#sparkling ✨ summer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

glowettee · 1 month ago

Text

✧ how to reinvent yourself without deleting everything this summer ✧

hey lovelies!! WELCOME TO SUMMER! so i've been obsessing over this idea of reinvention lately... like literally woke up at 3am last night to jot down notes in my phone because my brain wouldn't stop thinking about it?? summer always feels like this dreamy little pocket of time where anything is possible... where you can try on different versions of yourself between iced matcha lattes and sunset walks.

i know we've all been there... that moment when you're scrolling through pinterest at midnight and suddenly you're like "what if i just... became someone else??" (guilty of creating entire secret boards dedicated to my "french girl era" that never actually happened lmao). but the thing is, completely starting over is exhausting?? and honestly kind of impossible unless you're in a witness protection program??

so this post is for my girls who want that reinvention feeling without the whole dramatic disappearing act. because honestly? the you that exists right now is already pretty magical, we're just gonna help her shine in some new ways.

✧ why gentle reinvention just hits different ✧

i had this realization while reorganizing my bookshelf last week (yes, for the third time this month, don't judge me) the most interesting characters aren't the ones who completely transform overnight. they're the ones who slowly evolve, keeping their essence while discovering new facets of themselves.

like, remember in "emma" when she realizes she's been in love with mr. knightley the whole time?? she didn't become a different person, she just finally understood something that was already there. that's the kind of reinvention i'm talking about: the recognition, not rejection, of who you are.

✧ actually magical reinvention tips that feel like character development ✧

digital presence evolution (without the cringe factor)

• create a finsta where you post the aesthetic you're curious about but not ready to commit to (mine started as dark academia but somehow evolved into cottagecore with a side of astrology memes??)

• change your social media bios to describe who you're becoming, not who you've been

• make an email signature that makes you feel like the main character (mine has a tiny moon emoji that literally no one has commented on but makes me happy every time)

• curate a new spotify playlist with songs that feel like your "becoming" soundtrack (tip: add one new song every morning as a little ritual)

• start ending your texts with a new sign-off or emoji (i switched from "x" to "✨" and now my friends get worried if i don't include the sparkle)

• take selfies from a completely different angle than your usual (overhead instead of straight-on changed my LIFE)

tiny identity shifts that nobody notices but YOU

• give a slightly different name at starbucks, not completely different, just a variation that feels like an alter ego (i use "amelia" which is my middle name and it feels like slipping into another dimension for 5 minutes)

• create a secret signature scent combination by layering two perfumes you already own (vanilla + something citrusy has main character energy, trust me)

• change your handwriting slightly, make your y's loopier or dot your i's differently (sounds so minor but feels so intentional)

• develop a subtle personal symbol and incorporate it places only you would notice (i draw tiny stars on the corners of important journal pages)

• start carrying something unexpected in your bag that represents your new era (i have a tiny rose quartz crystal that literally no one knows about)

• choose a "power color" you don't usually wear and incorporate it somewhere small every day (even just as a hair tie or phone background)

space magic that costs zero dollars

• rearrange your room based on the energy you want to create (bed facing the window changed my sleep quality so much??)

• create a tiny altar/intention space somewhere private with objects that represent who you're becoming

• switch up where you do everyday activities (i started doing my skincare routine by the window instead of the bathroom and it feels like a whole spa moment)

• change the scent of your space. different candles, incense, or even just boiling cinnamon sticks on the stove

• put up photos from a completely different phase of your life than what you usually display

• rearrange your books by color or theme instead of author (my shelf organized by "books that made me cry" vs "books that changed my mind" feels so personal)

• sleep on the opposite side of the bed or with your head where your feet usually go (literally changes your dreams, i swear)

style whispers that feel like screams

• start wearing your hair in a completely new way just one day a week (slicked back bun on tuesdays has become apart of my routine)

• change where you wear your everyday jewelry. ankle bracelet instead of wrist, rings on different fingers

• try "dopamine dressing" where you wear something purely because the color makes you happy, not because it "goes" with anything

