#i don't think you understand how much i love this song

[sirenedeslily]

── 𝓟icture 𝓨ou ( jackie taylor ) ּ 𓂅 ⋆

・❥・ ─── 𝓢𝗬𝗡. a quiet love story between a shy photographer and the untouchable girl she’s captured in secret.

( pairing ) — jackie taylor x female!reader 𝜗𝒞 ; fluff / college au ℳ. based off this request !! hope it didn’t disappoint 𓂃 ( 1k )

jackie taylor is the kind of girl people write songs about.

you knew it from the first moment you saw her, golden and untouchable, stepping onto campus like she owned the sidewalks. like the world belonged to her, or maybe just wanted to. she was the kind of girl you kept your distance from, because you weren't the type to belong in her orbit—just an observer, a passerby, someone with a vintage camera slung around their neck and untied laces on their worn-out converse.

your roommates, lottie and nat, always tease you about it. "there she goes again," lottie would say, watching you grab your camera before heading out. "off to capture another moment of the unattainable jackie taylor." but they don't understand. it's not about attainability. it's about preserving something beautiful, something real.

then came that night in late september, when the air was still warm but carried hints of autumn's approach. you were driving home from a photography club meeting when you saw her standing on the curb outside some frat house party, arms crossed, jaw tight, alone. the streetlight caught in her hair like a halo, and without thinking, you pulled over.

"need a ride?"

she looked at you for a long moment, mascara slightly smudged, vulnerability written in the set of her shoulders. you learned later that jeff had left her there after an argument—something about him being controlling, about her being "too much."

"yeah," she finally said, voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "that'd be great."

the drive was quiet at first, just the low hum of your car's heater and the occasional direction from jackie. but then she started talking—really talking—about her dreams beyond being the perfect preppy girl everyone expected, about how sometimes she felt like she was playing a role in her own life.

"i don't think i've ever told anyone that," she admitted as you pulled up to her dorm.

"your secret's safe with me," you promised, and something shifted between you that night.

after that, jackie started appearing in your world more frequently. she'd find you in the library, sliding into the seat across from you with a coffee and a smile. you'd run into her between classes, and somehow those brief encounters would turn into hour-long conversations. she'd text you random thoughts at 3 am, and you'd respond with photos you'd taken that day.

the camera became your bridge. "show me how you see things," she'd say, and you'd let her peer through your viewfinder at the way morning light filtered through leaves, or how raindrops collected on spider webs. you never told her that most of your photos were of her—captured in quiet moments when she thought no one was looking.

until today.

she's curled up in your bed, legs draped over yours, head resting on your shoulder. the afternoon sun streams through your dorm window, casting everything in honey-gold light. she's scrolling through your phone, casual and comfortable in a way that still makes your heart skip.

"wait—where do all your saved photos go?"

your stomach tightens. it's a casual question, but it carries the weight of all your unspoken admiration, all the moments you've collected like precious stones.

before you can answer, she's already in your gallery, thumb swiping through image after image. you watch her face as realization dawns.

"these are all of me."

not a question. a soft, stunned observation.

you watch as she takes in each photo: jackie laughing during a soccer game, hair flying wild and free. jackie asleep in the library during finals week, textbook pressed against her cheek. jackie in the passenger seat of your car at sunset, profile gilded by dying light. jackie in the rain, in the sun, in shadow and light—always beautiful, always real.

"you took all of these?"

you nod, suddenly feeling exposed. "i like capturing moments. real ones."

her eyes find yours. "why me?"

the question hangs between you, heavy with meaning. you take a breath, choosing your words carefully.

"because you're most beautiful when you're just being yourself. not the jackie everyone expects—just... you."

she's quiet for a moment, then reaches for your nightstand where your photo album sits. before you can stop her, she's opening it, discovering more pieces of herself through your lens.

the album is filled not just with photos, but with pieces of your shared history. a pressed flower from the day she picked a daisy and tucked it behind your ear. a coffee stain on a napkin from your first real conversation. concert tickets, dried leaves, small moments preserved like insects in amber.

"this is..." she trails off, fingers tracing a photo of herself reading poetry on the quad, completely unaware of the camera. "this is how you see me?"

you nod, heart thundering. "that's how you are."

jackie closes the album gently, setting it aside. when she looks at you again, her eyes are soft, touched by something deeper than surprise.

"no one's ever seen me like this before," she whispers, shifting closer until her forehead rests against yours. "like i'm worth remembering."

"you're worth every photo," you murmur back. "every moment."

she kisses you then, soft and slow, like she's trying to capture this moment too. when she pulls back, there's a smile playing at her lips.

"you know," she says, "for someone who spends so much time behind the camera, you're pretty terrible at hiding how you feel."

you laugh, warmth spreading through your chest. "maybe i wasn't trying to hide it."

jackie's smile widens. "good," she says, pulling you closer. "because i think i like being seen by you."

the late afternoon light paints everything gold, and you think about reaching for your camera. but some moments, you realize, are better lived than captured. so instead, you kiss her again, memorizing this feeling with something deeper than film and paper.

after all, the best pictures are the ones we keep in our hearts.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @waitforyrlove @ncm9696 @marrykisskilled @maggot3647 @ifwdominicfike @honeymoonchem @ch6rm @freshloveee @theapollochronicles @mattsdolll @jetaimevous @secretlocket

[turniptitaness]

Yay, thank you for tagging me, @wewringmagicfromtheordinary I love these so much!

Last song: This one...

Love this beautiful human so much.

Favourite colour: Black

Last book: The Bones Beneath My Skin by TJ Klune. Very fun read. Loved the characters. Climax scene made me sob like a little kid who thinks they're lost in the grocery store.

Last show: Finally gave in to peer pressure from my cousins to watch Breaking Bad. Just started season 3. I get the hype.

Sweet, savory, or spicy: Yum.

Relationship: Married to my sweet Caleb. Still can't quite believe he asked me sometimes.

Last thing I googled: "Tom Hiddleston birthday", because I was afraid I'd missed it. (I didn't, it's today, happy birthday, Tom.)

