#miles miller/you

[wildbornsiren]

Kinktober Day 1: Masturbation || Miles Miller/F!Reader.

Day 1: Masturbation.

Summary: After hours Miles seeks relief. 

One shot. 649 words 

Warning: Masturbation, fantasizing. 

Notes: For #kinktober2022. Reminder that these will not have part twos, or continuations. Please follow @wbslibrary​ since tag lists are gone. (I appreciate ya’ll so much but it was stressing me out, and I was worried I’d miss someone). Comments and sharing let me know you love me, likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most. 

The guests had all returned to their rooms, the lobby lights dimmed, in case any late-night travelers stopped in. Miles wiped the counter once more, tucking the rag out of view under the counter. It has been an ordinary day, two rooms filled. One room occupied by a married couple with five rambunctious children in tow, the other room occupied by a woman traveling by herself.

He had been captivated when you walked in, the absolute picture of demure grace, your mouth curving into a small smile as he launched into his sales pitch. After choosing a room in California, he carried your bag to the room. He was acutely aware of the sound of your heels on the pavement behind him, and it took everything in him to offer a smile when you thanked him for showing you to the room. Your fingers brushed his when he handed the key over, and it sent warmth cascading through his body.

You had called once for an extra blanket, and the room was warm when he brought it to you, he lingered in the doorway the soft vanilla of your soap calling to him like a forbidden siren song. You had smiled when he once more assured you that he was at your call.

It was well past midnight when Miles retired to the small room, he called home. Carefully he hung his jacket on the chair, unbuttoning his white shirt, and folding his uniform pants he placed everything together. He sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs, eyes closed going over the events of the day.

The only thing coming to him was your smile. The way your mouth turned just so when you said his name. The softness of your skin burned against his hand, and he swears he can smell vanilla. Miles flushes, feeling the heat spread down his neck and chest. His cock is aching, a damp patch spreading shamefully on the worn cotton of his shorts.

He settles further on the bed, his back against the wall. Hands trembling as he eases the waistband of his shorts down, groaning as the cool air hits heated skin. Miles' flush intensifies when he spits on his hand, wrapping it around his length. He couldn't remember the last time he had done this, something so vulgar -- relying more on the rush of his drug of choice. His cock is so hard and heavy in his hand, the slick of his spit mixing with the pre-cum that beads on the head.

His head tips back, hitting the wall. Eyes closed, breath coming in soft pants. He tightens his grip ever so slightly, thrusting up into his hand. "Please, please..." His voice cracks as he speeds up. The only thing he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears and the slick sound his hand makes as he pumps away.

You voice comes unbidden to his thoughts. The way his name tumbles from your lips, the soft blush on your cheeks when he managed to make eye contact. The pink of your tongue when you had chased the foam from your cappuccino off your lip.

"Feels so good..." Goosebumps rise on his skin as he's chasing a high that he rarely found satisfying. His hips cant upward and he's fucking himself into the fist he's made. He whimpers feeling the spiral of heat in his belly, the tremble in his thighs as he spills over his hand. He pants, looking at the spend coating his hand. He wipes it on the scratchy thin blanket he slept under, curiously licking the missed droplets in his thumb.

Miles tucks himself away, reaching for the T-shirt he slept in, the post orgasm warmth fading from his frame. He gets to his feet gathering up the blanket to take it to the wash before he could rest.

[hederasgarden]

Lewis Pullman Characters Masterlist

Outer Range

Oneshots

My Favorite Mistake (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.8K)

Half the reason you’re in the middle of nowhere Wyoming is because you’ve always been bad at choosing men. You expect Rhett Abbott will be no different.

Show Me The Ropes (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1K)

Rhett’s talents with roping and knot tying translate well in the bedroom.

The Trouble With Books (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.2K)

You and Rhett discover a surprising new kink together.

I’ll Be Your Fantasy (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 2.4K)

Sequel to The Trouble With Books. Rhett helps you play out a new fantasy.

Can’t Keep My Hands To Myself (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 1.5K) Rhett’s a handsy drunk, not that you mind.

Cowboy Trouble (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader x Rip Wheeler | Explicit l 3K)

When your boyfriend loses a game of poker, Rip Wheeler claims a night with you as the reward. 

Drabbles

Take The Weight of Me (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 570)

You go to Rhett when you don’t want to think anymore.

I get on my knees, but it ain’t to pray (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 700)

In the darkness behind the bar, you find yourself on your knees, ready to take everything Rhett has to offer.

Learning to Ride (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 300)

Rhett teaches you the proper way to ride a bull (and him).

Oasis (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Gen l 650)

When you reach your limit, Rhett’s there to help.

Need You Now (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 650)

After the rodeo, Rhett shows you how much he wants you.

Take Me to Heaven (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader x Arvin Russell | Explicit l 700)

If heaven’s a place you’re certain it can be found between Rhett and Arvin.

Take a Breath (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Explicit l 250)

You and Rhett experiment with breathplay.

Hiraeth (Rhett Abbott x OC | Gen | 400)

A strange hole on the Abbott farm upends Mae Collin’s whole world.

Series

Stand By Me Masterlist (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Ongoing | Explicit)

When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbot becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you.

Small Mistakes New Beginnings Masterlist (Rhett Abbott x F!Reader | Ongoing | Explicit)

After you fall pregnant from a one-night stand with Rhett Abbott, both of your lives change forever.

Headcanons

Jealous Rhett

Rhett and Cowboy!Jake Crossover

Being Rhett’s Housewife

Teasing Rhett

Moodboards

Practical Magic AU

Top Gun

One Shots

All The Right Moves (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Gen l 1.8K)

Your day takes a turn for the better when you meet not one but two cute Navy Pilots at the hospital. 

Follow the Leader (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | Explicit l 883)

You and Bob love it when Phoenix takes charge.

Drabbles

Eager to Please (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader | Explicit l 400)

You learn pretty quickly that Bob is eager to please, but he still manages to surprise you with a request. 

Catch a Fallen Star (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader | Mature l 350)

Mermaid!reader x Sailor!Bob. He’s the only survivor from the ship that broke apart on the rocky shores of the island last night. Well, there were others, but your sisters took care of them all too eagerly.

No Wingman Needed  (Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader x Natasha “Phoenix” Trace | General l 700)

When Hangman realizes you like Bob and Phoenix he tries to help.

Headcanons

The day Bob earns his call sign

A night of absolute devotion and attention with Bob

Moodboards

The Astronaut's Wife AU

Bad Times at the El Royale

Oneshots

Little Games (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Explicit l 1.4K)

Miles knows it’s wrong to watch you but he just can’t help himself. 

