and many days besides. 

That Aegon— was jealous? 

The notion of it seemed humorous to Lyanna, as if she held some great power over him, reducing him to his knees before her. 

All for a touch. 

In truth, it was more than just a touch. He had fallen asleep with his head in her lap, snoozing softly. Lyanna wriggled down, trying to get comfortable. As much as she detested Aegon, at least she thought she did, she didn’t want to wake him. Not when he seemed so at peace with his pathetic prize. 

He was a heavy sleeper. She managed to lay on her back comfortably and adjust his position to where he was strewn across her stomach and chest. Lyanna watched him for… who knows how long, being lulled into some sense of relaxation by his weight and warmth on her, coupled with his rhythmic breathing. He was like a living heavy blanket. 

Her fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing small circles upon his scalp absentmindedly, as she fell asleep herself. 

When she awoke, he was still there— albeit, shifted slightly. He clung to her like a second skin, his leg thrown over hers, his arms draped over her chest haphazardly, still deeply asleep. Lyanna’s breaths fanned over his hair, his head resting under her chin. Whatever spell she had been under the night before had (almost) worn off, the novelty faded. 

Gently, more gentle than he truly deserved, she roused him. “Aegon,” she murmured, “Aegon, it's morning— I must get ready soon.” 

“Morning…” he hummed drowsily, lips pressed to her neck unknowingly. “No… I will sleep more.” 

Lyanna rolled her eyes; it was like dealing with a child rather than a King. “Laze around if you must, husband,” she began to pry him off of her. “But I have duties to attend to.” 

“Duties can wait, wife,” he blinked, supplanting his chin upon her chest and looking up at her in a way that made her heart wrench. He looked Gods awful pathetic, like an abandoned puppy. “Stay longer, please.” 

“… I have things to see to, Aegon. I don’t wish for your mother to be cross if I’m late to break our fast together.” 

He let out a huff, rolling off of her. “May I at least stay until you leave?”

“I suppose. You can help dress me. Do you know how to dress a lady?” Lyanna asked, getting up from the bed to open her wardrobe. 

“Ehm— I know how to undress a lady.”

“My Myrish silk from last night begs to differ.”

“Well, you have too many layers, too many loops and ties. This is why whores are so much easier, they’re practically already naked.” 

Lyanna shot a glare at him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remind me that you frequently lie with other ladies.” 

Aegon came up behind her, a bit taller than her by a head, poking his nose into her neck. “Why? Are you jealous?”

She scoffed. “Jealous? Jealous like you were of Prince Qyle?”

“I don’t get jealous,” he grumbled, backing away from her and folding his arms over his chest. “I just don’t think it was appropriate the way he was touching you— like you were a whore.” 

“You love that word, don’t you?” 

“Mayhaps. I quite like other words, too. Slut, cunt, bitch— the list goes on.” 

“You’re truly an ignorant, beautiful creature, Aegon. It’s a wonder to me that you survived infancy.” 

“You think I’m beautiful?” 

Lyanna let out a snorting laugh, it was undignified and unladylike— but real. Even more real than the laughs that Prince Qyle evoked from her the night before. She stayed turned away, sorting through her clothes. The noise she emitted, raucous and loud as it was, made Aegon smile for half a moment. He quite liked when his wife laughed— and he had been the one to do it this time. 

Aegon ended up not helping her dress, as he took one look at the configurations of a corset and left. 

That was fine by Lyanna, in all truths. She descended to the Queen mother’s chambers and broke her fast with her, as was her daily routine. Somehow, in the middle of their eating, their conversation turned to the topic of sex. Lyanna didn't feel much embarrassment talking about most things with Alicent, as she was a good conservationist– but sex was one of the things Alicent was… hesitant to talk about, all things considered, and Lyanna wasn’t exactly an expert. 

Poking into her soft boiled egg with her spoon, Lyanna listened intently to Alicent.

“You’re the only one I would talk to such things about, dearest,” Alicent hummed, dragging her utensil through her own bowl of coddled eggs, “I never much liked it with… the late King. ‘Twas my duty, after all. I can only hope that, ehm, Aegon makes it less painful for you.” 

“... he does fine, I suppose,” Lyanna murmured, prying the soft white of the egg from the shell and balancing it on the spoon. “... truthfully, we haven’t…” she rolled her shoulders to enunciate her meaning, “Laid together in a way conducive to making an heir– not since the wedding night.”

The queen mother perked a brow, crossing one leg over the other. “So you are doing such things in… other methods?”

“Only once– last night, in fact,” Lyanna admitted softly, poking the bite of egg into her mouth, wiping away an errant drop of yolk from her lip– to which Alicent was watching intently– “After the banquet. Was Aegon… jealous as a child?”

Alicent cracked a small smile, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not sure that he was jealous in the way that some may think. He wasn’t so much envious of what others had that he wished to covet, but rather what others were, comparatively to him. Rhaenyra was his father’s favorite, Aemond was the better swordsman, Helaena more beloved by my father– he was always the odd one out.” she blinked profusely, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “Why?”

“He… followed me to my chambers after the feast and started spewing heinous accusations about Prince Qyle and I.” 

“And this… led you both to the bed?” Alicent took a long sip of her tea, her eyes not leaving Lyanna’s. 

“No– my boudoir chair, actually.”

The queen mother’s cheeks reddened softly. “Oh my– I cannot say that’s something I experienced. Was it… pleasurable at least?” 

“It was certainly enlightening– that he may not be as useless as I thought,” Lyanna paused. “That I may not be as repulsive to him as I thought I was.” she spoke a bit quieter then, the subject still tender to her, a wound not yet fully scarred over.

“It’s his blood.” Alicent replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“His… blood?” 

“The blood of the dragon– Targaryens have dragon’s blood in their veins, which runs thick and hot when situations become… precarious. It may be any sort of situation that might give you or I an adrenaline rush, good or bad– but for them, all my children included, it’s like igniting the spark to a wildfire. Some sort of primal, uncontainable thirst for… whatever it is that spurred them. For Aegon… he quells his blood with wine and whores,” Alicent frowned slightly at the notion, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a silent apology, “Jealousy could very well be one of the things that whipped him into a frenzy– mayhaps you should use such a thing to your advantage? Of course, I won’t condone adultery, my dear– but the illusion of interest in someone else may have Aegon more… inclined to lay with you.” 

Lyanna sniffed slightly, putting down her empty egg shell. “I wish he would just want it without me having to… set him on fire, or however it’s put.”

“Men are– for the lack of a better word– stupid, Lyanna. They are blind to the things they need the most.” 

–

Lyanna spent the rest of her week planning on how exactly to make Aegon jealous. She didn’t really understand how to put on such airs of that extent– acting confident was one thing, but feining attraction for another person was different, wasn’t it? She didn’t consider herself a massive flirt, either.

They sat in the dining hall, entertaining a visiting lord from the Reach, some Tyrell or Redwyne or other, who promptly gave Lyanna a bouquet of beautiful flowers. She was delighted at the gesture, not because she really enjoyed them, but because it would be easier to start her ruse. 

“Oh, thank you, my lord– these are gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous,” she hummed. She was wearing a green dress that, somehow, matched Aegon’s deep green tunic that eve. “How did you know that sunflowers were my favorite?” 

“Ah, your grace, the sunflower is my favorite as well,” the lord smiled heartily, chattering on and on about sunflowers. “It very much reminded me of your radiance, my queen.”

His audacious compliment earned a warm giggle from Lyanna, her face blistered with a blush– half of the blush was from real bashfulness, as she wasn’t used to receiving such compliments. She knew it was false, of course. She was more reminiscent of a plain dandelion than a sunflower.