Current obsession: Thomas Hardy's instinctive understanding of complex psychological concepts, and how he was able to express them in his novels.

Looking forward to: Going to see Hamilton live next week!!!!!

Open tags today, because my social anxiety is absolutely raging, and I don't really feel like battling it. But yeah, y'all know I'd love to see what you're up to, so consider yourself invited!

thank you @slashsleuth for the tag 😁 i havent done a little game in a long time

last song: fruit roll ups by waterparks

fav color: purple 💜😈💟🪻

last book: the absinthe underground by jamie pacton (it was ok)

last movie: wicked

last tv show: abbott elementary

sweet/savory/spicy: sweet usually

relationship status: single 😊

last thing i googled: the absinthe underground (needed the author lmao) before that it was turbulent waterparks chords

current obsession: ive been watching a lottt of jet lag lately!!! super fun travel show!!

looking forward to: signed parx print coming in the mail today 🫶🏼

tagging: @bergoozter @trashworldblog @outer-space-face @22psyduck :-)

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Ain't That A Lotta Love - Chapter 1

A/N: A new series! I don't really want to give anything away with this one, so I'm just going to say that it's set initially at the time of the 68 Special, Elvis is on set with his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Dorothy, his long-term girlfriend

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: Unconventional relationships, emotional manipulation, foot stuff, use of mama in a sexual context, sub/dom dynamics, praise kink, cum licking, smut.

Elvis tinkles around on the piano for the umpteenth time, starting a tune and then stopping again before it gets to the chorus. His girlfriend frowns at him from her position reclining languorously on the little sofa. Dorothy knows that something is bothering him, but for whatever reason he won't come out and say it. She picks at her nail polish, then lights a cigarette. The smell seems to snap Elvis out of his reverie and he sits up and closes the piano lid with a clunk.

“I think we haveta break up with her.”

“Why's that?” She asks, blowing out a steady plume of smoke and then leaning forward to offer him the cigarette.

He takes it with a sigh, inhaling deeply and savouring the nicotine hit before responding. 

“She’s so needy, Dodo. So clingy. Everywhere I went, she popped up. We gotta… she’s too much, baby.”

“Hmmm.” Dorothy gestures for the return of the cigarette. “Are you sure this isn't just nerves?”

He almost pouts in response. “Nerves?”

“I know this is a lot for you, baby. This whole, Elvis special thingy. She seems the same to me, she’s always been a little needy. Thought you liked it, actually.”

She indulges in another couple of drags before passing the cigarette back. Elvis pauses to think about just quite how needy this girl had been in the past and exactly how much he’d enjoyed it. “I did, baby. But the uh… the fat man was askin’ about her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he inhales deeply. “So she’s gotta go really. It wasn’t so bad when I was jus’ doin’ the movies and she could play with you when I was on set. He barely saw her then. But now… it’s not worth the risk.”

Dorothy sighs. The Colonel is such a pain in the ass. She can’t understand why Elvis won’t ditch him, especially since his great idea for a TV special involves crooning a bunch of Christmas songs, but she knows better than to bring that up again, right now. 

“I guess you’re right.”

Moving from the piano stool to sit next to Dorothy on the sofa, he returns the cigarette for the last time. She finishes it and stubs it out in the large porcelain ashtray next to her. Elvis watches her lovingly, then takes the opportunity to scoot even closer, fixing her with his best puppy-dog eyes. 

“So… you’ve always been so good with her… I jus’ thought, maybe, Dodo…” His head is resting on her chest now, arm around her waist. 

She looks down at him. She knows he’s under a lot of pressure with this special, but it’s not as if this is the first time she’s had to be the bearer of bad news. In fact, the only time Elvis had ever broken up with the other girl was in a fit of rage, which he then tended to send Dorothy to fix for him, once he’d calmed down. 

“You want me to break up with her?” Her arms wrap around him automatically and he nuzzles into her body. 

“Well you’re just so empathetic, baby, and kind and… she’d take it better comin’ from you, don’tcha think?”

Dorothy can’t stop the groan of frustration that comes out of her mouth. “You say this every time, El.”

“Only ‘cause it’s true, Dodo,” he coos, taking her thumb and putting it in his mouth. Completing the look of a totally helpless infant lying in her arms. 

She feels soft for what she's about to say, but it's difficult to be hard when he looks like this. And he knows it. 

“Alright. But on one condition.”

“Anything, baby. You name it.”

“I get to pick the next one. On my own.”

Elvis sucks her thumb and reflects. He doesn’t like the idea of giving up control over something so important, but then again he really doesn’t want to have to tell this girl she’s too needy and he doesn’t want to see her anymore. And Dorothy has good taste. They’ve been together for a long time and he trusts her. 

“Okay.”

Dorothy feels a rush of excitement. She hadn’t been sure he’d agree to her choosing on her own, he was always a bit of a control freak with the girls, but now that he has she’s excited. Finally she can pick someone a little more to her liking. Someone she might have to babysit a little less. 

“Great. Well, I guess I better do it now then. Pull the band-aid off.”

Elvis sits up, moving her thumb and cupping her cheek with his hand, pressing his lips against hers. 

“I love you.”

She tries not to laugh at his obviously transactional declaration of love. 

“I love you too El. See you later.”

She picks her way out of the dressing room and through the guys who are all sitting around on chairs outside. Spotting a couple of faces she doesn't recognise, she makes a mental note to ask Jerry about them tomorrow. Hopefully by the time she's back they'll all have gone home. It's late already, and the fact that they're still here irritates her a little. Wandering across the set she finds the girl she's looking for and suggests they go out someplace for a drink.  

***

The conversation goes about as well as Dorothy had expected it to. There’s a lot of crying and asking why. She tries to be as comforting as she can, but it’s not easy. It’s absolutely draining, if she’s honest, and she can see why Elvis doesn’t want to do it. She stands there, hugging the girl and stroking her hair, and thinks that the next one definitely needs to be a little more emotionally robust than this. Sure, it’s a shame that Elvis Presley and his girlfriend have broken up with you, but at least you had some fun for a while. It’s more than most 20 year olds can say. 