Saving You (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Mature l 1K)

Miles has done a lot of bad things in his life but saving you isn’t one of them.

Series

You Can Check Out Any Time You Like (Vampire!Miles Miller x F!Reader | Explicit | Ongoing)

Your life changes the night a mysterious stranger rescues you, but you'll soon learn that salvation comes at a deep cost.

Drabbles

Sleeping Beauty (Miles Miller x F!Reader l Explicit l 820)

Sometimes it’s easier for Miles when you’re quiet.

Press Play

The Small Things (Harrison Knott x Plus Size!Librarian!F!Reader | Mature | Ongoing Series)

A chance encounter on the first day of your new job leads to something wonderful and unexpected

♡Main Masterlist♡

[crossthread]

Okay I swear to God I hope the directors of avatar (the alien movie) sees this post somehow but the whole reason the way of water flopped so badly is cause it was written over 10 years ago. So I like avatar. I thought it was a cool concept and good characters and overall a solid action movie. But the characterisation is just a dacade old man. It's really outdated. It instantly turned me off when Jake was seen to be a 'hardass' to his kids, and having them call him Sir, and have Neytiri taking kind of a secondary role as the 'peacekeeper' parent who goes 'but your dad loves you, he just wants you safe' bullshit trope that's just really not what this generation is looking for rn.

Emotionally mature parents is what's on topic rn. Dad's that step up and know what they're doing and don't have the 2000s 'military hardass emotionally distant' bullcrap. Just look at all the other movies and shows with family themes that did really fucking well. The Last of Us. Ultraman: Rising. Nimona. Even Maleficent, which I think is one of the earliest movies of this trope that's well known. They did well for a reason. You can't make Jake Sully a bad father and think the current audience will dig it. All of his kids, one way or another felt the pressure of living up to their dad's expectations, and im sure, whether he really loves them. And I assure you for all intents and purposes it felt like Neteyam died thinking he wasnt enough. You can't have those 'your dad loves you but he just doesn't know how to show it' bullshit anymore and expect the audience to like or even relate to that character cause a lot of us don't take that shit anymore from our own parents. A lot of millennials are actively trying to be present and good parents to their kids. So yeah. The way Jake Sully, and to a certain extent, Neytiri were characterised is probably one of the biggest reasons this entire movie flopped. It could have been great. But it isn't. And I kind of hate it actually.

My point is: if there's gonna be a third movie, the best bet to make sure it doesn't follow the way of waters footsteps is to overhaul a lot of the characterisation and plot. See what the audience wants rn, and what they audience relates to. It was clear the writing to that movie was old as balls and gen z or gen alpha don't take that shit man. Give us good parents

Edit: okay as someone pointed it out it wasn't actually a 'flop' flop because they grossed by over a billion or smth in the box office I think but to be fair half this post has been sitting in my drafts for like 2 years and I wrote this soon after I watched it back then, and a LOT of people werent that happy with it. But yall know what I mean. I waited for this movie for 10 years and all I felt was this low simmering disappointment because it could have been so good, but it wasn't.

[delopsia]

What it feels like to date Lewis Pullman's characters, but it's described using specific experiences.

Ingredients: ✰ Robert "Bob" Floyd, Rhett Abbott, Miles Miller, Major Major, and Harrison Knott. Warning: Contains mentions of food and vague PTSD references.

Robert "Bob" Floyd: Stuttered hello's and gazes trained on the floor. Sneaking out of social events in favor of quiet walks on the beach that end in being chased by an upset crustacean. The strum of a guitar as he plays you your favorite song. Shy smiles and binging movies. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch and gradually scooting closer until someone works up the nerve to rest their head on the others shoulder. Afternoon naps together and dramatic yawns until the other gets the idea.

Foggy glasses, niche fandom references, and inside jokes only you understand. Matching necklaces and otter plushes. Date nights to aquariums and zoos and sanctuaries. Borderline swearing and giggling at his poorly swapped words because he's afraid to say 'fuck'. Sharing embarrassing stories to cheer each other up. Always walking hand in hand. Kisses on cheeks and bear hugs that nearly swallow you whole.

Rhett Abbott: Wayward glances from across the bar and taking his hat off when he introduces himself to you. Spurs jingling as he walks you to his truck and him running ahead to hold the door for you. Watching him search for you in the crowd. Adrenaline-filled kisses that knock you off your feet. Greedily squeezing his biceps and hoping he doesn't catch onto you. Splitting gas station snacks and stopping by to see you while he's running errands. Kissing his bruised knuckles after a bar fight.

Putting his hat on your head and watching the way his eyes darken. Late-night drives and horseback rides across the ranch. Late-night conversations in the bed of his truck. A scruffy cheek squishing against yours to make you laugh. Dancing in the light of his headlights. Staying up late to listen to the thunderstorm rage on. Sleeping on each other's chests and stories about old scars. Matching necklaces and cowboy hats.

Miles Miller: Batting his eyelashes at you and forgetting to say hello. Glances out of corners of eyes and panicking when your eyes meet. Covering his ears during holiday fireworks and shaky hugs after an unexpected loud noise. Matching rings when you start dating. Carnival dates, stealing bites of each other's snacks, and buying a plushie from the store because neither of you could win the games. Sharing books and cozy sweaters. Rubbing your noses together when even kisses feel like too much for him to handle.

Pressing cold feet against each other in bed and giggling when the other yelps. Dissolving into tears over kisses against scars and bearing painful insecurities, all for the other to see. Sucking on butterscotch and seeing who can blow the biggest bubblegum bubble. Open-mouthed kisses across skin and whispering the things you love about each other. Snuggling him because he drank a milkshake, knowing his tummy would get upset later.

Major Major: Lingering glances at each other's lips, heads gravitating closer and closer, too shy to make the first move. Brushes of his hand against yours while you walk together. Knick knacks left on the dash of your car and in the crevices of your home, made just for you. Blurted Iloveyou's and frantic text messages that ask you on a date and the immediate panic that ensues. Him always seeking permission before touching you. Unprovoked compliments and nearly fleeing the room after.

Wide-eyed kisses. Shaky apologies for the hands that have landed on your waist. Matching sock collections and joining him on the floor when he's too nervous to get in bed with you. A handmade ship in a bottle with two little stick-men that resemble you and him. Fingers walking across naked skin. Fighting each other with action figures and fake swords. Toying with your fingers and his jaw dropping every time he lays eyes on you.