The dinner consisted of Lyanna talking to him, making much smalltalk and overall, talking to him more than she’d talked to Aegon in their entire marriage. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her husband practically stewing, rolling around a brussel sprout around his plate with the tip of his knife, an inhuman heat blistering off of him in waves.

Apparently, to Aegon, enough was enough– his hand slipped from his goblet of wine, drenching the front of Lyanna’s dress. “Ah– my dear, I’m so very clumsy,” he crooned, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” 

Lyanna nodded slowly as her husband looped his arms around her and led her out of the dining hall. She murmured some apologies to their guests, citing that they would return soon. Aegon led them down a corridor, not far from the hall, into a closed off enclave, where he closed the door. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grumbled, spinning her around so that her back was pressed against the stone wall in the close quarters of what was basically a servant’s closet. “You’re egging me on purposefully.” 

Tilting her chin up defiantly, she spoke nonchalantly. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of, husband, truly.” 

Aegon gave an unamused expression, his mouth wrought into a thin line. “I’m not even that drunk and I could plainly see you letting that… absolute peon of a Lord come onto you.” 

“So? He fancies me and gifted me a bouquet of flowers– I don’t see anything terribly wrong with that. It isn’t unheard of to pay homage to their queen, is it?” 

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and jaw. “I don’t– You– you’re so fucking frustrating!” he growled, raising his voice. Their noses were touching from their proximity, their breaths intermingling. It was the closest they’d ever been.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway, to which the both of them froze. They came past the closet, then descended back down the corridor.

“This is scandalous.” Lyanna murmured.

“How? We are husband and wife, simply having a chat.”

“We are the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not… animals– I’m sure that anyone who opened this door would see you… pinning me against a wall. I’m not sure much could be left to the imagination there, Aegon.”

“You really should get the stick out of your arse, wife.”

“Mayhaps it would do better up yours, then?”

“Careful, I may actually enjoy that.” he grinned, the expression lighting up his usually solemn face. Lyanna considered him quite handsome at that moment. 

“You’re vulgar.” she quipped back, biting down on the soft part between his thumb and forefinger gently.

A sound akin to a breathy moan came from Aegon’s mouth at her bite. “And you call me an animal? You’re fucking biting me, you cheeky minx.” 

“Yes? Well, if you are to drag me to your level– we are both animals then.” she stared at him with wide eyes and she wondered if he could feel the beat of her heart. It felt like it would abscond from her body at any moment. Her heavy chest fell and rose in weighty breaths. 

“That lord is quite wrong, you know,” Aegon whispered, his lips dangerously close to hers– they hadn’t kissed since the wedding ceremony, and even then it was a quick peck – his mouth quirked into a smug grin. “You aren’t a sunflower. You’re a sweet little rabbit. I quite like rabbit, you know. They’re delicious, succulent,” he paused, leaning forward and speaking against her lips, “Tender.”

It was unsure who closed the gap first, but their lips fused together into a ferocious kiss. They both tasted of a deep, rich wine. It was a fight of tongues and teeth, a battle where they both wished to devour one another– Lyanna’s hand tugged at his white curls, nails scraping against his scalp as he held her face in a vice-like grip, as if he was afraid she would dissipate from his clutches at any moment. His lips were soft, surprisingly, where she had expected them to be rough and chapped. His skin pressed against hers and the slight growing stubble upon his cheeks tickled her in kind, her lips perking into a smile as they kissed. 

The once silent closet became a cacophony of small sighs and gasps from both the king and queen. Aegon’s free hand trailed to the small of Lyanna’s back, resting right in the divots above her bottom, his fingers splayed out in exploratory fashion. His repose was short lived, as he grabbed the fleshy globe of her arse, emitting a pleased hum of surprise. They parted for a moment to breathe, as it was wholly necessary– if they hadn’t needed to breathe, they wouldn’t have parted at all, reveling in one another’s taste for hours.

“I forbid you to cut my dress, Aegon,” she whispered in a playful warning, staring at him with a look that couldn’t be described as anything else other than fondness. “I refuse to go through these halls with my garment sliced to shreds.”

“But you love it, don’t you? You quite liked it last night.”

“Aegon.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced, his hand retreating from her face to unbuckle his belt. The light of the closet was dim, close to none– the soft flickering of the sconces outside of the corridor bleeding in through the cracked door. She couldn’t see what he was doing, really, but she heard the soft grunts coming from him as his fist slid against his length. Giving her ass a playful squeeze, he used his other hand to ruck up her skirts, the pad of his thumb swiping down her underclothes. “Lovely.” Aegon practically purred, hooking his finger and sliding the wet garb down her legs.

The air was cold against her bare sex, causing her to shiver. She chased the warmth of his body as he adjusted himself, parting from her closeness for just a moment, making her all but whimper. 

They didn’t need words, despite their new trend of back and forth quips– and it was nice to not have to say anything. She let him take the lead, as he was more experienced than she. His legs were between hers, keeping them open as he glided his member between her folds, gathering the wet slick that had been ruminating since they came to the closet, then he slid into her. Lyanna stifled a gasp, the sensation still so unfamiliar– it wasn’t painful like before, as she was prepared for it now, but it was a feeling of stretching she wasn’t used to. 

Aegon, in turn, huffed a moan into her neck, murmuring something in broken High Valyrian under his breath. He sheathed himself to the hilt inside of her, resting both hands on her hips, which had the perfect little clefts for handles, he noted. He didn’t move right away, savoring the warmth and tightness of her, squeezing around him like she was all but made for him. 

“P-please,” she whispered, so quietly, into the shell of his ear.

He set a wonderfully slow pace, which only sped up with each kiss they shared, their tongues mingling and dancing to the soft sound of Aegon’s heavy stones smacking up against Lyanna’s core. Their cacophony became a full on symphony of wet, slapping noises, coupled with their borderline obscene sounding kissing as they moaned into one another’s mouths.

 It felt like something of newness for both of them as Aegon’s thumb came up to circle at her clit– Lyanna was experiencing a fullness and indulgence in having her husband slotted in her so deliciously. Aegon was experiencing something akin to euphoria at the fact that he was fucking someone who wanted him, whom he did not pay, and was not doing so out of duty. He had been a bit hesitant on the latter at first, but there was no way in the Hells that she was faking such debaucherous, beautiful little moans. This was sensual ecstasy and closeness that they’d both never felt before in their lives. 

Lyanna’s whining became more pronounced as Aegon’s attention on her clit came to fruition– she clenched around him like a vice, feeling a small dribble of wetness soak around his cock. This act alone brought Aegon to his own completion, the wetness of her slick now mingling with his seed as he spilled inside of her, deep enough to hopefully take root. He bit onto the lobe of her ear gently as he came, whimpering. 

Lyanna quite liked that sound– of her husband whimpering into her ear as he emptied himself. It made her put both hands on each side of his face and kiss him again– but soft, like his little whimpers. It wasn’t something born of lust, but something completely different. Something that they both really couldn’t name yet.

Coming down from both of their highs, Aegon quickly situated himself back into his trousers– but not before reaching two fingers to his wife’s folds and pushing back in the seed that threatened to leak from her.

“Aegon,” she keened, dangerously close to overstimulation as he gave a cheeky flick to her wrought-over clit. “E-Enough– too much…” 

“I couldn’t resist,” Aegon chuckled as he pulled her undergarments back up, snug once more against her. “I don’t suppose we are returning to dinner?” 

“Gods– I don’t think I can. I am still reeking of wine and I won’t be able to look them all in the eyes when we come back looking as if the cat just ate the canary.”

“Or the dragon ate the rabbit?” 

“... I am sure I can feign sickness just one time– what do you think? Mayhaps we should retire early tonight.” Lyanna flattened out her dress.