Eventually untangling herself from the mess of limbs and tears, she sends the other girl away in a cab and gets back into her own car, driving back to the studio. To her relief the guys have gone home, although they've left the chairs haphazardly outside. She rolls her eyes, rearranging them so it's actually possible to get into the dressing room. It’s dark when she opens the door, aside from a trail of candles that leads through the first room and into the back one. She can't help cracking a smile at Elvis’ attempt at a romantic apology, though she's convinced it must be a fire hazard. She finds him, looking very pleased with himself, sitting in the middle of the bed wearing nothing but a silken robe. 

“Dodo.”

“El, you're going to burn the studio down,” she tells him with a little tut.

He pouts. “Jus’ tryna say thank you.”

Humming, she puts a lamp on, carefully blowing the candles out.

“How'd it go?” He calls to her, as she finally blows out the last one, on the top of the baby grand.

“Ugh. Well, she cried, she begged, I hugged her, sent her home in a cab with a little cash.” Dorothy doesn’t especially like the last bit, but she’s been persuaded of the merits of breaking up with girls and leaving them with no reason to go to the press. 

“I’m sorry, honey.” He genuinely is sorry. He hates the fact that she has to break up with these girls, but he doesn't see another option.

She wanders back into the room and can't help smirking at him now she's no longer concerned about an imminent blaze. His hair is all tousled and his robe is half way up his thighs. Okay, so maybe having to be the one to do the dirty work is worth it sometimes. 

Kicking her shoes off, she undoes her dress and removes that too, so she’s just standing in her underwear and stockings, looking down at him. Warmth spreads between her legs and she's sure she can see the outline of his excitement too.

“Open your robe,” she instructs, biting her lower lip. “I wanna see you.”

Elvis blushes. “Oh, uh… honey…”

“C’mon now, no need to be bashful with me. I’ve seen it before.”

Even after seven years together, he still feels exposed when he's naked and she's just looking at him. But after what she’s done for him today, he does feel like he owes her. So he undoes the robe and lets it fall open, exposing his already half-hard dick. 

“Mmmmm.” Even after seven years together,  Dorothy still reacts the same way to his dick as she did the first time she saw it. It always makes her mouth water. 

His eyes flick down to her stockinged feet and she notices, knowing exactly what he wants. Sitting on the bed by his hips, she moves her foot so that it presses against his balls. He makes a little noise of approval and she presses a little more. His dick gets noticeably harder. 

“Missed you,” he mumbles. 

He has missed spending time with her like this. The other girls had a habit of getting in the way, since they were always around. That’s probably his fault, but he can’t help it. He loves company, hates to be alone. Sometimes he forgets that he and Dorothy are not the same and assumes she wants someone by her side 24/7 as well. 

She smiles. “What d’you want, pumpkin?”

His blush deepens at the pet name. He hasn’t heard it for a while and he’s missed being called it too. 

“Sooties,” he mumbles again. 

She giggles and shifts so that she's lying beside him, kissing him as her fingers find their way into his hair. He pulls her close, enjoying the skin on skin contact. As she slides her leg between his he starts to roll his hips against her, the friction building a little pleasure already.

“You can rub yourself on my sooties, but no cumming until you’ve made mama cum, hm?” She tells him, as they pull apart. 

He nods quickly, scooting down her body to settle between her legs, adjusting one so that her foot fits just under his dick, her toes against his balls. He’s so intent on getting her foot where he wants it that he completely fails to notice she’s still got her panties on. 

“Goddamnit.”

She giggles again. “You can tear them.”

They’re thin and gauzy and it takes him all of ten seconds to rip them off her. She groans a little at the show of dominance and then groans a little more as he dives into her, tongue licking a stripe up her pussy before settling to draw circles around her clit. 

“Mmmmm, pumpkin.”

She writhes against his mouth, pushing her hips up against him, hands running over her belly, then her breasts, grabbing one as she closes her eyes and savours the pleasure rushing through her body. His hands press her thighs a little further apart as he rolls his hips against the bed, rubbing his dick against her foot, moving the foreskin back and forth. He moans into her pussy at the feeling, his tongue deep inside her now as his nose nudges her clit. The sound vibrates inside her and she squeals with pleasure. Elvis loves it when she squeals. She’s very vocal in bed generally but a squeal is a sign of him doing something very good indeed, and so he keeps rubbing and moaning and pushing his tongue further inside her until her hands are on his head, holding him there as she bucks up against his face. 

“Yes. Fuck, fuck… oh I’m so close pumpkin.”

He can barely breathe at this point, but he can grunt and groan and he keeps doing that until he hears a tell-tale squeal accompanied by her fist slamming into the mattress. 

“Oh, yes! Good boy. Fuuuuck.”

She lets his head go and he gasps for air, but wastes no time chasing his own high; kneeling now, holding her foot against him as he uses his other hand to jack himself off, grunting and groaning.

“Mmmm yes, that's a good boy, cum for me,” Dorothy coos again. She's still breathing hard from her orgasm but her eyes are bright and she's as excited as she always is to see him cum.

She shifts to put her other foot up on his thigh and he shoves his dick between the two of them, delighting in the way her feet squeeze it. 

“Ah…shit…I'm gonna cum…”

He groans again as his release spurts all over her pretty little feet. Letting them go, his head tips back as he moans softly, pleasure buzzing through his veins. Dorothy giggles and shuffles her feet up and down on his thighs. 

“C'mon pumpkin. Lick ‘em clean.”

Prising his eyes open he picks up first one foot and then the other, carefully licking the cum off them and then pressing kisses all over the tops and the soles, reverently.

“Mmm. Thank you, mama.” Lying down next to her in the bed, one arm casually thrown over her belly. “Sorry ‘bout the panties.”

She turns and nuzzles his nose with hers. “S’ok baby, I know you'll buy me more.”

“Course I will.”