Harrison Knott: Being late to your destination and running right smack into each other. Frantic apologies after telling a really bad joke. Sand in your clothes and owning too many sandals to count. Custom Spotify playlists, homemade cassette mix tapes, and collecting CDs at yard sales. Taking polaroids of each other on dates and swearing at the seagulls who snatch your food from your hands. Shameless matching outfits.

Sitting in his lap at a bonfire and feeling his eyes rake over your frame the entire time. Sticking bows from gifts on each other. Deep sea fishing and getting seasick midway through. Him rolling on top of you to keep you from getting up in the morning. Late night skinny dipping and falling into the backseat. Big hands drawing you in for kisses when the whole world is watching.

[gingermintpepper]

hi, i haven't read the iliad and the odyssey but want to - do u have a specific translation you recommend? the emily wilson one has been going around bc, y'know, first female translator of the iliad and odyssey into english, but i was wondering on if you had Thoughts

Hi anon! Sorry for the somewhat late response and I'm glad you trust me with recommendations! Full, disclosure, I am somewhat of a traditionalist when it comes to translations of the source text of the Iliad + Odyssey combo wombo, which means I tend to prefer closeness in literal verbiage over interpretation of the poetic form of these epics - for that reason, my personal preferred versions of the Odyssey and Iliad both are Robert Fitzgerald's. Because both of these translations (and his Aeneid!) were done some 50+ years ago (63 for his original Odyssey tl, 50 flat for his Iliad and 40 for his Aeneid) the English itself can be a bit difficult to read and the syntax can get confusing in a lot of places, so despite my personal preferences, I wouldn't recommend it for someone who is looking to experience the Iliad + Odyssey for the very first time.

For an absolute beginner, someone who has tried to read one or both of these epics but couldn't get into it or someone who has a lot of difficulty with concentrating on poetry or long, winding bits of prose, I fully and wholeheartedly recommend Wilson's translation! See, the genius of Emily Wilson's Iliad + Odyssey isn't that she's a woman who's translated these classics, it's that she's a poet who's adapted the greek traditional poetic form of dactylic hexameter into the english traditional poetic form of iambic pentameter. That alone goes a very very long way to making these poems feel more digestible and approachable - iambic pentameter is simply extremely comfortable and natural for native english speakers' brains and the general briskness of her verbiage helps a lot in getting through a lot of the problem books that people usually drop the Iliad or Odyssey in like Book 2 of the Iliad or Book 4 of the Odyssey. I think it's a wonderful starting point that allows people to familiarise themselves with the source text before deciding if they want to dig deeper - personally, researching Wilson's translation choices alone is a massive rabbit hole that is worth getting into LOL.

The happy medium between Fitzgerald's somewhat archaic but precise syntax and Wilson's comfortable meter but occasionally less detailled account is Robert Fagles' Iliad + Odyssey. Now, full disclosure, I detest how Fagles handles epithets in both of his versions, I think they're far too subtle which is something he himself has talked at length about in his translation notes, but for everything else - I'd consider his translations the most well rounded of english adaptations of this text in recent memory. They're accurate but written in plain English, they're descriptive and detailled without sacrificing a comfortable meter and, perhaps most importantly, they're very accessible for native english speaking audiences to approach and interact with. I've annotated my Fagles' volumes of these books to heaven and back because I'm deeply interested in a lot of the translation decisions made, but I also have to specifically compliment his ability to capture nuance in the characters' of these poems in a way I don't often see. He managed to adapt the ambivalence of ancient greek morality in a way I scarcely see and that probably has a hand in why I keep coming back to his translations.

Now, I know this wasn't much of a direct recommendation but as I do not know you personally, dear anon, I can't much make a direct recommendation to a version that would best appeal to your style of reading. Ideally, I'd recommend that you read and enjoy all three! But, presuming that you are a normal person, I suggest picking which one is most applicable for you. I hope this helps! 🥰

[sebsxphia]

miles miller x reader. | drabble.

￫ warnings: mentions of sex.

￫ authors notes: my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

after you and miles left the el royale, he didn’t feel comfortable staying in many motels after that. he couldn’t trust them after what he saw went on behind his walls, or what “management” made him do. yet still, he wanted to experience some form of comfort and hospitality that these places often advertised. he wanted to fuck you in a motel bed and experience that same sort of thrill that he saw time and time again, from the odd innocent couple that came to stay at the el royale. he scouted out motels and saved up enough money for months. he wanted it to be perfect and finally, he came across a secluded vacation home. it was a stand-alone property, but it still had the feel of an upscale motel. it even had a heart-shaped, pastel pink tiled jacuzzi.

anyone else may have thought it odd to embrace the similar environment of a place that caused you so much grief, but miles wanted this. in the early days of his career at the el royale, it wasn’t bad. there was stability and good hearted people who simply wanted a place to lay their head for the night. it was good and it was safe, and miles wanted to recreate this with you.

he now had you sprawled out underneath him, on the guest bed in your vacation home. he was softly uttering sinfully sweet sayings into your ear and he felt confident and at ease that no one was listening in, or recording his devotion of utter love for you.

[aromanticgarbage]

The whole joji - filthy frank wiki debacle.

[haveyouseenthis2023film]

Summary: Miles Morales returns for the next chapter of the Oscar®-winning Spider-Verse saga, an epic adventure that will transport Brooklyn's full-time, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man across the Multiverse to join forces with Gwen Stacy and a new team of Spider-People to face off with a villain more powerful than anything they have ever encountered.

Release Date: June 2, 2023

Director: Joaquim Dos Santos, Kemp Powers, and Justin K. Thompson

Rating: PG

Everyone and their 5th cousin has likely seen this movie, or so it seems, but if you’ve managed to avoid it, you should definitely go watch it! It lives up to the hype and is an amazing sequel, amazing animated film, amazing superhero film, amazing Spider-Man film, and amazing film in general!

reblog for larger sample size :)

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Down the Rabbit Hole at the El Royale

A/N: Have I had this plot line rolling around in my head since I saw Bad Times in theaters years ago? Yes. Do I know this will get like twelve notes? Also yes. But I liked writing it. So, maybe you guys will enjoy reading it.  Pairing: Miles Miller/F!Reader Word Count: 5.4k

Trigger Warnings: violence, organized crime, drug-use, war, murder—please do not read if any of this will upset you!

Summary: Five times Miles is excited to see you and the one time he wished he never met you OR a mysterious woman walks into the El Royale.