“... we?” 

“Yes– we.” 

“We as in… me and you? In the same room? Together?” 

“That is what ‘we’ means, Aegon.” 

“... I suppose I could be convinced.”

–

They did indeed retire early that night, but not before going for round two, then three. A thoroughly fucked out Lyanna rested in bed, her body riddled in hickies of Aegon’s doing, her fingers tangled in his hair. She was well and fast asleep, Aegon noted. 

He loathed to untangle himself from her– she was so nice and warm and soft… but something inside of him nagged. Something broken and heinous tugged at his humanity, willing him to get out of bed and dress, donning his usual thick black cloak.

Off to the Silk Streets. To sate the broken parts of him and to quell the incessant nagging within his head.

Your fault, your fault.

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 15/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE

TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

                He laughs as he enters the restaurant, Leandro and Silvia’s voices calling out to him and he’s very aware that they’ve arranged a party later for his birthday and also his new residency visa. He hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t thought about it, until Ice had raised it last year in one of their phone calls and told him that his passport was going to expire and he needed to maybe consider coming home. Except he’d been gone for nearly a decade and it didn’t feel like home anymore. He hadn’t been able to fathom it.

                Then Ice had brought all the paperwork to him, walking into the restaurant himself and Bradley had hugged him so tightly because the anger has long since faded but the pride at not wanting to apologize for running away was still there. He has no regrets about running away, or how his life has turned out so far. He’s happy and has found a big family that has just enveloped him and made him one of their own and he can’t imagine his life being better in any way. Vi is his best friend, along with Giacomo, the three of them doing a road trip to Roma to the American Embassy to apply for his new passport in the summer.         

                “What are going to do to celebrate?”

                “Well, I know it’s maybe a little dramatic, but I thought of getting a tattoo.”

                “Yeah? What of?”

                “I’ve got some ideas.”

…            …            …

                Bradley watches as Jake dips every single piece of potato into sauce before eating it. He can’t believe how comfortable and happy he feels right now. They clear away the plates and wash up, before settling on the sofa, Jake’s head in his lap. They’re going to watch documentaries, because that and movies are apparently the only thing Jake likes to watch, which explains why he’s never seen Bradley on TV if this is what he prefers. Bradley himself doesn’t usually have time to watch anything, so it’s nice, just the novelty of sitting there and enjoying being close to someone else. He doesn’t even notice he’s snuck his hand beneath Jake’s t-shirt and been rubbing his thumb back and forth softly over his stomach until Jake’s hand covers his and he stills, goes to almost apologize and move his hand but Jake’s hand is firm, holding Bradley’s hand in place.

                “You’ve already ordered off the menu tonight, are you that insatiable you’re going back for seconds?”

                “Technically I think it’s thirds. And you did call yourself an all you can eat buffet,” Bradley jokes, but he really hadn’t been aiming to start anything, had simply been enjoying touching and being close.

                “Well, this buffet is closed sorry. Maybe after I’ve had a couple hours sleep we can reassess.”

                Bradley shakes his head like he’s somehow disappointed despite it not being the case, and he grins down at Jake’s upside-down face.

                “Mmm… it’s okay. If it gets bad enough I can always go self-service.”

                Jake snorts and Bradley can’t help but grin, it’s easy and fun and while a little part of him is worried it’s going to burn fast and bright before crashing and burning he can’t find it in himself to care. He doesn’t want to miss out on the right-now because of something that might happen.

                “Oh no… no no no. Hmm, wait. Maybe I wouldn’t mind watching that. Was going to say I could take care of that for you, but maybe I’ll just be lazy and watch.”

                “Well, it’s all hypothetical anyway, I wasn’t actually angling for anything more than a kiss…”

                “Ah, well, I am always happy to kiss you. You know, sticking with your food and sex philosophy… for me sauce is like kissing. No one needs sauce to make the food taste better, sometimes the food can be amazing without it. And I can eat it without it. But I’m always going to want to add sauce…”

                “And you’re always going to want kissing too huh?”

                “I wouldn’t say no.”

                “Come here then…” Bradley says, and he’s smiling as he bends down and presses his lips against Jake’s, his entire body thrumming with happiness as Jake’s nose bumps his chin and he pulls back, a sudden thought occurring to him.

                “You wouldn’t have sauce with dessert would you?”

                “Leo, babe, dessert is all the hand-holding, and cuddling and gentle touches. Of course I want sauce with them.”

                Bradley blinks, shakes his head.

                “No, I mean actual real literal dessert, like brownie or… ice cream.”

                “Oh. Huh. Well… I haven’t tried sauce with any desserts, but also I don’t have the biggest sweet tooth. Maybe because I can’t add sauce.”

                “Mmm. You are pretty sweet already.”

                “Oh, I know dozens of people who would disagree with you there but I’m glad you think so. Don’t mind being sweet with you…”

…            …            …

                Other than their serious conversation about starting a relationship, they haven’t had any deep and meaningful conversations. Yet. Until yesterday afternoon when he’d picked Leo up from Maria’s and then… found himself dating the guy. They’ve spent four nights out of five together, nearly every meal, and he’s well aware that he’s pretty much living with Leo in his not-so-little rental accommodation for the duration of his stay. He likes that it’s a neutral space for the time being, which has been good. Especially as he doesn’t exactly have a place of his own, his bedroom in Nicola’s apartment not exactly the most useful of places when he wants to hook up with someone, mainly because the apartment also usually contains Nicola herself.

                But if he’s going to date Leo, try having a relationship with distance between them, then he wants to share his little piece of home in his sister’s apartment. Show Leo the farm properly, because he’d actually seemed pretty interested in that yesterday when he’d mentioned it. He already knows that Leo’s parents are a minefield, but he’s going to ask because he’s going to gut himself in return. He knows he’s going to have to share bits that don’t make him happy, if they’re going to actually going to make a serious go of this. But he’s going to start small.

                “So, want to tell me about why you have a giant fuck off rooster tattooed on your leg?”

                “You don’t want to make a couple of guesses first?” Leo asks, rolling in the bed and giving Jake a mischievous grin and eyebrow waggle. God the man is a giant dork.

                “Because you’re a cock?” Jake asks, trying to make his expression sweet.

                “Close…”

                “Well, you’re not doing any false advertising.”

                “It’s my family name.”

                Jake frowns, because okay, he knows Leo’s name is Bradley Bradshaw, but he answers to Leo just as easily, which he knows is short for Leonardo…

                “My Italian family name. It’s Gallo, which means… well, direct translation is rooster.”

                “And a non-direct translation?” Jake asks. Leo grins again, looking smug.

                “Strong voice… good in bed…”

                “Oh, so you are a cock.”

                “I did say you were close.”

…            …            …

                He has to leave Leo in bed, which sucks for so many reasons but Leo looks fucked out and happy, already half-asleep and Jake presses a kiss to his bare shoulder.

                “I’ll be back in a few hours. In time for lunch. Let me know if there’s anything you need from the farm or grocery store…”

                He gets a muffled grunt for his trouble and Leo just shoves his head further into the pillow. Jake grins and heads for the door. He should be gone for about four hours to help his sisters on the farm. They have workers, but there’s always more work to be done and while many of them have other jobs they’re all still local and he gets to leave for months on end, and not have to deal with the realities of… home. He still needs to talk to Leo about that. Try and have a conversation that doesn’t lead to them immediately fucking. It’s a tall order. Maybe that’s where the distance might be a good thing.