They lie there for a while, enjoying the post-coital bliss and the feeling of one another's bodies so close. Dorothy’s mind drifts to the next day. 

“What're you doing tomorrow?”

Pressing a series of lazy kisses to her neck, he tries to force his mind to remember tomorrow's itinerary.

“Rehearsing somethin’ or other. Dance routine or somethin’...” he trails off, going back to his kisses. 

Dorothy smiles. “Sounds like a fun watch.”

“Mmmm.”

“You want me to stay, don't you?” She asks, suddenly. 

He looks up, surprised. “Of course I do, baby. Wanna know what ya think.”

She nods, reassured. “I can't wait to see you up there. Doing what you're supposed to be doing.”

He smiles. Dorothy's faith in him is half the reason he's doing this special in the first place. People might think the other half is because the Colonel wants him doing it, but it's really because of Steve Binder. There's something about his honesty and the seriousness with which he's taken this whole thing which fills Elvis with hope - a feeling that's been sadly lacking from this decade so far. He thinks back to the moment when he decided Steve was someone he could trust - he'd asked where his career was and Steve had just said “in the toilet”. It had been refreshing to hear something so candid. Dorothy could be candid from time to time, but the guys certainly couldn't. As he pulls the covers over the pair of them and turns the light off, he hopes desperately in the dark. Hopes for rebirth, recognition, revelation. Hopes against hope that this special will finally get him back on track.

☆☆☆

Taglist:

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

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[songbirdseung]

older / park jonseong

jongseong tried his best to be the man for you, to be the one you deserved, did everything for you, showed you how much he loved you. but only gets a heartbreak in return. song recommendation: older by conor matthews & universe by thuy

i think it's safe to say that most people find childhood love to be one of the purest and most endearing things. there’s something so innocent about the way two kids can form a bond—stable yet naive, built on nothing but shared laughter, pinky promises, and the simple joy of each other’s company. to the parents watching from the sidelines, it’s heartwarming. seeing their child shower someone else with love, even in the smallest ways, reassures them that they’ve raised a kid who knows how to care, how to cherish. it feels like proof that they’ve done something right.

but on the other side of the argument, there are those who believe young love is nothing more than fleeting foolishness; that kids have no business being in relationships, that they’re too young to grasp what love truly means or to handle the inevitable heartbreak that follows. let children be children, they say.

your parents and jay’s, however, never thought that way. in their eyes, you and jay were something special. two kids who found each other early, who had the rare gift of experiencing love when most were still figuring out friendship. they saw it as a blessing; something rare, something precious. after all, how lucky were you to find someone who made your heart race before you even understood what it meant? someone who, even in your youth, you were certain you could never be without?

but love, as beautiful as it was, had a way of making people blind. and for as much as your parents adored the bond you and jay shared, they also overlooked the dangers of it. because love at that age wasn’t just innocent... it was reckless. it was consuming. it was two kids falling headfirst into something they didn’t fully understand, unable to see the consequences waiting down the road.

how does someone go from being a stranger to becoming your entire world? how does a person you never even noticed suddenly become the only thing occupying your mind? how does someone go from nothing… to everything?

it started small, as most arguments do. just a spark, something barely worth acknowledging... until suddenly, it wasn’t.

"you don't get it," jay huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, brows furrowed in frustration.

"what is there to get?" you shot back, voice sharp, laced with something you didn’t quite understand yet. "you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“it’s not nothing.”

you scoffed, throwing your hands up. “oh, right. because me walking home with someone else one time is apparently the end of the world.”

jay exhaled, looking away, jaw clenched so tightly you swore you could hear his teeth grind. “it’s not about that.”

“then what is it about, jay?”

he hesitated.

you could see the way he was struggling, the way he was trying to find the right words, like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but didn’t know if he should say it. and it frustrated you. the silence, the tension, the fact that you were even fighting in the first place over something so stupid, something that should have never turned into this.

so you pushed.

"i don’t understand why you’re acting like this," you muttered, softer now, but still just as stubborn. "like i did something wrong.”

jay ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands as he exhaled again, slower this time.

"because," he started, finally meeting your eyes, and for the first time since this argument began, he wasn’t just frustrated, he was hurt. "because i was supposed to walk you home."

your breath hitched.

he shook his head, almost like he was mad at himself for even saying it. "because that’s our thing. and then i saw you with him and-” he stopped himself, letting out a dry laugh that didn’t sound anything like him. "never mind. forget it."

but you couldn’t. because suddenly, it wasn’t about walking home with someone else. it wasn’t about something as mundane as that. it was about jay; jay, who always waited for you after school even when it made him late. jay, who never let you walk on the outer side of the sidewalk. jay, who carried your bag when you complained it was too heavy, who always made sure you got home safe, who, without ever needing to say it out loud, cared in a way you didn’t fully realize until now.

it was about something so much bigger than the argument itself.

it was about you and him.

and maybe… maybe that’s why it hurt so much.

what was once love and adoration turned into sour and bitter remnants of a relationship that had once been everything. the easy laughter, the stolen glances, the quiet understanding. it all turned into sharp words, exhausted sighs, and the undeniable ache of something slipping through your fingers.

the final fight wasn’t about something small anymore. it wasn’t a misunderstanding, a fleeting argument over something that would be forgotten by morning. it was everything, years of built-up tension, of unspoken words, of feelings neither of you knew how to handle at such a young age.

"so that's it?" your voice wavered, trying to sound angry, trying to sound like you didn’t care, but failing miserably.

jay's jaw was clenched, hands in fists at his sides. his eyes held that same look they always did whenever you fought; not just frustration, but something deeper. something pained.