The first time Miles saw you, he had thought you were some sort of silver screen starlet, lost on her way to California. You walked in and pulled the silk scarf from around your hair before shoving it into the pocket of your coat. After filling a cup of coffee and grabbing one of the small packets of sugar and creamer, you walked to the front desk with a breezy smile that waned the smallest bit when you spotted him behind the desk.

“You’re new,” you said. It wasn’t a question. Your (pretty) eyes tracked to the nametag on his chest and nodded, as if his name suited him. Before he could say anything else, you placed a crisp ten dollar bill beneath the coffee and slid it toward him. “You look like you could use it.”

Heat tracked up Miles’ cheeks as he shyly took the cup and set it beneath the counter. He’d happily drink it later. “Let me get you your change,” he said, looking away, sure he could start a fire with the warmth burning on his face.

“Oh, get yourself a piece of pie with it. You look like a cherry guy. Am I right?” Leaning over the counter with another smile, Miles could smell your expensive perfume. Light and floral.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I do like it.”

That earned him a laugh as you leaned back. “Good. The guy before you liked pecan and only pecan. No taste whatsoever.”

You were distracting and beautiful and around his age, if he was willing to bet. And a repeat customer, apparently. He didn’t even need to tell you to sign the ledger before you asked for Room 3 in Nevada. You had the cash ready and you waved to him as you left, your high heels tapping lightly on the well-worn carpet before you disappeared. Miles waited for just a moment before grabbing at the ledger just to see your name. And there it was, just beneath the couple who had checked in two days ago.

Carole Lewis. He didn’t think the name suited you.

And then the phone in the back office rang. Miles was quick to answer it, already knowing what the low voice on the other end was going to ask. “Room 3. Nevada.” The line went dead before he could say anything. It always did. But just this once, Miles wanted to ask what you could possibly be doing to warrant being recorded. Maybe you actually were a starlet. Either way, Miles dragged his feet down the dark hallway and toward Room 3 and set a new reel in the camera pointed at your room. As the camera started to whirl, Miles let himself one moment of selfishness.

Just this once, just for a little, he wanted to look, too.

You opened your pristine suitcase and took out a small briefcase and set it on the small nightstand. You frowned, perfect lips pulling down at the corners before you glanced at the mirror as if feeling Miles’ stare. Then you moved the small bag on the nightstand just a fraction; making sure the broad side of it was tilted. As your fingers drifted across the case’s locks, your mouth twisted to the side and Miles would swear he saw tears in your eyes.

You were gone in the morning. The only trace of you was the faintest trace of your perfume in the air of your untouched room. The key to room 3 was tucked neatly back into the cupboard behind the desk as if you had never checked in at all.

**

The second time Miles saw you came a handful of weeks later. He had been expecting literally anyone else when he heard the front desk bell ding. But there you stood, just as beautiful as last time, with dangling diamond earrings and that same floral perfume. You also had a cup of coffee and a slice of pie from the machine for him. “I see you’re keeping the old place in good shape,” you said, with a smile. There was another ten dollar bill under the coffee. “I was a little worried they’d run you off.”

“Not yet,” he said, voice softer than he intended.

“Good. I’m selfishly happy I get to see a familiar face.” Your smile widened just a fraction and you once again asked for Room 3 in Nevada, handing over more cash for your stay. And he was once again tasked with setting up the camera outside your room. Again, you set a small briefcase on the nightstand and angled it strangely before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The tiny skirt of your dress rode up the slightest bit and Miles had to pull his eyes away from the long expanse of skin just on the other side of the glass.

That night, when he checked in a man and woman who were definitely married and not to each other, he checked the ledger. You had signed Dr. Mouse. He barely had the other couple out of the lobby before he saw your car, a powder blue Mercedes, roll out of the parking lot. When he went, selfishly–again, to check the camera pointed at your room, the small briefcase had been left behind. When he went to “clean” your room the next day, it was gone.

You had your secrets, too.

**

The third time Miles saw you came during the last snowfall of the season. It had been a few months since you had vanished from your room again and it seemed the months had brought you trouble. The familiar silk scarf and oversized sunglasses did little to disguise the swelling of your cheek and the cut he saw arcing over your brow. Your knuckles were wrapped beneath your gloves that you tucked into your thick coat’s pockets so you could hand over the money for the room.

“Still want Room 3?”

You smiled; it wasn’t as wide. Probably to avoid opening up the split on your lip. “You’re so good to me, Miles.”

He blushed and turned to grab the key, trying to ignore how his heart was inching its way up his throat. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, the points of the Nevada keyring digging into his palm. “Is there anything I can-”

“You wanna know what happened?” You asked, looking at him over the edge of your sunglasses as he gave a jerky nod. Humming, you took the key from him and stood straight. “I hit something stupid.”

Yes. You had secrets. Miles was abundantly aware of that when he watched you sign “J. Abberwock.” He watched you walk away, another question on his tongue but he held back. He’d already overstepped. And he was sure he was going to be asked to spy on you again. He knew it. But when you paused at the door and turned back to him, he still hoped that you would say something. Anything.

“I may need a bit of cherry pie tonight. Want to join me?”

The phone rang in the back office but for the first time, Miles let it get to the second ring. “I-I’d like that.”

“Good. See you in an hour.” And, as promised, you appeared an hour later and bought several slices of cherry pie and a cup of coffee of Miles.

“None for you?” He asked as you pushed the cup toward him.

“I can’t stand the taste of it. But I’m sure you have a long night ahead of you.” You had taken off the scarf and sunglasses and the dim light of the hotel’s empty lounge only served to exacerbate your injuries to Miles’ eye. But, as you steered the conversation toward television shows and then toward music and the other guests you had encountered at the rundown hotel, Miles couldn’t bring himself to ask again. He understood needing an escape.

You were funny. And smart. And kind. And had the terrible and wonderful habit of touching the back of Miles’ hand whenever he made you laugh. His poor heart nearly hopped out of his chest when you reached up to push an errant strand of his hair off his forehead when he was telling you a story of a drunk groom who had run away from his wedding a few counties over. The words stalled on his tongue for a moment as your gentle fingers swept across his skin before you tilted your head to the side, wordlessly allowing him to continue with his story.

“You ever think about it?” You asked as he finished.

“What?”

“Getting married. With a face like that, I’d be surprised if you don’t have a string of broken hearts in your wake.” You giggled at the blush you coaxed out of him.

“N-no. I mean, one day. Maybe.” He wanted that. He wanted a different life outside the hotel. He wanted someone to tell his secrets and sins to and hear theirs in return. He wanted to love and be loved. And your pretty eyes always seemed to take center stage in those fantasies.