                He pulls his truck into the yard and looks around at the assembled vehicles and rolls his eyes. Fucking great. They’re all here, the Seresin-sister grapevine clearly working as intended. God, he hopes Leo was serious about not getting scared off easy. He’s never introduced someone to his sisters before. Not someone that he’s actually serious about, and for all the shaking up that Leo has done in the last week it’s like a snow globe slowly settling and revealing the scene. He likes the view so far.

                He sits in his truck and drums his fingers against the steering wheel, wonders if he should maybe just start it again and drive away. He wouldn’t put it past them to drive after him, although Sandra and Amanda probably have their kids with them, so they might not chase after him. He sucks in a breath and throws his shoulders back. He can do this. His sisters love him and it’s just going to be embarrassing and maybe he can get the worst of it out of the way now and tomorrow night, when they actually meet Leo, they’ll manage to not humiliate him.

                He won’t hold his breath.

SIXTEEN

[auncyen]

Persona aus: mentioned in chat

my brain: YES YES YES YES YES YES--

(anyway. this is just a snippet for one possible way Personas/Shadows could work in ISAT. and what potential weirdness Siffrin could have.)

-

Sif doesn't have a Persona.

Which isn't unusual by itself! Across Vaugarde, maybe only one in ten people have ever had a Persona, and it'd be even fewer if you counted only people who had ones that were actively awake and ready for combat. Mira didn't have a Persona when Isabeau met her. Odile had already had hers, a product of her maturity and intellectual curiosity, but it had only had analytical skills at first. Isabeau only had his Persona because part of Defender training required communicating with your Shadow to make sure it was healthy and wouldn't turn into a Sadness under stress. And even then, that part of the training was considered antiquated, a holdover of older times--which showed by most Defenders losing touch with their Shadow after the novelty of the Waking Craft faded. If more Defenders had tried to keep in tune with their Shadow, Isabeau bet they would have helped Mira.

...Or maybe they would have just realized they shouldn't be calling themselves Defenders. Ugh. Isabeau was glad to have his, even if his bond with it was a little rocky at times. Thankfully only M'dame seemed to have picked up on the occasional trouble he had. Mira was so new to hers that she only summoned it on rare occasion. The two women and Sif all contributed a lot to fights without using Personas. The problem isn't that Sif doesn't have a Persona, it's--

So. The Waking Craft used in Defender training and Houses is actively crafted by someone who already has a Persona and is ready to step in if the trainee finds out the harsh way that hey, maybe their emotional state isn't as good as they thought it was. Sometimes there are two on standby. (Isabeau had had two senior Defenders who looked very nervous about how caustic his Shadow was before he satisfied it with a promise that he would keep Changing. It was part of why he'd made sure to maintain and train his Persona when most Defenders didn't. He'd never expected to actually need to fight like this, but now that it was happening, boy, was he glad he'd put in the work.) That's the nice way to use the Waking Craft. The mean way to use it is to load it in traps. It was an extremely rare kind of trap. So rare that the first time it'd triggered on Mira, neither she nor he had expected it, and she'd had a trial-by-fire awakening, her Shadow ragging on her that she hadn't deserved to be chosen, it should be the Head Housemaiden standing here. Mira had managed to forge a contract by insisting that worthy or not, she was the one chosen, so no one was going to stop her. Not even herself. That had been enough for her Shadow to relent. It'd been the last trap before the first orb, a surefire way to make sure that the orb would likely only be approached by a Defender or a more adventurous Housemaiden, but when the second orb didn't have a similar trap, they'd kind of. Assumed it was safe to let Siffrin take the lead on traps, even though he didn't had a Persona. Because he was the expert on every other kind of trap! (...He was the lightest on his feet and the fastest at dodging the consequences if they were set off.)

But then Odile's Persona had detected a Waking Craft trap hidden behind a more obvious spike trap and she had shouted a warning to Siffrin, too late to stop them from falling in its range--

And nothing had happened. There'd been a pressure change in the air, telling of Craft being released, but Siffrin just stood there, looking quite confused at Odile's alarm, before they shrugged it off and went ahead to grab the fourth orb.

It could have been that the trap was faulty. M'dame had eliminated that possibility herself: so sure of what she'd felt, she'd learned how to use the Waking Craft herself in the library of the next unfrozen House they reached and, with Isabeau and Mira as backup, with Siffrin's permission, crafted it on him. Again, nothing happened. Sif seemed bemused by the fuss, apparently not realizing what the big deal was until M'dame outright said it was an impossible result.

"Even if you had hidden having a Persona from us, Waking Craft forces it to appear. It wouldn't have hurt you because you'd be contracted, but the trap should still have done something. The only people who shouldn't have a Shadow or Persona are children. Young children."

Bonnie's Shadow had surfaced briefly after Siffrin lost their eye. There'd been no Waking Craft involved, just trauma and terror. It'd taken out the Sadness that had wounded Sif, but then it had rounded on Bonnie, angry and animalistic, snarling at them with wolfish snapping jaws for always being weak, always getting others hurt--

Odile and Isa had managed to hold it at bay while Mira stabilized Siffrin, which got the shadow to stop the threats of self-destruction. Then, at least. They've all kept a close eye on Bonnie since, because a Shadow that's surfaced without a contract being made is dangerous. It could easily resurface as a Sadness, and if it does... it's already too clear who it would target. Sif...still doesn't know about that part. He got hurt enough that day.

"You have said I'm childish," Sif quipped to Odile.

"Siffrin," she snapped back before pinching her nose. "You understand what Shadows are, don't you? Or have you forgotten that? Your other half, your desires--gems alive, you've lost an eye and barely complained. You have desires, don't you? What's happened to your Shadow?"

Isabeau and Mira had both interjected with quiet "Madames" then, trying to get her to calm down, because Sif had shrank back into their cloak, hiding under their hat.

"Well. For one desire...can't we just focus on the positive?" Siffrin pleaded at last. "The trap didn't hurt me." He seemed to think of something, coming halfway out of his hiding with a tentative smile. "Maybe my Shadow's even faster than me and dodged it!"

"...Maybe," Odile said, but the look on her face said she was only allowing that line of reasoning because she felt guilty.

Sif doesn't have a Persona. They don't have a Shadow either. They're definitely of age to have one of the two; they're older than Isabeau. It hasn't kept them from fighting yet, lending what advantage they can in speed, but... something's not right.

-

Siffrin: has buried his issues so deep that even Craft can't get his shadow out. need a couple dozen loops to wake that up but once it starts stirring, WUH OH--

[knightedmoon]

As someone that was on tumblr from 2013 to 2018 that exodus'd after the Great Purge, tumblr is a place I no longer recognize after attempting to come back several times in the last 2 1/2 years.

It's like you come back to your childhood home. It used to have original wood finish, stained-glass windows, oak cabinets, and crown molding, only for the house to now look like a gutted white/beige minimalist wasteland. Everything is too bright and shiny, the layout is completely different, the furniture is firm and probably not made to sit in.

You go back to your old room only to find someone living there. It's a completely different room with completely new items, and all of your old things were stuffed into a closet. You used to be able to open your bedroom window and talk to your next-door-neighbor and chat about shared interests and personal accomplishments. Now when you open it, an entire Rube Goldberg machine activates to shoot flames into your face via flamethrower.

The doorbell rings and you are met with a Jehovah's Witness there to greet you, and you think, "How did you people find this place? This used to be a closed community." Their 'good book' reads "bakudeku dni". There used to be a welcome mat that was fashioned in the stile of satanism and witchcraft. Matter of fact, this used to be a walkable community, now it's gated with an HOA.

You go into the kitchen for a simple glass of water, but nothing is placed where it used to be. Once you finally find a decent cup, you arrive at the refrigerator for ice. Before, the refrigerator was a standard two (2)-door white fridge/freezer. Now it's a silver, stainless steel behemoth with a smart-screen and strange symbols in the water/ice dispenser. There's a poll on the smart-screen: "where do the vegetables go? In this drawer or in that drawer?"