• experiment with makeup placement rather than buying new products (blush higher on cheekbones or across nose bridge instead of apples of cheeks feels revolutionary)

• wear the "special occasion" clothes on random weekdays

• try to add one unexpected accessory to elevate basic outfits (a silky scarf tied on your bag handle)

• match your nail color to your current emotional goal rather than your outfit (blues for calm, reds for confidence)

routine alchemy that changes everything

• take a completely different route home, even if it's longer

• switch when you shower AND the temperature (night showers ending with 30 seconds of cold water changed my sleep quality)

• read the last page of a book first before starting it (chaotic energy but changes how you perceive the story)

• change where you sit in every familiar setting... different spot on the couch, different chair at the dining table

• set alarms for weird specific times (9:43 instead of 9:45) so you actually notice them

relationship refreshers that feel magical

• respond to texts with voice memos if you usually type (this transformed my friendship with my long-distance bestie)

• ask people completely different questions than usual ("what made you smile today?" instead of "how was your day?")

• suggest a different type of hangout than your usual (art gallery instead of coffee shop, sunrise instead of brunch)

• share something slightly vulnerable if you're usually private (i told my friend about my secret passion for astrology and now we have the best conversations about it)

• write actual handwritten notes to people instead of texting

• create little rituals with friends that feel special

• be the first to suggest plans if you usually wait for others (this tiny shift literally expanded my social circle overnight)

mindset magic that costs nothing

• choose a new word to eliminate from your vocabulary (i stopped saying "sorry" before asking questions)

• pick a new word to deliberately use more (i've been using "delightful" instead of "cool" and it makes ordinary things feel magical)

• create a secret personal holiday that only you celebrate (i have "manuscript monday" where i work on my secret novel for just 20 minutes)

• start a collection of something weird and specific (i collect interesting sugar packets from cafes and it makes every coffee shop visit feel like a treasure hunt + i get to discover new food brands).

i literally started taking a different route to my morning coffee last month and ended up discovering this tiny bookstore that's now my favorite place?? sometimes the smallest detours lead to the biggest discoveries.

the most interesting people aren't completely different versions of themselves every season. they're just constantly evolving.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

p.s. make sure to rest this summer, you're gonna need it <3

732 notes · View notes

lizzyiii · 10 months ago

Text

His Lady Love (6)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC word count | 6.3k words summary | all I'm gonna say is blood and cheese. tags | death, angst/comfort, vampire powers, blood (lots and lots of blood), trauma? aemond and reader can't keep their hands off each other, reader don't play when it comes to helaena, canon divergence note | i still haven't gotten over blood and cheese and phia saban's phenomenal acting in that episode. why is there so many oc fics in the aemond x reader tag (no hate). also contemplating writing for loki and oswald cobblepot (penguin in gotham)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

“I am happy that my mother has let you become my lady-in-waiting,” Helaena murmured, her voice lilting like a gentle breeze.

“As am I, Princess-” you paused before correcting yourself, “My Queen—the presence of the children brings me much comfort.”

“They eagerly anticipate your visits each day,” Helaena replied with a softness in her gaze that seemed to light the room.

Seated beside the young prince Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, whose precocious spirit was beginning to shine, you cast a fond glance at Jaehaerys, who was determinedly practicing his High Valyrian. Leaning closer, you offered him an encouraging smile, “What does this mean, Jaehaerys?”

It had taken some time for your bond with the young prince to flourish. Unlike his sister, who was as lively and eager as a summer’s day, Jaehaerys was quieter, more contemplative. Yet, you noticed that now whenever you attended to your duties for Helaena, while Jaehaera would chatter your ear off cheerfully, her twin would subtly gravitate toward you, seeking comfort as you played delicately with his soft, silver hair.

“Per—perzis ano...anogor?” he stammered, his timid voice breaking the air with a hint of uncertainty.