"what else do you want me to say?" he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "we're just… we're not us anymore."

the words hit harder than they should have.

because he was right.

you weren’t the same two kids who thought love was just hand-holding and pinky promises. you had changed, grown into versions of yourselves that no longer fit together the way they once did. and maybe, deep down, you knew this was inevitable.

but knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

the next few weeks passed in a blur. apologies left unsaid, memories packed away, and then, just like that, jay was gone.

moved to another state. a clean break.

no chance to fight for it. no chance to fix it.

just distance, silence, and the heavy weight of knowing that what once was everything had turned into nothing but a memory neither of you wanted to hold onto.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

Honestly. If I lost my book, my favorite book,my favorite book gifted to me by my father, my favorite book gifted to me by my father because he said I was the only child of his who could inherit it, I would fucking crash out and be inconsolable for life

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Your pride will be the death of you. Unfortunately I feel you. I'm going to write a song about this

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Girl

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

GIRL STOP YOURE JUMPING INTO LAVA FOR NO FUCKING REASON?????

[...] to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

Stealing this. it's so fucking stupid of her what the fuck

“You always may, wife.”

THE WAY I SCREAMMMMMMMED

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say.

NRJDSJSNN RIZZLER ALERT

Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week.

Not be. Me at cregan after this

This is my cats kitten btw.

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

I would simply cry too. Bestie....

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” [...] “I took your book.” 

🧍‍♀️ he fucking what? I don't... I don't know how I feel... I'm upset ????

While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Let's be broken together

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

HAHAHHAAHAHHHAHA FALSE GODS IS SO FUNNY GOES HARD

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

SKKSJSNSJ SARA GIVE IN TO YOUR PLOT STOP STRESSING UR BROTHER

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

HALA MY STARKS ARE LOVING EACH OTHER I

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

HE SIMPLY APPEARSSSSS JWKKSKSKSKA I WANT HIM I WANT HIMMMM DKKDKDMS

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

BESTIEEEEEE HE WAHHHHAT

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

.... I know that she's emotional and in disbelief but

???? NO BESTIE HE DID IT FOR HIS UNCLE WOULD YOU FUCKING BELIEVE???? GIGGGGILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 DAEMON BEING A GOOD DAD BLUEPRINT MAKES ME SO SOFT DAEMON MY SHAYLAAAAAAA

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

MR DARCYYYYYY?????

IM GLAD THAT SHES FINALLY SPOKEN TO JACEEEE

CRISTIII THIS WAS INCREDIBLE ARE YOU KIDDING MEEE????? IM SO HAPPY SO PROUD OF YOU FOR FINISHING YOUR SERIES. ME SOON TORMENTED SPIRIT PLEASE END FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD SHE STILL GOING

I lovveeee cregan so much I love the surprise so much I LOVE HOW YOU ENDED IT. IM SO SATISFIED. MY PETTY ASS ALL FIGHTS TO HAVE AN ANGST ENDING WHEN THERES ANGST BUT YOU SWAYED ME AND I WANT THEM ONLY TO HAVE FLUFF FOREVER AND EVER AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BECAUSE WHO ELSE COULD DO THAT BUT YOU. AM I SO VERY GREEDY TO ASK MORE? ANYWAY TAG ME NEXT FIC OK OK I LOVE YOU BYE AHHHH

Summer (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

A/N: I can finally wrap up my romcom! Big romantic gesture ahead. Check the masterlist of this series here, if you are new. And to my lovely, lovely readers, thank you for staying wityh me during this madness.

Warnings: My anxious introverted reader being anxious (Shocker) Cregan has self-doubts. Mature language.

YOU ARE HAVING a terrible day. It surprises you because that doesn’t happen as often any longer. Today, you would rather not talk to anyone, much less Cregan, whose hovering would only serve to make you more anxious. Today, you want to crawl under the covers with your comfort book and pretend to be dead. 

Yet, you cannot. Because you can’t find the damn book anywhere. You are sure the compilation of histories of Old Valyria Daemon had given you has to be in your rooms.

You have pulled open all your desk’s drawers, checked the bedside table twice, checked the bed, even beneath it. Not even your chest with linens was spared. It’s nowhere. 

With little choices left, you have begun searching the nursery too, but haven’t quite mastered the courage to search Cregan’s solar. You remember taking the book alongside you to read as you kept him company sometimes, but do not recall leaving it there. 

You feel torn. Cregan and you are getting along now, but you still hesitate going to him with your troubles. Not only you had leftover guilt even though you have both chosen to move on from your rivalry, you also prided yourself on being independent. 

Asking him or anyone for help always makes you feel uncomfortable. You didn’t want others to perceive you as weak. 

Stop. You are being silly, you tell yourself. It’s not like you are about to ask him to solve your life, you only will inquire if he has seen your book. 

Still. What if he thinks less of you for being careless with your things? Or if he thinks you are being overly sentimental to get this worked up over a book? 

Worse, what if he thinks you are accusing him of stealing? 

You let out a groan. You are overthinking. Your bad days often include a lot of anxiety, and today it is a bad day. A terrible one, that will be worse if you don’t find your beloved book. Determined, you march to Cregan’s solar and knock on his door. 

“Aye?” He calls out, northern accent on full display, and you can’t help that your knees get a little weak.

“Cregan? May I come in?” Suddenly, your bravery and determination have deserted you. Your voice comes out squeaky as a mouse. By the Fourteen Flames, to love is to be humbled, it seems. 

“You always may, wife.” You wince at being addressed as such. You suppose it’s a good thing he isn’t calling you by your full title any longer. 

Pushing open the door, you step inside. Cregan is seated on his desk, a frown on his face. He is squinting at some maps, in the way he sometimes does. His frown softens when he sees you, standing on the door. 

“I enjoy how my colors look on you.” Cregan rumbles, a pleased smile forming on his face. Today, you are wearing one of the warmest dresses you own, in a pale gray. It’s made of velvet, and you enjoy how it feels over your skin. You had commissioned it after you arrived at Winterfell, using the generous pocket money that Cregan allowed you. 

You had to give it to the man. No matter how annoying you had been at first, he had never been tight-fisted with your allowance. 

“Thank you.” You feel your cheeks heating up, and fight the urge to fan your face. What you don’t manage to fight is the urge to preen under his gaze. 

Cregan chuckles. You narrow your eyes at him. Is he mocking you? He lifts his hands in surrender, attuned as he is to your moods. 