You walk down a long hallway full of photos you don't recognize. At first. As you walk on, they begin to get more familiar, however dusty and light-damaged they are. As you near the hallway, you find a very busted, dusty framed photo of the Onceler. Beside it in a similarly damaged frame is a photo of a skeleton in a blue hoodie. The final photo in this hall of fading memories depicts the clock from "Don't Hug Me, I'm Scared".

You reach the basement door. Curiously, the door itself is the same even if it's just been landlord-painted white. When you open the swollen door, you are hit with a cloud of dust that makes you cough. The light switch you flick on and off produces no light, so you return to the kitchen to scroll around in the drawers for a flashlight. Once acquired, you brave the dark basement. It gets hard to breathe, between the dust and the thick air. Quickly you realize everything you knew before has been stored here. You shine the light upon a box with scribbled sharpie. "Voltron".

You shudder.

More and more boxes and piles look familiar. "Danganronpa". "Vampire Diaries". "Dan and Phil." Upon the well windowsill is a novelty box with the words "Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons". The farther you go into the basement, the more battered the boxes are. All of them are homes to some kind of spider.

And there... in the very darkest, furthest corner of the basement, is a mountain of boxes, all labeled, "SuperWhoLock".

As you've taken in the house that is no longer the home you know, you stand on the front porch. A single tear falls from your eye. Why come back?

As the wind blows, you hear a jingle. You look up and see an old wind chime that hadn't been removed. Along with the metal and the beads, the charms on the ends depict a feather, a bow, and a pair of glasses with a handlebar mustache attached to them. Another tear falls when the wind blows again and the chimes whisper,

"Just girly things."

[esther-dot]

A Besotted Fool 1k by @sibyldisobedience

He scrubbed his hand down his face and found his attention drawn to the fluttering lace in one of the upper windows of the house. Suddenly there she was, his radiant girl; a soft, inscrutable expression gracing her lovely features. She nodded to him with a stately little dip of her chin, and he waved back at her, like some kind of overly eager green boy. He cringed inwardly and cursed himself for a fool. A pathetic, besotted fool.

Aunt Lysa Settles the Question 5k by @sibyldisobedience

"But tell me now child, and be quick about it, who is this young man and what reason does he have to be alone with you in the parlour?” Sansa bristled at being called ‘child’, she was seventeen and had just received her first proposal of marriage for goodness sake! She turned to Mr. Snow, the poor man looked as though he wished the floor might open up and swallow him whole. “This is Father’s friend, Mr. Jon Snow.” “Snow? What Snow? Do you mean that boy’s tutor?” Lysa looked Jon up and down, and grimaced. She then turned the full force of her ire on Sansa, who could only wring her hands. “And what pray tell has Father’s friend been saying to make you look like a peony?” Before Sansa could begin to think of what to say in reply, for it really wasn’t any of the old fussbudget’s business, Jon cleared his throat.

Married Life 10k by @sibyldisobedience

Sansa and Jon settled into married life very easily. The Dovecote was small, to be sure, less than a third of the size of Winterfell, but the lovers relished their proximity to one another. How wonderful it was to be so close — in constant contact — when during their three year engagement, they had been apart longer than they had been together. After one entire week of blissful seclusion, the couple had to concede that they could not live on love alone. So Jon returned to work, and some gentle ribbing from his co-workers, and Sansa took up her housewifely duties.  As the young couple established a routine, they found that even after a few months, once the initial novelty of “playing house” had worn off, they were just as blissfully happy as they had been that first week. Sansa was as breathtakingly lovely as ever in her faded wrapper, beaming at him from behind the familiar coffee pot. And Jon’s deep Northern brogue never failed to send shivers down her spine, even when he was simply following up his parting kiss with the tender inquiry, "Shall I send home mutton or beef for dinner tonight?" 

(the above are all in the 14 part series Little Women of Winterfell)

marriage is an economic proposition 3k

Sansa meets her childhood friend Jon Targaryen while traveling with Aunt Lysa in the capital.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES - JON X ALAYNE

[cricketnationrise]

for the 500 followers fest

23:54

the brownstone

henry

melt by kehlani

are y'all tired of me being like "wow this song is a banger i can't believe i haven't listened to it before" ??? no?

wow this song is a banger i can't believe i haven't listened to it before!

anyway please enjoy possibly the sappiest, softest thing i've ever written

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

11:54pm, the brownstone

Henry tries to enter quietly, on the off-chance that Alex is already asleep—doesn’t want David’s habitual greeting to pull Alex out of mutually much-needed slumber. The muffled strains of Alex’s elle woods my beloved playlist coming down the hall let him know he needn’t have bothered. So he lets his keys clang in the bowl, lets David jump on him with rattling tags, lets his voice carry more than he usually would at almost midnight as he greets his dog.

Henry loves the shelter, loves meeting all the kids, and giving them a space free from unreasonable and unrealistic and unsafe expectations, but even Pez would be running on fumes alone after hour sixteen of an eight hour shift. Unfortunately for Henry, housing emergencies are rarely so obliging as to occur in a respectable nine-to-five window. But Starr is safe now, settled into a room, and even tentatively bonding with her roommate, so Henry can be home.

He makes his way to the second floor den that Alex prefers to study in, huffing out a soft laugh when he hears heavy books closing and the abrupt change of playlists to soft boy hours (gender neutral). He slides open the pocket door and leans against the frame and can’t help the soft smile that takes over his face. At least sixty percent of his tension seems to vanish at the sight of Alex turning towards him, face lighting up with love.

“Weren’t you supposed to stop studying at nine tonight?”

“Well, I was going to stop, but then a certain someone texted to say they didn’t know when they were going to be home and so I had to take drastic measures,” Alex says, finishing packing away his things for class tomorrow.

“David has been spending an inordinate amount of time out on the town,” Henry teases, moving into the room properly, drawn like a magnet toward his boyfriend.

Alex chuckles. “He used to be such a fine, upstanding gentleman, too. Such a shame his behavior’s gone to the dogs.”

“Seems he’s had a bad influence, hanging around with you so often,” Henry says. He steps into Alex’s space and Alex’s arms come up without hesitation. “Hello, love.”

Alex kisses him softly, sweetly. “Glad you’re home, H.” He pulls Henry down onto the couch and Henry wastes no time laying on top of him and curling up on Alex’s chest. He smells like coffee and a hint of cinnamon and the rest of the tension Henry’s been carrying around fades away as Alex strokes along his back. 

Right here, surrounded by Alex on all sides, is Henry’s favorite place in the world. Right here, the public can’t get to him. Right here, he doesn’t have to be a prince, or even a youth shelter director. 

Right here, he can just be Henry.

People always think that Alex never stops talking, but that’s categorically untrue. He talks a lot, certainly, but only when he knows Henry is ready to hear it. The reality is that Alex cares so much and so deeply for Henry, that he’s learned to read Henry’s varied and ever-shifting moods with the smallest cues. Henry’s never been more grateful for Alex’s personalized superpower than tonight, when all he wants to do is rest here with Alex, listening to smooth voices over acoustic guitar and Alex’s heartbeat thudding in time with his own.

Henry sinks into the moment, letting his eyes fall shut in utter contentment. He cherishes every moment he gets with Alex; the novelty of just getting to be with him hasn’t even begun to wear off. Every brush of their fingers sends a spark down his spine. Every time Alex kisses the back of his neck before hip-checking him out of the way in the kitchen is thrilling. Every time he and Alex stroll through Brooklyn with David, hands entwined or around waists or even once in each other’s back pockets, Henry’s hit with a surge of pride. 