You couldn’t help but inwardly smile at his effort; the correct pronunciation was “Perzys Anogar.” After five years spent in the sun-kissed lands of Essos, you had perfected the various dialects of High Valyrian to perfection. Yet, your encouragement for the young prince remained unwavering. At just four years old, his intelligence astounded you. “Very good, my sweet prince. And what does it mean?”

“Fire and blood!” Jaehaera exclaimed with unrestrained enthusiasm, hastening to answer before her brother could. Her eyes sparkled with delight, clearly eager to capture your full attention. Jaehaerys shot her a sidelong glance, his lips pressed together in a playful pout, while you directed your gaze to Jaehaera with admiration. “Well done, dear princess.”

"My Queen," came a maid's voice, cutting through the tranquil atmosphere of Helaena's solar. Both you and Helaena shifted your gaze, "Prince Jaehaerys is summoned for his lesson with the Maester."

Helaena, who sat gracefully upon a pile of richly embroidered cushions, her needlework perched delicately in her lap, regarded her son with a tender smile, her serene demeanor offering him encouragement. "Off you go, Jaehaerys," she urged softly.

The small prince nodded earnestly. Before following the maid through the heavy wooden doors he turned to offer you a shy wave, a glimpse of the warmth that sparked beneath his young exterior. As the sound of his footsteps faded into silence, you turned your focus back to Princess Jaehaera, who was nestled in a nearby chair, fixated on the pages of a book filled with tales of dragons and valor, Jaehaerys had been reading. After awhile, your attention shifted as the sound of eager footsteps resonated through Helaena’s solar. You turned to see Aegon striding purposefully toward you and Jaehaera.

"Lady Mikaelson," he acknowledged with a courteous nod, his gaze lingering upon you for an unsettling moment, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine before he redirected his focus to Jaehaera.

“Where is Jaehaerys?” Aegon inquired, a frown settling deeply between his brows, betraying his impatience.

Helaena’s voice was soft as a whisper, yet it held a steady resolve. “Attending his lessons.”

“And those are where?” Aegon pressed, a hint of mockery threading through his tone, forcing back the urge to scoff at his impatience.

Helaena sighed, a delicate sound that barely pierced the air. “What do you need of him?”

Aegon’s lips thinned, “Taking him to the small council,” he announced, straightening his back with lots of fervor, “He'll be king one day, he must begin his instruction.”

With an eye roll barely concealed, you turned to braid Jaehaera's sweet, silver locks, weaving strands as your thoughts tangled around Aegon’s words. Helaena’s brow furrowed slightly, and you caught the hesitation in her voice. “What if he does not wish to be king?”

Aegon’s huff echoed in the chamber, annoyed, as he leaned closer, palms pressing against his knees. “Where is he?”

“In the library,” Helaena replied, her tone tinged with reluctance. “But you must not disturb his custom.”

Aegon, ever dismissive, shrugged off her words and stepped toward the door. Yet he halted when Helaena's voice pierced the silence once more, "I am afraid."

He pivoted on his heel, regarding her with feigned nonchalance. "Don't be. They'd be fools to come with Vhagar protecting the city."

"Not the dragons," Helaena murmured, her gaze dropping to the cold stone floor. "The rats."

Aegon, along with the attendants, followed her gaze, their eyes scanning for any signs of the vermin that might lurk in the shadows.

"The queen is an enduring mystery," Aegon declared, casting a mocking glance at Helaena. "Is she not?"

With that, he departed, leaving a chill in the air. As soon as he crossed the threshold, you rose from your seat and moved to Helaena’s side, offering her a warm smile. "You need not fear the rats; the castle is filled with rat catchers."

Helaena’s frown deepened, her troubled lilac eyes meeting yours as she whispered with conviction, "That is what terrifies me."

Words escaped you, for you understood that Helaena possessed knowledge beyond the grasp of ordinary folk—truths unacknowledged and often dismissed. Instead of voicing your confusion and uncertainty, you simply clasped her hand in yours, offering the silent comfort.