“Apologies. It’s cute, that’s all.” 

“The dress?” 

“You.” And it’s said with such disarming honesty, you do not know what to say. You search his face, yet his expression is so open, so fond, no hint of mockery can be found. It’s…  Cregan must be thinking of her, for sure. That expression doesn’t mean anything. “What were you here for?”

You clear your throat. 

“Um. I was… I lost my book.” 

“What book?” Cregan asks, shifting his maps aside. He is clearing his desk, you realize. “The one about the conquest?” 

“No, not that one.” Your voice turns shyer still. Secretly, it pleases you that he remembers what you had been reading last week. “It has a brown leather cover and the title is in gold.” 

“The one in High Valyrian?” And his tone is casual. Far too casual. You begin to worry that your book might have met its end. You look him in the eyes, but find little there. Cregan has an impeccable blank face. He gives nothing away. “Check the selves. Maybe it is there.” 

You turn around and begin doing so. But the more titles you check, the more nervous you become. Cregan is an organized man, his books are carefully separated by subject. The servants know to keep to his order, when he rarely leaves them lying around. 

Your book would stand out. You know it. A tight knot of anxiety begins to settle on your stomach. As you reach the lower shelves, you feel tears gathering in your lash line. You cannot believe you are about to cry over a book. 

Cregan will never love you. He will go right back into thinking you are some soft southron, with no spine. No one cries over books. He will think you are ridiculous. 

Despite your back being to him, he seems to sense something is wrong.

“Love? Is everything alright?” 

“I cannot find it.” You whine, losing your battle with the tears. “My book. It’s really important that I find it.” 

You hear him get up, and walk closer to you. He hugs you from behind, holding you to him. 

“Shh… I know. I have been unkind to you.” You are confused about his words, but not enough that you reject the comfort of his embrace. Cregan is warm against your back, and smells faintly of parchment and leather. There is something herbal clinging to his skin, too. His smell and his size make you feel safe. He is tall enough that his form covers yours completely.“I took your book.” 

You flinch. Your hackles begin to rise. Your sadness leaves, clouded by absolute wrath.  

“What?” 

“I wanted to gift you something. It’s being copied by the Maester as we speak. I wanted it to be a surprise, I know how much you love it.” He nuzzles your neck, and it pacifies you slightly. The prospect of a gift entices you, especially if it is a copy of your favorite book. Perhaps Cregan will have it nicely bound.  “I regret it now. Knowing how much you love it, I should have known it would upset you.”

“I wanted to read it today.” You complain, still sad. It has been an awful day for you. “I do not feel so well.” 

“Of course, sweetling.” Cregan drops a kiss to your crown. “I’ll have it delivered to you. Would you mind lending it to me tomorrow? You can recall it anytime during the day if you need it, like now.” 

“Alright.” You whisper, softly. Cregan gathers you in his arms again, and moves the two of you to the loveseat. There, he settles you in his lap. He takes of his cloak and drapes it over you. This way, you are fully surrounded by his warmth and smell.

He calls a servant. True to his word, the book is back in your hands in less than half an hour. You spend the rest of the afternoon reading in his lap. 

Suddenly, your bad day doesn’t seem so bad. 

WHEN HE FEELS like an inconsiderate brute, Cregan tries to think happier thoughts. While grief and self-doubt do not chase him as much as they chase you, he is still a widower with a wife who despised him at first. 

Often, gazing upon Rickon or you is enough to help him feel more settled. More at peace with himself. His son is well adapted enough, he reasons, as he sees him run around the courtyard. You do not despise him, he thinks, as you curl by his side. 

Today, neither is working. Rickon and you are together, a picture that normally would serve to pull him out from his brooding. Of course, since Rickon is on the floor wailing, it isn’t quite working. 

Cregan has a headache. The pain is spreading from his jaw, towards his cheekbones, and from there turning into sharp icicles that feel like they are being stabbed in his skull. 

The day has been long. He had ridden out at dawn to deal with some wildings near Wintertown, and then had to answer his correspondence. The dammed Greens would not stop pestering him to switch sides and hand you over, alternating between threats and flattery. 

As if the Starks were some miserable turncloaks who betrayed their oaths. As if Cregan would just hand over his wife to some usurping cunts. 

The nerve of those Hightowers knew no bounds. What was next? Demanding a Sept be built in Wintertown for those false gods of theirs? 

And if that wasn’t enough to make his day terrible, during the afternoon Cregan had received an outraged Sara. Apparently, for some unknown reason, she had received an offer to become Lady Cerwin And for another unknown reason, it was the most terrible fate. Ever. 

Rickon keeps screaming. He has been that way for a while. Cregan had been alone with him, watching him play on the rug with his blocks, when he had started crying and wouldn’t stop. 

Cregan had tried picking him up, rocking him, walking him back and forth, but nothing helped. One of the servants must have heard and alerted you because you had appeared looking disgruntled.

You had been in the middle of your quiet time, as Cregan enjoyed calling it. Awkward Princesses who hated socializing needed time to recover from hearing petitions during the day. He had realized so when he started teaching you to pass judgement. 

As the time for Cregan to march south to defend your mother’s claim became more imminent, he was giving you more and more responsibilities in Winterfell. That way, you would be prepared to hold the North when he left. Prepared to protect his Kingdom and his son. 

“Tower! Tower!” Rickon wails, as you pick him. Your face is as tired a Cregan feels. His head is heavy. He cannot stand Rickon screaming any longer. By the gods, Cregan is a terrible father. He cannot even calm his son when he needs him. After his many attempts to calm him down were unsuccessful, he had just set him down. 

“What’s the matter, sweet boy?” You ask, holding Rickon close to your heart. Rickon continues to cry. You meet Cregan’s eyes over his son’s head. 

Cregan shrugs. He is unsure of what triggered the tantrum. 

“Shh, all is well. I get overwhelmed too, sometimes.” You say, and Cregan gets the feeling you are talking to him and not to Rickon. “But we can’t rebuild your tower if you are getting all wiggly.”  