You hummed around your next bite of cherry pie, licking your lips free of the sticky red sweet. “I could see it. You’d make a handsome groom—a better husband than most have these days.”

“And you?” He asked quietly, half hoping half dreading your answer. “Do you want to get married?”

You sighed. “Maybe. One day. Hard to do in my line of work.”

And before he could stop himself, Miles asked, “what do you do?”

Your smile was all teeth. It reminded Miles of one of the coyotes that had stepped into a trap on his family’s farm back in Indiana. “I’m a transport specialist, of sorts.”

Miles didn’t think transporting anything was supposed to be dangerous. But then again, hotel desk clerks usually didn’t have to send reels of film off to a post office box for things he wasn’t allowed to ask about—so, maybe you had another thing in common. And, when Miles felt sleep finally start to wash over him as the needle rolled out of his grip, he could only think of how soft your touch had been.

**

The fourth time Miles saw you was over a year later. He had nearly given up on seeing you again after that late night talk. He knew it was ridiculous. He hardly knew you. He didn’t even know your real name and he hated how long it took him to realize you’d always signed in with some sort of Alice in Wonderland pseudonym. But that did not stop his mind from conjuring your face, both bruised and unblemished, when it hazed with drug-induced sleep.

You had made a mark on him, for better or for worse.

And when you walked in on a cool Spring evening, Miles couldn’t hold it against you. You were wearing another short dress; your boots, shiny and probably expensive, made little noise as you crossed the lobby to lean across the desk again, and your smile was just as bright as he remembered. “Hey, stranger.”

And that was it. Miles found himself sitting across from you at the same booth you’d occupied last time, sharing a rhubarb pie because the machine was out of cherry. Neither of you seemed to mind. And it was you who brought up your absence. “Had to take a few jobs on the east coast for a bit.”

“Was there less stupid for you to hit out there?”

You snorted and halfheartedly whacked his arm. “Plenty of stupid on the east coast. Just a different kind. But there were no Miles Millers on the east coast so it was decidedly less fun.”

A familiar warmth bloomed in Miles’ cheeks as he stabbed at the remnants of the pie with his fork. “You’re makin’ fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you said, earnest and honest as your hand settled over his on the table. “I missed you. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

Miles looked up at you again. The low light was making your eyes sparkle and he could still smell your perfume. And maybe Miles could be brave again. “I missed you, too.”

Your answering smile was dazzling. And you just kept smiling at him as you continued to trade stories of your lives. Yours seemed decidedly more exciting, even if he would wager that you were only telling him half of it, but you were just as interested in what he told you, too. The stories about rowdy guests, of the food delivery men being caught eating half his promised delivery, all of it. Any of it. Just to keep that smile on your face. But the third time he yawned just before midnight, you were the one to suggest him going to bed.

“Will you be here in the morning?” He just wanted to see you in the light of the morning. Just once. Just to know you were near for the night. Another bit of selfishness.

You gave him another smile. “Maybe, Miles. Maybe.”

He thought about your smile as he watched you walk away. He thought about your smile as he shucked his ill-fitting blazer and grabbed the familiar bag and needles rattled in his drawer. He thought about it as his body sagged, veins thrumming. It was the last thought he had before sleep finally claimed him. You and your pretty smile.

“You are a good man, Miles Miller,” a voice whispered to him. A warm hand pressed against his cheek as his eyes fluttered open. This was a nice dream. It was you, sitting on the edge of his makeshift bed, so close he could smell your perfume. Yes, this was a nice dream. Your skillful fingers carefully took the needle from his arm and undid the tourniquet before pressing your fine silk scarf to the crux of his elbow.

“Pretty…” He murmured, the syllables slow like molasses on his tongue.

You pulled the threadbare blanket over him and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. “You deserve more than this. Good, sweet man.” Then, with a press of your beautiful lips against his temple, you were gone.

Miles woke the next morning and felt his eyes sting with tears as he saw the blood speckled bit of silk crumpled beneath his arm. It hadn’t been a dream. He walked on unsteady feet down the dark, familiar hallway to Nevada 3 and his entire body sagged when he saw the familiar sight of your still-neatly made bed. You were gone. Again. A flash of pink caught his eye and Miles turned, heart in his throat.

See you soon!

You’d written it backward, in your lipstick, just out of frame of the camera in the corner of the mirror. This was for Miles. Just for Miles. You knew about the cameras and you didn’t care. And you said you would see him again soon. Miles let himself smile as he loaded up the film. You’d see him soon. He glanced at the ledger and saw you had signed in as Kat Cheshire.

**

Miles wished the leap of his heart was out of joy when he saw you for the fifth time. But it wasn’t. You stumbled in, hand pressed to your stomach but Miles could still see the blooming crimson on your pretty white blouse. He threw the desk open and grabbed at your sides, ignoring your pained hiss as he dragged you back into the maintenance closet and let you crumple onto his unmade bed before grabbing at towels and a bottle of antiseptic. You were quiet as he set to work, barely a grunt of pain as he started to stem the bleeding before dumping half the bottle of antiseptic on the wound.

“Bullet or knife?” He asked.

“Knife.” A grimace marred your features as your head tipped back. “Lousy aim. Doesn’t feel like they hit anything important.”

“This happen often enough for you to know that?” He asked. But he could already see the scars twisting up and down your torso.

“Something like that,” you said from between gritted teeth. “And what about you, huh? Where’d you learn to do this?” Your pretty eyes were unfocused but still trained on him.

“The war,” he whispered after a long stretch.

And you only hummed. “Bet it taught you a lot of things you shouldn’t’ve had to learn.”

Miles couldn’t look at you, only peeling the towel back for a moment to make sure the bleeding had at least slowed to a trickle. “Do you know how to sew this shut?”

You nodded as your hand covered his on the towel. “My Grammy would whoop me for the shit knots, but I know how to make sure it’s closed.” The following laugh had an extra bit of blood pooling in the towel.

Someone hit the bell out on the desk but Miles didn’t budge from your side. At least, not until the toe of your expensive shoe nudged against his knee. “Go. I got this.”

“Not gonna disappear on me this time?”

And you fucking smiled. “Not this time.”

The entire time Miles gave his speech to a man who looked suspiciously like a congressman and two women who weren’t his wife, his mind was on you. You in his room with a needle and floss digging into your skin. You in his room and surrounded by a few of his deepest shames. You in his room.

Your smile seemed a little less strained when he finally handed over the key to the honeymoon suite and hurried back to you. He knew the phone would ring in a moment, it always did with guests like that. And you were here, too. It would be a two camera night. But that didn’t matter right now.