Your gaze shifted, drawn by the soft, deliberate sound of footsteps as they echoed through the confines of Helaena's solar. As you looked up, your heart raced, a rhythmic thudding that quickened with warmth flooding your cheeks and fluttering butterflies stirring restlessly in your stomach. Aemond strode through the door, an unmistakable presence that demanded attention.

It was true what you'd confided to him: you were still a maiden. A maiden, after five centuries of vampiric existence, because how could you interact with any man when Nikaus, Elijah, and Kol perpetually cast watchful shadows over your every move. You recalled a particular moment in 1001 AD, when a reckless infatuation with Tristan de Martel had nearly led you to surrender your maidenhood, only to be halted by Finn’s stern intervention—a chastisement you still felt the sting of.

But Aemond was different. His presence was a siren's call, compelling and irresistible. You had lost yourself in the depths of his gaze, willingly surrendering to the passion that enveloped you, and you never wished to escape the intoxicating spell he wove around you. The ecstasy of your lovemaking had been a revelation, a visceral experience you had never dreamed possible. Despite your initial attempts to keep a distance, Aemond's determination had eroded every barrier you'd erected, and then, as you laid in the warm afterglow of those stolen moments, regret was a distant memory.

In that act, surrounded by pleasure, Aemond had awakened a sense of aliveness within you that you had not felt since you had died. His touch and words made you feel cherished, loved—deep down, you had longed for this connection. Mere days had passed since you had shared that intimate bond, yet every time your eyes met his, unbidden warmth flushed your cheeks anew.

He lingered his gaze on you for what felt like an eternity, an unspoken connection hanging heavily in the air, before directing his attention to Helaena. "Sister," he began, his tone both respectful and confident, "might I steal a moment of Lady Mikaelson's time?"

Helaena glanced between you and Aemond, a subtle spark of understanding dancing in her eyes as she nodded, a gentle smile touching her lips. "Of course, brother."

Rising slowly from your seat, you were acutely aware of the curious gazes from the other ladies in the room. Yet, before you could fully separate yourself from Helaena's side, her hand shot out, delicately grasping your wrist. "Will you come to bid Jaehaerys goodnight before you retire?" Helaena's voice slipped through the air like a delicate melody, inviting yet tinged with uncertainty.

You offered a reassuring nod, your voice soft and warm. "Of course, My Queen."

With that, you turned to Aemond, his patience evident as he awaited your move. As you stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the sound of his footsteps fell steadily in rhythm with yours. Once you had retreated far enough from the safety of Helaena's chambers, you paused and turned to him, your voice laced with curiosity, “What did you wish to—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Aemond's hands cradled your face, pulling you into an unexpected kiss. Surprise rippled through you, manifesting in a soft gasp, but you quickly surrendered to the moment, your lips responding to his with eager warmth. An exhilarating pulse of intimacy washed over you as you opened your mouth, inviting the dance of his tongue with yours, a sweet entanglement that momentarily erased the world around you.

When at last Aemond broke the kiss, his breath came heavy and laden with unspoken emotions, and he pressed his forehead against yours, that mischievous violet eye glinting with resolve. "I plan to go to the small council to announce our betrothal."

Your breath caught in surprise as you took a small step back, trying to comprehend his words. “Betrothal?” The weight of his intentions settled heavily on your heart.

A marriage with him would be folly; he was a prince, destined for heirs and an aging legacy, while you—a vampire—would remain eternally youthfully beautiful, bound to a dead womb. Yet his audacity ignited a spark of indignation in you, prompting a petulant response, “Aemond, you didn’t even ask me.”

A small, infuriating smirk played upon his lips, a faint acknowledgment of your protest. “Will you marry me then?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly. “How very romantic of you.” The gravity of the moment drew your expression into something more serious as you continued, “Aemond, we are bracing ourselves for war—planning a wedding now would be utterly misplaced.”

“It will be a beacon of hope for the smallfolk,” he argued earnestly, the conviction in his voice palpable.

"At the cost of the kingdom’s coin," you countered sharply, your voice laden with reality.