This is about the building blocks, Cregan realizes. He feels like a terrible father. A failure. 

Bennard’s words come to mind once more. How can you govern the North if you can’t govern yourself? You failed.

Your swordsmanship is poor, and you still are a pup crying for your parents. You cannot rule. 

He had heard a variation of those words for years, every time he had tried to push his claim. And look, Cregan knows he is not a poor swordsman, and he has tried his best to rule. Men don’t cry, but he does it occasionally. Rarely. His tears never dry out, no matter how old he grows, but it is the only thing of Bennard’s words that came true. That isn’t so bad, is it? 

You have settled on the floor, Rickon on your lap. He still cries, but he has stopped shrieking. You have started building a tower on your own. 

“I think I will place my princess here. And a dragon here.” You explain, as if you are building some great castle. Rickon stares, transfixed by you. Cregan understands the feeling all too well. He remembers the weight of you in his lap, the warmth of your skin against him, your smell. He has been unable to get the memory out of his mind in days. 

It would be pleasant, a session of cuddling with his wife, were it not for the circumstances that lead up to it. All Cregan’s fault. 

“A shame you want to keep crying and won’t help. I suppose I shall have to ask your father to play with me.” Your eyes are coy. You give Cregan a glance, and his lips form a smile despite himself. Of course you would try bribery. 

Of course, it works. Rickon picks up the first block, still sniffling. 

“No! Father isn't a Princess. You are!” 

“You are right, Rickon.” You agree, as if it were the most natural thing. “Silly me. He is a wolf. We should build him a Wolfswood.” 

And so, Rickon forgets his tantrum, settled by your gentle touch and encouraging words. And Cregan’s heart soars. 

“MILADY, LORD STARK wishes for your company.” One of the serving girls says, eyes downcasted. You pause in your perusal of the granary, making a quick note on your ledger. As the Lady of Winterfell, it falls to you to ensure the castle has supplies enough for winter, or so Cregan says. You find the Northern’s obsession with the season a bit much, but considering little grows here, you too would feel better knowing you have enough grain if something happens. 

“Right now?” Considering he had been the one to send you on this errand, it confuses you a little. He must have known taking stock of the granary would take you all day. 

“As soon as you can come. It’s not urgent, but he wishes to see you soon.” 

You feel nerves creep up on you. Cregan never summons you. When he wants your company, he simply appears near you or waits for a meal to invite you to spend time with him. 

You can’t help it. War and grief had frayed your nerves. These days, you feel like everything could be a sign of bad news. 

It’s not urgent, you repeat to yourself. It’s not urgent, it’s not urgent, you chant in your head, but your steps towards the inside of Winterfell are hurried. 

The castle is unusually quiet. The maid guides you to one of the unused wings of the castle, one near Cregan’s rooms. You have never asked, but you know these were the rooms his uncle used to inhabit when trying to usurp him. The man had never dared taking the lord’s rooms from Cregan, lingering near instead, a feeling you understand too well. 

Your husband is a formidable man. You wouldn’t want to cross him, either. 

The serving girl hesitates when the two of you reach a big oaken door. 

“What is it?” You ask her, with a frown. “Why do you linger?”

She doesn’t answer. She simply shoots you a shy smile. Annoyed at her shyness, you push the door open yourself. Your breath catches. 

When you step inside, it is as if you are stepping inside your storybook. The walls are covered with tapestries depicting some of the prettier illustrations, priestesses wearing amethysts, dragons of shining ivory, lovers holding hands. 

The room is decorated in understated creams and golds, the furniture made of the finest woods. Despite the themes of the decoration, it is clearly meant to be a Lady’s solar, even if not attached to your rooms. 

There is a soft, woven carpet that cushions your every step. It is made of pure white fur, to combine tastefully with the rest of the decoration. You can already tell it will feel like heaven on your bare feet, even through your boots. It must have cost a fortune. 

Near two, giant windows, a low table sits. It holds a vase very familiar to you, shaped in the form of a dragon. It is filled with winter roses, though you had seen it before in Dragonstone, full of your mother’s favorite flowers. 

There is a fireplace, as it is customary in almost all the rooms in Winterfell. On its mantle, small toys and mementos from your childhood sit. Near the fireplace, a small sitting area awaits, with comfortable looking armchairs and loveseats, and a low table in which a tea set, painted with Valyrian motives, rests. 

There is a desk in a corner, much bigger than yours, and a small bookshelf, that resembles the layout Cregan has in his own solar. It has sparse books, but all of them are in High Valyrian. Your favorite book has a place of honor, right in the middle of the highest shelf. 

Yet, the true star of the room lies on the back of it. There is a huge round table, like the one from your stories, made of sturdy wood, that resembles the one from the war room from Dragonstone. Not only are the Seven Kingdoms featured, but also Essos, Sothoryos, the Summer Islands and even Great Moraq. Cregan is in the middle of lighting the table, struggling with how one is supposed to do it. 

“How..?” You babble, astonished. To assemble this… You understand now why he had needed your book so many times. The time and care put into building this room, so delightfully whimsical yet honoring your culture at the same time… Your eyes prickle with tears. 

“We can send it back.” Cregan says, alarmed by your tears. “If you…” 

“No!” You say, with an energy that surprises you. You take the candles from his hands and begin lighting the table the proper way. “This is… My home. And my book.”

Cregan’s face is uncharacteristically unsure.

"I hoped it would remind you of where you came from. Of whom you are. A Princess of Dragonstone. My Princess.” 

“You did this… for me?” Your hands tremble as you set the table alight. All the known world, on display for you. In a war table. It is only then that it registers.  

Cregan is willing to go to war for you. Kill in your name. Lay the whole world at your feet.  You have to grip the back of one of the chairs as to not fall down, knees weak. 

“I know you are far from home. And I haven’t… We haven’t always been on the best terms, but you never shied away from your duties. I wanted to give you something that was about you.” 