But he loves these moments the best—the ones where he can’t tell where he stops and Alex begins. The moments, during or outside of sex, where being this close isn’t close enough for Henry. He wants to invent new ways to be close to someone, just to do them with Alex; wants to be able to crawl inside of Alex and set his watch to the beat of Alex’s heart. Henry wants to share not only his space with Alex, but his breath, his very soul—wants to knit them together so tightly that nothing and no one can unravel the threads connecting their hearts.

Luckily, unbelievingly for Henry—Alex wants the same things.

[thundersarts]

snippet hour

thank you for the tag @messymoony <3

James expected the feeling to subside. To grow accustomed to the flutter in his heart, to not feel weak in his very bones every time he took a glance at his lover and to not feel the equivalent of a heart attack every time he looked back. By now, though, he has touched Regulus more times than he could ever count, has stolen glances and kisses, has memorized every inch of his body and soul. Even after all that time, the novelty of it, the giddiness of it, never fades away. James is certain it never will.

low pressure tags: @calamitoustide @coyotelip @w1tch3-writes @noasmirrorball @jeguluses and anyone who feels like sharing a bit! tag me on it, i'd love to read your snippets !!! <3

[arrancxr]

23 for Starrk, please?

(Also as a side note, I just wanted to say how much I appreciate your xeno headcanons for the Arrancar’s genitals. As a nonbinary trans man, it just makes me happy to see. Thank you!)

((Thank you!! I'm glad you're enjoying them!! I've gotten similar comments a couple of times now, and it's always very jkshg to know people find that kind of joy and validation in my work. >3>))

23. “My baby, you did so well.”

The first touch along the edge of his mask has Starrk’s body snapping to attention— not quite out of fear (a foreign concept, when no one’s jaws would have ever got this close), but a sudden, acute awareness of sensation against a place that could very easily hurt. He trusts you, of course, but Hollow instincts tend to have other ideas about what’s safe to allow.

You’ve handled his mask before, but in the soft, sweet moments of intimacy where he’s already nearly purring with bliss. Not mere seconds after pulling back from a long, messy kiss that left him worked up enough to be all but grinding into your ass, hot all over, and anticipating more. 

“Too much?” you ask. The novelty of your worry never quite wears off; as strong as he is, there’s nothing you could do to cause real damage. 

“It’s fine. Keep going.”

Starrk’s hands go to your waist. His hips roll up in search of friction, and you shift a little in response. There’s something almost funny about tipping his head back to bare his throat, willingly submitting to a human’s touch, but while his mind is fogged with pleasure, Starrk hardly cares.

After a few moments of caressing the jagged teeth at the base of his throat, though, your touch wanders lower. Gentle, still, and moving slow enough to give him warning— not that it makes the touch any less intense.

Even the lightest brush of contact against the edge of his Hollow hole is almost unbearable. The flash of momentary, instinctive panic soon fades, though— overshadowed by pleasure when you grind down into his lap. “Good boy,” you purr, probing a little deeper past the void’s edge. “You’re so good, trusting me like this. I’ll stop as soon as you need me to, okay?”

Starrk’s only reply is a strangled whine. Through whatever screwed-up signals are firing right now, the near-violating touch against the inside of his Hollow hole is feeding into his arousal. His body thinks it’s pinned, helpless, and feeling so acutely vulnerable adds an unfamiliar thrill.

Even if he’s never needed to fear being held at the mercy of something stronger, a Hollow baring its throat and inviting attention to its weak spots is nothing short of suicidally stupid. All he’s doing is opening himself up to get hurt, and yet, the oh-so-careful brush of your fingertips across solidified darkness has him going limp and trusting, arching helplessly into the touch.

Time liquifies for a while, until your fingers finally recede. He’s trembling all over, achingly hard, too oversensitive to tell if he came at some point in that haze of sensation or not. He can hardly think, and yet—

“My baby, you did so well,” you tell him, nails scratching sweetly at the scruff on his chin. More sounds tempting, if it means you’ll keep saying that.

[thunderheadfred]

Talk about unsolicited parenting advice… Even the wiener dog is chiming in.

Despite the cute picture we have actually been quite worried about introducing Bonnie and baby. Bonnie has had very little exposure to children (she doesn’t really like them, on the whole) and zero exposure to newborns. We’ve had a number of circumstances that have made our house stressful for Bonnie lately (namely, major home renovations) and they didn’t get finished in time for baby. So the stage was set for a lot of drama and accommodations to be made.

When we came home unexpectedly yesterday, Bonnie was already stressed and confused by our absence and everything else, and even though we tried to reduce the exposure and over-stimulation, she still had a very strong stress reaction and we weren’t sure if it was jealousy, agression, or what.

Today after everyone has had some time to rest and recover, we’ve kept even more separate but allowed Bonnie to sniff Alice through a gate a few times. Signs indicate Bonnie does in fact recognize that this is HER CHILD, and all her theatrics were because I am an idiot and wasn’t feeding HER CHILD enough or letting BONNIE, THE TRUE MOTHER, lick Alice’s face all over forever and ever and ever, which is all Bonnie seemed to want.

Very promising, and here’s hoping they can really get along!!!

Only other news is that the baby is the chillest baby alive, which should come as no surprise since her ultrasound picture was her with one hand behind her head and the other throwing a peace sign. She is exactly like that now that she’s an outside baby rather than an inside one.

I’m about to roll into the most intense chronic fatigue whiplash of my life, and today the days and days of magical birthing hormones have begun to fade, leaving me feeling like someone who got hit with ten thousand plastic novelty baseball bats behind a little league game. Not broken, but very very very over it. Thank goodness partner has been AMAZING. I finally slept a little today for the first time since Thursday night. Hgnrjdnsksnxnsjsnznx. Still. Newborn tired is incomparably better than pregnant tired. Newborn tired involves being able to cuddle the cutest human being who ever lived, and that makes pretty much anything bearable.

[ihaveathingforwomen]

Universes Away - PT. 13

WandaNat x OC

a/n: Bad slump again! Not in school anymore so that should help :) Masterlist Warnings: blood, broken bones, knives. Word Count: 2.7k Summary: A ghost ruins the soccer game.

The New Jersey summer air is hot and muggy after a night of warm thunderstorms. The soccer field is wet, causing each of the players to get mud all over their uniforms. The heat and rain don’t stop their families from cheering and the teams from playing their best. Adrian and Natasha are sitting in a couple of lawn chairs in a long line of seats along the sidelines. They enjoy popsicles while watching their boys play. Behind them, Wanda talks with Clint, Laura, and Pietro. She thought it would be awkward to connect with them but it felt like falling back into old habits. 

As she spoke with them, she began searching their minds to see how much they know about her situation. Ease washed over her when she came to learn that Natasha had explained what had happened and asked that they ask questions as they arise, but be gentle when doing so. The family had experienced many weird things in the past so while they were able to acknowledge the novelty of this situation, they did not let it bother them. She relished in seeing her brother, mostly. Her memory of him was shrouded in his youth since the last time she’d seen him was almost ten years prior, just before his death. She thought she would never see him again. The sight of him brings a host of emotions to the surface, as now, his hair has started to darken and he cut it only for it to be replaced with facial hair. His smile was still the same and she admired every bit of it while he spoke, noticing the smile lines on his forehead and corners of his eyes. She no longer feels like a ghost is before her.  

All of their attention is redirected when Tony and Natasha begin loudly cheering. Adrian stands to cheer with them when they realize that little Morgan Stark had made the game changing goal. Billy, Tommy, and Nathan give her congratulatory high fives and the three of them wave to their family on the sidelines. As the cheering decrescendos, Adrian peers past the teams, across the field, and their heart spikes when they catch a glimpse of a familiar ghost. 