You did.

And he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you stood near his rumpled bed. Your blood stained blouse was open now; he could see the twisted loops of the stitches you had sewn and how blood had soaked into the band of your pretty pink bra. “Can I have Room 3, again, please?”

The phone rang.

An hour later, you were back in the lobby in a new shirt and a familiar sparkle in your eye as you leaned against the front desk. Two slices of cherry pie were pushed in his direction. “I think I owe you a bit of an explanation.” For the first time, your smile was timid. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

The pair of you spoke for hours. Hours. He told you everything he could. Everything he had buried. Everything he carried. And you told him just the same. It had been a pair of cruel twists of fate for both of you to fall into your lines of work. Miles had needed a job, something quiet and stable after the war had ripped him apart. Management had preyed on that, knowing he needed this job. And you had come from the wrong side of the tracks and witnessed something you shouldn’t have. You cut a deal, work for them and make more money than you could have ever dreamed of or take a short trip in the back of a van. It was an easy decision. And you were good at it: making sure people paid what they ��promised’ and delivering it to places like the El Royale where it could be given to the people who were expecting it. Sometimes people needed to be convinced to hand over what they had been told to pay. It wasn’t always money. And you hated knowing that the weight of folded bills differed greatly from…well, other things. The cameras pointed at your room were supposed to be a precaution, to make sure you didn’t take anything from the case and the right person picked it up. Apparently the people Miles worked for knew the people you worked for and had an agreement. Or they were the same people. Neither of you were entirely sure.

“Meeting you has been a silver lining,” you murmured. “You’ve been my bright spot.”

And that was probably one of the saddest and kindest things Miles had ever heard. He had never been anyone’s bright spot. Not since his number was called and he was shipped out. But here you were, in the dim light of the El Royale, holding your secrets up to his like some sort of burnt offering. The song you had picked on the jukebox was coming to a close and Miles almost smiled when you had first picked it, Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” It seemed to suit you. But as the final notes rang out through the lobby, you were quick to skitter back toward the jukebox, steps a little stilted but still graceful. The next song started and you made your way back to him, slowing to a stop in front of him.

You stretched out a hand to him with a growing smile. “Dance with me?”

And Miles couldn’t tell you no. He stood and let your smooth hand slide into his as the other rested against his shoulder. His fingers twitched as he grasped at your waist and started to lead you in a muted type of waltz, still mindful of your injuries.

Then he listened to the lyrics.

And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much… Are you still mine? I need your love…

This was a love song.

Lonely rivers sigh, ‘wait for me, wait for me…’ I’ll be coming home, wait for me…

“This song makes me think of you,” you murmured, face turned away, but he could feel each syllable of it with your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Is that weird?”

“No. No, it isn’t strange.” It was heaven in a sentence. Having you in his arms, surrounded by your perfume and feeling the warmth of you so close…it was heaven.

But the song was short, too short for what Miles wanted. He could have held you forever and the sad look in your eyes as you pulled back made him think you wanted that, too. He could have asked you to stay. Could have asked you to finally finally finally tell him your real name. Could have asked you to dinner. A real dinner—not just pie from the machine. But when your soft lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, all of those questions fizzled to stardust.

“I have to go, Miles. Stay safe for me.”

And then you were gone.

It wasn’t until he was checking out the congressman the next morning that he looked at the ledger. There, in your familiar handwriting, was W. Rabbit.

**

He would never get to learn your name, would he? He would never get to look at you in the morning light. He would never get to smell your perfume again. He would never get to tell you that he couldn’t listen to that song without thinking of you. He would never learn your name. And with the revelation that Father Flynn wasn’t actually a priest, it seemed that Miles wouldn’t be able to do anything he had hoped to do before he died.

Unforgiven and unfulfilled.

But at least you weren’t here. You were safe. Right?

“Found another one!” One of the hippies shouted as the front doors chimed. And there you were, being dragged in, blood and rain soaking you down to the bone. “This one killed-”

“The lady killed someone?” Billy Lee laughed. Laughed. “Are you sure?”

The other hippie nodded and threw you down to the ground beside the unmoving body of Emily Summerspring. “Beat them to death with my tire iron.”

Billy Lee walked over to you and shoved his foot beneath your ribs, turning you over with another laugh. “Aren’t you something else?”

“I’m something else,” you said, words bloated and slow. “And they were lazy. Easy to kill.” That all but smacked the smile off the hippie’s face.

“Tie her up. Put her with the others.”

You were unceremoniously dragged to your feet again and tied to a chair beside Darlene. Your pretty eyes widened as you finally took in Miles’ appearance. “Miles…”

No.

No.

No.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be okay. Miles shook his head, feeling his chin quake with another sting of tears. He didn’t want to see you. Not now. If all your late night talks and pretty smiles meant that you ended up here, now, he wished he had never met you.

“Oh, are we on a first name basis with the bellboy?” Billy Lee asked as he draped himself over your shoulders once the ropes were sufficiently tight. “What’s the story there?”

“Leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t asking you, altar boy.”

You winced as the other man tugged at the dangling diamonds in your ear. “He’s my friend. And he isn’t a fucking bellboy.”

Billy Lee hummed and tugged at your earring again until your ear bled. “No. No, I think there’s something more. Friends don’t look at friends like that, do they, Boots?”

“Nah, I think he’s in love with her. But they haven’t fucked yet,” the youngest of the bunch answered, a southern twang almost softening the crassness of her words. Miles vaguely remembered her name was Rose.

It made Billy Lee laugh. “I think you’re right! There’s so much tension!”

All it did was make Miles’ stomach sink. Was this going to be another game to them? One woman was dead and the hippies seemed intent on having another round. He had already survived one round—would he survive another? Would you?

The room suddenly fell into darkness, the hum of the hotel’s power cutting out on the whim of the raging storm to pitch the group into an unsteady quiet. But as the hippies argued over what to do next and the fake priest and sweet Darlene were roped into the labyrinthine conversation about where the mess of money came from, Miles looked at you. There was a nasty gash at your hairline and the rain water had swept a bit of the blood down your face to stain the collar of your dress. But your eyes were bright and focused on him, too. Despite the absolute bloodbath that was sure to come, you smiled.

Wouldn’t that be the best thing for him to see before he died? Just your pretty smile. He may not get the opportunity to confess, but he got to see you one last time. And hopefully you would be able to walk away from all of this. That was what Miles wanted for you. He wanted you to see the morning light for him.