“I never thought you saw me.” You whisper. “I… I owe you an apology. For everything. For insulting you, when I arrived, for speaking of Lady Arra, for… For not seeing you either, at first.” 

You have been blind, you realize, as you look at your book come to life in this room. The man who had given it to you had shown you that one could form a family with a widow and cherish their sons as if they were your own.

Daemon wasn't a kind man, but he was loyal to family. You were far kinder. If he could do it, and be happy, so could you.

“There is no need to apologize to me.” Cregan gathers you in his arms, and presses a kiss to your lips. His own are chapped from the cold, yet the only thing you feel is his warmth. And for two people as different as winter and summer, you find that your bodies do understand each other. 

It takes Cregan but a week to convince you after that. The first letter you write in your new desk begins as it follows: 

“Dear Jacaerys, I want you to know that I am completely, perfectly, incandescently happy…”

[dyl-z]

Hello! I sent a couple of anon asks a while back about you ranting in the tags and I’m so happy to see you actually do it 🥰 no more anon and I’ve got a question this time😅

Seeing as the AU is named after a Noah Kahan song (great choice btw!) which song would you assign each character in this universe 👀👀

OH MY GOD. Best ask ever I love noah kahan and yapping. (tbh as soon as you told me to yap in the tags I ran with it I love yapping so much it's all I do.) Thank you for giving me to an excuse to listen to every noah kahan song.

Barty: (honeslty every single Noah Kahan song is such Barty core)

Growing Sideways - do I even have to explain. No? well, I am going to. The terrifying ordeal of admitting you need help. This song is just so Barty core, especially in this AU but also it can be applied to so many characters such as Sirius and Remus so this is an honorary Sirius and Remus song as well.

Call Your Mom - Don't imagine this song after Barty's attempted suicide.

Cynic - not even going to explain just listen to the song

Sirius:

Godlight - Don't even need to explain to be honest. Just listen to the song and the first lyric will be so Sirius core that you'll understand.

False Confidence - (MY FAV NK SONG BTW) Even the title is so Sirius core, again this is just one you need to listen to and you'll get it.

Regulus:

Still + Part of Me - Black brother's angst must I say more.

Fear of Water - OK PUN INTENDED BUT ALSO THIS SONG IS SO REGULUS FEARING HIS OWN FEELINGS CORE. (This song is so jegulus in general honestly)

James:

Hollow - Him and his struggles to find himself and leave behind who he thinks everyone else wants him to be.

Busyhead - I hc him as having ADHD so busyhead itself fits him so well but also his fear of his own wants and desires is soooo

Remus:

Howling - ok so obligatory werewolf pun but also this song is sooo Remus core. But also "And I won't admit my parents split when I got sick / But I refuse to be a burden" IS SO REMUS CORE??

Bad Luck - Remus and his issues with substances while he's manic and his guilt about Sirius worrying about him.

Save Me - ok this is so Regulus, Sirius, AND Remus core but I'm putting in under Remus.

Lily:

The View Between Villages (Extended Ver.) - I love Lily angst and idk why but this song has such Lily vibes. Also an honorary Remus song as well, but I see Lily more for some reason. I can't even explain it but it gives such leaving her small-town life behind to make a name for herself.

Evan:

Strawberry Wine - This may be a controversial pick, but this song is so Evan and Rosekiller core. I picture Evan as this wannabe tough guy who doesn't want anyone to know his innermost thoughts, but then he meets Barty and somehow softens him right up. He can't help but let his feelings begin to shine through his tough exterior.

Hurt Somebody - early au Rosekiller need I say more

Dorcas + Marlene:

Sink - DORLENE CORE

Mary:

New Perspective - CHILDHOOD BESTFREINDS MARYLILY.

Peter:

Carlo's song - such a James and Peter friendship song. Just Peter watching James change and lose himself to his fears. (this is also such a Bartylus song)

Xeno: I COULDN'T FIND ONE I LIKED XENO I AM SO SORRY

Pandora:

Young Blood - Pandora who doesn't realize just how badly her childhood fucked her up because she seems well adjusted my love

[gingerbreadcities]

Favourite line: Lucky People, Waterparks

[accirax]

i heard there was a river in the empty sekai

(credits for inspiration and the original go to rice as part of this mv!)

[sulky-cabbage]

The sukugo fight can't get animated any sooner I'm craving sukugo tiktok edits

[lookninjas]

Pick a (probably not actually) Ambient Song From a Bad Description

To be honest, this isn't even really André 3000's fault; I've been trying to build a playlist around one of these songs for a long time, and this just gave me the impetus.

Pick a song, any song! But you only have my bad descriptions to go off. If you're genuinely curious about a song, please shoot me an ask and I will answer you. If you have guesses, I always enjoy those. (If you actually recognize the violent YouTube catharsis song, please let me know -- judging by the video comments it's a surprisingly common experience?)

Poll runs for a week. At the end of the poll, I will make a playlist out of all songs, in order from least votes to most votes. If you would like to hear that playlist, leave a comment or put it in the tags, and I will tag you when the playlist goes up.

And in the meantime, I will be streaming as much ambient as possible to infuse my Black Friday with some kind of sense of calm. And maybe just a little industrial. For the catharsis.

[calamitoustide]

[camellcat]

WTFFF I thought thirteen would be my new girl crush love of my life heart eyes wife you-came-after-twelve-you-must-be-better-than-they're-all-saying bbygirl and then I had to sit down and watch as she told a man who (if he were not a murderer, of course) literally every regeneration before her would've LOVED and FULLY SUPPORTED that "the systems aren't the problem. how people use and exploit the system, that's the problem. people like you" </33333 !?!?

[fishedeyelenz]

People talk about the death of media literacy like it's something new but people have been using Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen as a wedding/funeral/CHURCH song for decades 😰

[brynn-lear]

I never got too deep into enstars but there are days where I miss Mama 😔

[sillyabtmusic]

it may come as a surprise to you all but im thinking about kingdom rn

[top-pleng]

thinking about Pleng and her song that she wrote for wan again 🥺🥺