Like last night, he stands ominously behind a group of parents with the opposing team. A violent chill slithers down Adrian’s spine, their blood running icy. He’s older now - hair graying and scruffy, his knuckles and face bruised. Comparatively, he dawns an all black suit in crisp condition. He sticks out in the crowd and yet no one seems to notice. A pounding begins in Adrian’s head and they quietly leave their family, going around the sidelines of the field. Wanda notices their departure and turns curiously. She decides not to interfere, but cautiously observes where her spouse is going. She glances at Natasha to see if she reacts to their absence. With no reaction from her wife, Wanda’s concern fades but does not disappear. 

The Ghost’s eyes follow Adrian as they make their way towards him. His demeanor is unwavering and demanding of submission. Adrian stands next to him, mimicking his stance - hands clasped in front of their torso and legs shoulder width apart. “I thought I killed you.” Their voice is cold, solid ice. 

He scoffs. “That was my brother.” He nods his chin towards Wanda, who is facing him but appears to be watching the game intently. “I need to speak with her.” 

Adrian’s brows narrow and they turn toward him placing a hand on his chest to push him away. “The fuck do you mean? You need to leave.” 

Indifferent, he turns toward them. “I’ve been in contact with her. We have a mutual understanding about a mission at hand.” 

“We’ve been out of Hydra for years now,” their heart rate continues to rise and their breaths hasten as they get more confused. “There is no mission anymore. She wouldn’t be taking orders from you, either.”

“I see she must not have spoken to you.” Adrian’s hands drop to their side as they make deafening eye contact with the Prizrak. “Maximoff prevented the theft of the Darkhold on one condition;” his gaze darkened in theirs and his irises turned a familiar purple. “She convince you to kill Werner for me. The experiments were successful and I no longer need his interference in my plans.” 

Adrian looks across the field at their wife and makes eye contact, eyes softening with fear. Fear is an untimely guest. Slowly turning back to Prizrak, “There’s no way. E-even…” their breaths are heaving. “Even with the Darkhold. She’d never agree to that.” The floodgates of their memory are leaking at the seams as they recall some of their final experiences with the other Wanda. 

He turns his gaze towards Wanda and practically paralyzes her. A wry smile arises as he looks back to Adrian, raising a finger to tilt their chin towards him. “Oh, she would.” They smack his hand away and he slowly drops it. “She agreed. She knows the cost. If she could not convince you then I will have to force you.” 

Visions flashed behind their eyes as their irises matched Prizrak’s purple. Wanda’s eyes caged in a crown of darkness as she sits upon a throne. The throne is carefully stabilized on a mound of body parts. Beside her stands the Ghost, holding Natasha in a chokehold. She’s passed out in his grasp. The boys whimper in front of her, on their knees, as the Ghost places a blade to their mother’s throat. Out of Adrian’s control, their hands reach outward to one of the boys and wrings their neck with a violent snap. The other boy cries out as they reach out and do the same to him, abruptly stopping the tears. Outside of their body, they see themselves, eyes bound behind a cage of darkness like their wife’s, a bloody grin on their face. 

White light floods their vision and they’re gasping for air as they’re released from the horror in their mind. “You don’t have to agree,” Prizrak states, “but you know the cost of declining the offer.” They feel their eyes rattle in their skull as they watch him closely. He turns his head towards the game and they follow, as though they are the other side of his mirror. As he raises his hand, a commotion begins on the field. Adrian’s eyes go straight to the center of the field where two players are on the ground, roughly 20 feet apart. Their eyes are still adjusting as they realize Natasha is desperately grasping at one of them. Their gaze shifts to the other player to see Wanda attending them. Wanda looks up and behind her, catching Adrian’s gaze. 

Adrian turns to assault Prizrak only to find his disappearance jarring. They quickly look through the crowd, unable to see the tall monster in a suit. Their heartbeat stops for a moment as they spin and make their way to the field. Wanda looks back up to them and makes eye contact, then directs them to Natasha. Adrian, feeling their heart begin to tear, collapses to the ground next to Natasha. Tommy’s screams are heard across other fields. The games across the way stop in their tracks and observe the catastrophe. 

The disaster is a sight to see; Natasha is trying to keep Tommy calm, lifting his head onto her lap as he screams in pain. Adrian looks over him, from tear stained cheeks downward, and sees a bone emerging from one of his legs. They start to move their hands over it, not noticing the saliva pooling beneath their tongue and the crazed look in their eyes. “Mom, no!’ He shouts at them before they can touch. 

They’re shocked from their state and look up at everyone just standing around. “Has anyone called an ambulance?” Their voice is more stern than angry, but it puts a bit of fear in everyone standing nearby. A few people scuttle away. Adrian looks over their shoulder to see Wanda cradling Billy’s whole body in her arms, stroking the hair away from his eyes. As they scan his body they see no signs of blood or injury, but Wanda has tears in her eyes. Adrian starts to do some searching, but is pulled away when a paramedic shouts as he approaches the scene. 

Once the boys are each loaded into an ambulance with their respective parents, Adrian makes their way to the family van and begins barreling towards the hospital. They only told Pietro what hospital to go to as they saw him as they were leaving. Their mind drowns in memories, trying to determine when Wanda would have spoken to Prizrak. If she really was working with the Darkhold in her last months, then it isn’t out of the question for her to have made a deal with this monster. The scars on Adrian’s back began to burn and ache. Memories of the knife gliding across their spine riddled them with numbness and a static buzz in their mind. 

Upon arriving at the hospital, they make their way towards intake and begin conversing with the desk attendant. With each question answered, another memory arises. In each memory they can see themselves outside of their body, as though watching from afar. A man in black combat gear pushing a child to the floor with a high pitched yelp. He pins them down by their wrists, the pair struggle until he moves to pin their hands with one of his as his other hand moves down to his trousers and begins moving them downward. Mistake. Power surged behind their hazel eyes, turning them stormy gray. They kicked him in the groin with their boot, pushed their hands upwards to release them. They roll away, gripping the hunting knife he’d dropped and plunging it into his side. He calls out in pain as they twist it and push him onto his back. They rip the blade from him and begin plunging it. Over. And over. 

The waiting room is cool and the scent of frustration lingers. Their mind still drowns, but the memories are blurred now. Their foot taps restlessly against the floor, everyone’s thoughts are starting to penetrate the waters. Natasha comes around the corner and immediately spots Adrian, who jumps to greet her in a tight embrace. 

“Are the boys okay? Where’s Wanda? What happened?” They erupt, the waters bursting through their mouth as they plead to their spouse. Natasha gently grips their shoulders and forces them to look into her eyes. 

“They’re okay, follow me. I’ll tell you before we get to Billy’s room.” She smiled, a fake one, and grabbed their hand. They began making their way towards Billy’s room, Adrian could tell Natasha’s thoughts were racing as quickly as their own. Eventually, they made their way to her side. 

As they approached his room, Natasha finally spoke. “We think Billy passed out on the field,” she begins and turns her back to the door. Adrian can see through the window in the door, just behind Natasha. Their impatience is apparent to Natasha as she places her hand to their chest, keeping them from going any further. “When he passed out, Tommy had the ball and stopped. None of the players noticed and they trampled him. He broke his leg, which you saw.” 

“Why did Billy pass out? Have they looked at him yet? Where’s Tommy -” they attempt to push past Natasha but she blocks them again. 