And Darlene started to sing, “Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch; a long, lonely time…”

Your eyes found Miles’ again and your smile was small this time, a quiet nudge that you remembered the dance you had shared with him to this song. This was your song. And that was all the time he would get to spend with you.

“And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much…”

But he wanted more. He wanted to leave this behind. He wanted to know how it truly felt to be yours, and you could be his. He wanted to know your name.

“Are you still mine-”

Darlene’s beautiful voice halted as Billy Lee spun the roulette table again. “I’ve heard better.”

The game had begun again.

Then everything happened at once. Father Flynn stood and slammed his head into Billy Lee’s face. Two shots were fired, missing their targets, as Flynn and Billy Lee tumbled through one of the fire pits. Darlene shoved herself back, toppling her chair and taking one of the other hippies down, too. Miles flung himself down, managing to crawl toward the safety of the lounge’s wrap around railing.

But where were you?

Miles turned his head and saw the toppled roulette table, the scattered cash, and the gun. And he froze. He couldn’t do it. 123 people already hung on his soul, he couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t. He didn’t even realize he was saying it over and over again, out loud, until Darlene called out to him, kind eyes pleading.

“Miles, help us!”

Fire spilled out from the destroyed fire pits. The hotel was going to burn down.

“I can’t kill no more people,” he muttered, heart in his throat, angry flashes of dead men cycling through his mind.

“How many people have you killed, Miles?”

His next breath stuttered in his throat. “123.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Darlene managed to smile. “It’s all right. You don’t have to kill more people.”

Something settled in his bones with that simple set of sentences. He didn’t have to. There was no superior officer barking orders at him. There was no threat of a court martial. There were no empty promises of bullshit patriotic duty. He had no obligation.

But then you screamed. And Miles moved.

The gun was a familiar weight in his hand as his fingers curled around it and he pulled back the hammer. He watched the man drag you by the hair to stand near Flynn as Billy Lee pointed a shotgun at you both. Aiming was easy. And so was pulling the trigger.

Rose screamed and dove for Billy Lee’s unmoving form, hands framing his face as she sobbed. But Miles hardly heard it as he moved to shoot the other man, and then the woman who had tried to hide behind a lounge couch, before handing the pistol off to Flynn and hurrying to your side. A new bruise was starting to swell on your cheek but you barely acknowledged it as you started to tug at the rope still tying his hands together. He could smell your perfume, tinged with rainwater and blood.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Your deft fingers faltered and your pretty eyes shot to his. “Sweetheart. That’s new.”

A familiar heat crawled up his cheeks. “Y-you never told me your name.”

“Will you still call me sweetheart if I tell you?” The ropes around his wrists fell to heap around your feet. He was free.

“‘Course I will.”

Another one of your smiles lit up your face before it quickly dropped as your hands slammed into Miles’ chest as you shoved him to the side. Before he could ask what you were doing, Rose had leapt at you, knife in hand. You managed to keep the blade from sliding into your stomach as the younger girl seethed. Your arms shook with the effort but you still managed to force her backward, boots sliding across the carpet, until her back hit the dividing wall. Miles didn’t see you move. Didn’t see your hands turn the knife around. Didn’t see you shove one last time. But Rose fell anyway. And didn’t move again.

Everything after that was a blur. Miles hardly remembered you gently pushing him into the passenger side of your car before peeling out of the parking lot as rain continued to lash against the windshield. He hardly remembered the mumbled goodbyes he gave to Flynn and Darlene before they went their separate ways. He hardly remembered how you promised to ‘handle’ management when they were bound to have questions. “They aren’t a fan of hippies either, you know. We’re going to be just fine.”

But Miles remembered the skies clearing and the dark of the night giving way to a lilac dawn just as you slowed to a stop in front of a small church a few hours later. St. Joseph’s Catholic Church — it was written in faded blue paint just above the door.

“I’ll wait out here, okay? Then we can go see this girl I know; she’ll make sure we get all that buckshot out of you.”

An hour later, Miles walked out of the church, soul a little lighter. And there you stood, leaning against your car in the morning light.

Miles stepped to your side and let his hands settle over your hips. Quiet as the wind, you whispered your name. Miles inched his way closer, shoes knocking into yours and making your smile widen the slightest bit. He reached up and gently cupped your face, mindful of your bruising, and was nearly giddy as you pressed further into his grasp. Then slowly, happily, he leaned in. He whispered your name against your lips and kissed you. It sounded right. You felt right. At that moment, Miles knew he’d follow you anywhere. Down any path, any rabbit hole, as long as you were at his side.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

[wildbornsiren]

Playing House || Miles Miller/F!Reader

Playing House Summary: A moment together with Miles.  518 words Female/AFAB reader (established relationship) Warning: canon non-compliance.  Notes:  For @hederasgarden​ who asked for “playing house with Miles” for my reverse birthday event. Comments and reblogs fuel the muses. Likes are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, it’s so appreciated and means the most.  *** Tag list is no more. Please follow @wbslibrary​ ***

You watch the clock, anxious as the minutes tick by. The room was tidy, bed made with fresh sheets, the curtains drawn, lights off except for the ones on the bedside tables, Candles were placed in the middle of the wobbly table, along with a warm dinner. You had changed from your work uniform into a dress, stockings, the seams perfectly aligned along the back of your legs. You wander over to the small bookcase, pulling a record from the collection you’ve built, placing it on the record player, dropping the needle.

Jazz filled the quiet, and you closed your eyes, swaying along with the melody, caught up in a daydream of a smokey bar, and a dark-haired mysterious stranger who sent you a cocktail. You hum along with the tune, startling gently when arms wrap around you from behind. You’re pulled against a solid chest, Miles’ arms tight around your midsection. A gentle kiss lands on the curve of your neck, and you sigh softly, leaning into him. “Welcome home,” you say, hands sliding over his. You smile when his fingers entwine with yours, and you bring your joined hands to your mouth, kissing scarred knuckles. “Hello darling,” his lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice low and gentle. “Did the rest of your shift go well?” He hums softly in response, pulling away only to spin you in time with the song. Miles pulls you close, one hand at the small of your back, the other keeping a light grip on your hand. He smells like coffee and the honey candy he was so fond of. He brushes a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We have guests in Nevada. A nice couple on a weekend getaway, and a young man traveling by himself.” He spins you again, and you crash into his chest, a giggle bubbling up. “Dinner is going to get cold darling,” you kiss his cheek delighted at the slight blush that blooms on his face. He brings your hand to his mouth, kissing the simple gold band on your finger. “Just a minute longer.” He looks at you, and the sheer adoration in his eyes makes your breath hitch. “I’ve spent so long yearning for someone like you, something I thought I’d never have.” “Miles, you deserve the world.” You say softly. This sweet, gentle man looked at you as if you had hung the sun in the sky, held you with such tenderness you swore you would break if he let you go. “I love you so much, I love us, our home.” Keeping a hold on his hand, you lead him over to the table. “I will spend the rest of our days together proving that to you.” You tap his shoulder, and he sinks into the chair. You sit opposite him, placing your hand in his when he offers it. He bows his head, lips moving silently as he prays over the meal. It’s simple food, a simple room, and as you gaze at him from across the table, your heart aches for this moment to last forever. /end

[hederasgarden]

may I request some vampire Miles Miller? you know I love a good damsel in distress or some kinky bondage sex, whatever gets the writing juices flowing

You Can Check Out Any Time You Like | Drabble 6

Pairing: Vampire!Miles Miller x F!Reader Word Count: 265 Rating: Explicit 18+ only. Biting, blood and the general creepiness that comes with vampires plus PIV sex.

Story Masterlist ♡ El Royale Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

When you wake Miles is beside you, his body warm but unnaturally still. It used to unnerve you at first, his lack of breath and movement, but that faded with time and understanding. Now you find comfort in his nearness, in his strength and true nature. There’s a pink hue to his skin and you know he must have left to hunt while you slept.

He hates the compulsion that drives him out each night, but he doesn’t deny the pull anymore. He’s too afraid of repeating what happened after he took you. When the need became too great. 

“Miles,” you whisper, touching his cheek. 

His eyes snap open, otherworldly blue and beautiful. When his lips part you see his fangs, long and white. You shift, body responding to his closeness. 

“You must be hungry,” you tell him. 

He stares, a hint of red in his eyes. You know he hates the men he feeds on, how their blood pollutes his body. 

“It’s alright,” you assure him, rolling onto your back and turning away to bare the side of your throat to him.

He’s on top of you in a blink of an eye, settling between your open thighs. He’s shirtless, only wearing loose cotton pants. You shift and press close to him. He used to shy away but now he moves to eat up the unused space between your bodies. You lift your hips and he pulls down your underwear and shoves his own pants down. He spears into you at the same time his teeth break the skin of your throat. You both groan.

Send me a request

[satoru-is-the-way]

FANDOM

MASTER LIST!

(Aka who I write for )

Avatar

Miles Quaritch x reader ( Given Enougn series)

Given Enough (series!)

Marvel

Tenoch Huerta x Reader

Jimmy Kimmel Show

Remember When

Are You Falling In Love?

Two Is Better Than One

Shame Shorts

Topless

Midnight Rain (Summer Maybe?)

Namor

PLEASE READ THIS it regards Namor x Hispnic/Latino/ Indigenous Reader

The Bath

Comfort

Sacrifice

Sea Goddess

Pregnancy

A Whisper

Oscar Issac

Two Is Better Than One

Moon Knight

Mr Sandman: Part one Part two

(might finish someday)

Benedict Cumberbatch

Stephen Strange

Let Them Go

The One Exception (discontinued)

Reed Richards

Kang

Evil

Last Of Us

Joel Miller

Little Lion Man (Series!)

Tommy Miller

Star Wars

Din Djarin

Only We Know

A Home

Poe Dameron

[lamppost-t]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Intro and request guide ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hi, I'm Lamp!

I'm 18 and fanfic writer, I love writing and post lots of small blurbs when I have time and I love doing requests (mainly because I have writers block), I write both Gn! and Fem!reader (remember to specify before requesting). I love Sanrio, classical writing and films aswell as Music like Jazz and Bossa nova

!things I won't write!

* ˚ ✦ I will not write smut. I'm not very comfortable with writing smut for personal reasons so please refrain from sending requests for smut

* ˚ ✦ I won't write anything creepy like big/inapropriate age gaps, Racism, homophobia, ect

* ˚ ✦ I won't write real people Its not in my comfort Zone!! I will write for their characters :3

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚Characters I write for ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

* ˚ ✦ Miguel O'hara

* ˚ ✦ Miles Morales

* ˚ ✦ Finnick Odair

* ˚ ✦ Peeta Mellark

* ˚ ✦ Ellie Williams

* ˚ ✦ Joel Miller (Platonic)

* ˚ ✦ Poe dameron

* ˚ ✦ Steven grant

* ˚ ✦ Mark Spector

* ˚ ✦ Dick Grayson/Nightwing

* ˚ ✦ Jason Todd/Redhood

* ˚ ✦ Cindy Moon/Silk spider

Masterlist (working on it)

[entomolog-t]

GtWAC Day 1:

Reblog your go to comfort fic

If you have not read The Stranding (and by extension, The Rescue) by the darling @belethlegwen you are deeply missing out! The sheer amount of content is truly a blessing, and considering its still being updated?? ASDFJHSLK

Belle is an incredible story teller, and this shines through in her writing so well I feel like I'm getting flashbanged by talent.

You know that typical writing advice about not introducing too many characters, especially early on as it divides the reader's attention?? BELLE STOMPS ON THAT.

AND

IT

WORKS

I genuinely can't get over how much I am in love with her characters. I must admit- I am the typical reader with one too many bonks to the head that can't seem to focus on/ remember/ care about more than 3-5 characters- that is not the case here.

Every character she introduces has my interest piqued- each one feeling alive and at home in their setting. And its not just likeable in the sense of "oh I'd be friends with them" (and she absolutely has many characters I'd love to be friends with)- its these raw and real characterizations that make you like them as a character.

They have their own mystery to them too- even if its not direct. Her characters make you wonder more about their past and why they act the way they do. They can be frustrating, immature, stubborn, even cruel- but they feel so deeply real.

Both written works from Sizeable Ship Wrecks are among my favorite things I've read- both inside and outside of the G/t sphere to the point I feel as though I could shamelessly recommend this to someone outside of the G/t community and be confident they would enjoy it.

[sebsxphia]

granddaddy, daddy and son <3

[paintsplash1712]

Edit: Please read my reblog and comments. I misunderstood some of the changes and accidentally spread misinformation. Thanks

Lord and Miller are so stupid by deleting some of the most important lines without even realising it from Across the Spider-verse Digital release.

They removed "Nah, Imma do my own thing!" One of the most important lines in the whole movie!

They removed Gwen's panicked "No, No, No!" When she think Miles dies. That was put there for a reason, she got flashbacks to Peter death!

These guys can't stop. They're ruining the movie

Get this movie away from their grubby hands!