“Ads, stop, look at me.” She demands before reaching out to their chin and directing them to her gaze. She can see gray clouds wash over their eyes, tears start to form in the corners and Nat’s eyes narrow. “Shh, it’s okay. Tommy is in surgery, he’s going to be okay. They said he’ll make a full recovery but they needed to fix it quickly.” She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself and her spouse. “They’ve looked at Billy and he’s okay too, as far as they know. They can’t tell what happened.” A pregnant pause washed over them as Natasha cupped their face. “Will you try to look…?” They’re still now, eyes shimmering as they glance between Natasha and the window just behind. They nod slowly, “I’ll try,” they whisper. She squeezes their biceps and turns upon release, opening the door, Adrian moves slowly behind her. 

“I found them,” Natasha whispers to Wanda who’s sitting on the bed. She looks up at them both and smiles as she brushes Billy’s hair from his closed eyes. Adrian makes their way to Wanda’s side and pulls her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. 

When they pull away, they cup her face as she looks up at them. She holds their hands to her face, “Everything is okay, he’s going to be okay.”

They nod, trying to understand. “Can you see anything?” 

She glances at their son and shakes her head gently. They look at him as she glances back, “May I?” They ask. She nods and moves away to stand with Natasha, they move towards the head of the bed and lean over their son. Their left hand cups his face and strokes his cheek with their thumb. Their eyes close and begin to wander within his mind, searching for causation. In his mind’s eye, they can see the horror that Prizrak had shown them. Billy sees his brother’s neck snap and runs away, the rest in the scene are still.

Adrian watches him run and makes their way towards him. Running away from the scene, the drop turns white and liminal. They follow him for what feels like forever, time immeasurable in the white surrounding. He eventually runs into the front yard of their home and disappears behind the front door. Adrian finally reaches the door, opening it, and shouting into dead space. They walk into the home cautiously, quiet steps. Upstairs, then peering into the boys’ room. They check a couple of the boys’ typical hiding places before moving to their second favorite room for hide and seek. 

At the other end of the hallway is the guest room - rarely used but well kept. They gently push the door open and tilt their head around the edge of the bed. There, in a dark corner, Billy is curled with his knees to his chest and head resting on top of them. “Stink,” they call out, “it’s mom. Are you okay?” They know the answer, but want to give him room to express. 

He stays curled up as they approach. They crouch in front of him and extend a hand to his arm. He flinches, his head upright, and scoots back against the wall. Adrian’s eyes soften and they brush a hand against his arm. “Hey, baby, that wasn’t real. I promise,” his eyes are wild and his breaths are quick as he studies his mother’s face. Being within the mind, there’s nowhere for the two to run. They’re left to trust each other as they are. 

They draw their hand back and sit down on the floor, resting an arm on their knee. “I saw it too, Billy.” They hold his gaze, “it was really scary. I didn’t like it either.”

“How did you see it?” His voice is timid, but he becomes more comfortable. 

They look away, releasing a breath. They turn back to him, their accent coming through in hopes of calming him. They know that he associates it with calmness amongst his parents. “A scary man, that mommy and I used to know, came to your game. He put it in my head. I didn’t know he put it in yours, too.” 

“Is he gone?” 

They nod, “he’s gone. I promise.” The corner of their lip turns upward, and they stand. With an outstretched hand, they address their son, “come here buddy.” 

Still weary, he stands and grabs their hand. Adrian loosens their grip and sits in the rocking chair next to the window, pulling him behind them. They pull him into their lap, his legs draped across one of theirs, a hand on his back and the other on his outer knee. “We can stay here for a bit until you feel better, okay? I won’t leave you.” 

He nods quietly and nuzzles into their neck. “I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you, too, Billy.” Their hand slides up his back and into his hair, gently scratching.

[verdemoth]

Mariner, Odyssey’s cousin and formerly a member of EEG’s field team. Xe retired a few years ago, citing health issues. Xe is secretly plagued by the Visions, which xe didn’t realize were warnings until it was too late to do anything about them.

-> Mariner has yet to figure out what xe wants to do in xer retirement. Xe’s got the rest of xer life to work on it but like. Xe feels like xe should have an idea by now. Xe’s tried to pick up some hobbies, but nothing really clicked. Pottery is the one that’s stuck around the longest.

-> Interest in the work and relation to Odyssey is what initially drew Mariner to the team all those years ago, though xe was never as invested as xer cousin. In truth, xer passion for the job had begun to fade a decade prior to xer retirement, and the novelty of adventure soon wore out as xer chronic pain grew harder to ignore. Xe stayed as long as xe did to connect with Odyssey, and because xe’d already spent so much of xer life on this career choice and felt xe’d already missed xer chance to do something different now. Thinking xer mental health had suddenly taken a steep decline after a particular expedition is what finally gave xem the push to resign.

-> Xe doesn’t really have friends in retirement. Xe has acquaintances, and there’s people xe’s friendly with, but xe was never very good at forming new relationships outside of obligations like work and family. And xe spent a lot of years developing bonds with only one group of people, so it’s strange to be removed from that now. Xe was especially close with Odyssey, though their relationship is now on the rocks. Mariner doesn’t really try to get into contact with xer old friends, feeling awkward about having left (and the dreadful realization that what xe thought were hallucinations were actually a real threat/warning and xe has told nobody else about this and explaining gets harder the longer xe keeps the secret)

-> On one otherwise routine mission into the Otherworld, late into the project but before the Storm, Mariner encountered something alone. Xe hadn’t travelled far from the rest of the team, xe’s fairly sure, but suddenly xe felt a world away and something unknowable was there with xem. It could have been acting out of benevolence or malice or some secret third thing, but all the same, it struck Mariner with an overwhelming bundle of visions and senses beyond understanding that seemed to tear apart xer mind to fit, and brought xem to xer knees. Then it left Mariner abruptly, struggling to comprehend the experience and reassemble xemself.

-> Having some kind of mental break isn’t out of the question when you’re dealing with another world that seems hostile to the rules of your reality, so Mariner managed to convince xemself that’s all that had happened. Mostly. Xe’d hallucinated it, proof that prolonged exposure to this rift had worn xer mind thin (which. also may be true at the same time). Though very shaken, xe did not tell xer teammates the details of what had happened.

-> Xe went through the motions for a while longer, business as usual, though xe remained quietly bothered. Coming back into the standard plane of reality after the expedition didn’t resolve the problem. Instead, xer premonitions got worse. Xer dreams and waking moments alike were filled with portents of catastrophe and strife; xe grew used to panic attacks, but if the visions held any meaning xe couldn’t determine what. Xe held out for a few months before abruptly announcing xer retirement for the reasons of deteriorating health. Xe tried to convince Odyssey to join xem in retirement. Odyssey, though, was all but married to the job, and would never leave while Tune was still involved, and Tune was perhaps even more committed.

-> Mariner really tried to enjoy a peaceful retirement, but the sense of dread and the flashes of tragedy still would not cease. And still, xe could not parse any meaning. At least, not until xe received news of the disaster that had befallen the EEG some months later, and xe finally understood what xer curse had been warning xem about. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, xe could unscramble what the message had been.

-> Emboldened by fear and the knowledge that it was warranted, Mariner tried again to make Odyssey quit. It was far too soon after Tune’s presumed death, and Mariner wouldn’t speak of xer premonitions, feeling too much shame to admit xe could have done something. This did not go over well at all, and the resulting argument was a massive blow to their relationship.

-> They weren’t on speaking terms for a while, but with time and distance they have recovered Some of their relationship. They don’t talk about it. Both are far too stubborn to make apologies, so bringing it up would only cause more arguments. There’s still tension between them, but they can manage a casual conversation every now and then, checking in on each other occasionally.

-> Mariner still has xer precognitions. The visions are still not clear, but xe has some understanding of what xe’s dealing with now and can decipher a few points. It’s not over. Something terrible approaches again, and something is very very wrong with Spirit.