He dismissed your worries with a wave of his hand, as though to sweep away the logic. “Then we’ll have something modest—”

“Aemond,” you chided softly, lifting your hands to cradle his chiseled face. At your delicate touch, he fell silent, his fierce demeanor momentarily quelled. Deep down, you were acutely aware that his determination to wed you would remain unyielding. In a bid to find common ground you decided to offer an empty concession, “Let us marry after the war.”

His solitary violet eye bore into yours, piercing deeper as if seeking to unravel the very essence of your soul. "You swear it," he demanded, his voice a low thrum of intensity.

Inside, a tumult stirred; 'No,' your thoughts whispered, for you could not predict the war's course. The Iron Throne rightfully belonged to Rhaenyra, and the Blacks appeared poised to triumph. Yet, your heart was tethered to the Greens, bound by an affection that defied reason. The weight of it all threatened to crush you, leading you to contemplate escape back to your world, to your family—a choice that would certainly bring Niklaus's wrath upon you.

But with a deep breath, you embraced the moment, nodding serenely as you wove your words into a gentle lie. "I swear it."

Aemond's gaze lingered in your eyes, a moment stretched between you like the fragile threads of fate. As he nodded, a wave of relief washed over you, warm and undeniable. Yet, as if sealing your pact, his lips found yours once more, igniting a tempest within your heart. The weight of your deception pressed heavily upon you, yet you surrendered to the solace of his kiss, seeking refuge in its intoxication.

The kiss deepened, evolving into something more fervent, as Aemond gently ushered you backward until your back met the cold stone wall. His tongue danced with yours, a fierce desire eclipsing the trepidation that lingered in your mind, as if he sought to claim not merely your lips but your very essence.

A sudden noise pricked at your senses, the swift approach of footsteps echoing through the hallway. In a flurry of instinct, you pushed Aemond away just as a servant passed by. The servant’s gaze flicked towards you, then promptly fell to the ground, yet you could almost feel the unspoken thoughts swirling in their mind. A shiver of apprehension ran through you; you knew whispers would soon scatter among the servants like leaves in the wind.

As the footsteps faded into the distance, Aemond clasped your hands, his grip a mix of desperation and longing. "I yearn to be with you again," he mused, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within your core.

"I feel the same," you replied softly, bringing his hands to your lips in a tender gesture, savoring the skin you coveted.

Alas, the moment was fleeting, as the sound of hurried footfalls approached again prompting the two of you to separate once more. Aemond exhaled, a hint of irritation lacing his tone. "And yet, in this castle, we are forever denied our privacy."

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. "What do you propose?"

He paused, a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, before his lips parted to reveal his audacious suggestion. "The Street of Silk."

"Aemond—" you interjected, surprise and concern overtaking your thoughts.

"Calm yourself," he urged, his hands finding their way to your waist, drawing you closer, the warmth of his body burning away your reservations. "We would seek only a room, nothing more. A night enveloped in our own secret, away from prying eyes."

A hesitant sigh escaped your lips, your heart fluttering at the prospect yet tethered by caution. "Aemond."

In a tender gesture, he kissed your forehead, followed by soft pecks on your cheeks, then lingered with his lips brushing against yours. It was pathetic how quickly you melted under his affection, yearning for the contact that ignited a fire within you. His voice, barely above a whisper, danced against your lips, "Tonight?"

With a surrender that surprised even yourself, you acquiesced. "Alright." His eye sparkled with triumph as he finally pressed his lips against yours, granting you the sweetness you craved.

Yet, he broke away, his breath mingling with yours. "I shall meet you at your chambers—"

"No," you countered softly, concern lacing your words. "It would be dangerous for us to be seen leaving the castle together."

He regarded you with a stern expression, a protective glimmer in his eye as he shook his head. "Fleabottom is no place for a lady to wander alone."

You smiled gently at his earnestness, reassured him with conviction, "I’ll be fine, Aemond. I promise."

With a resigned sigh from you, he leaned in to steal another kiss, the taste of his resolve lingering. "Then it is settled. Meet me at the Blue Pearl tonight."

“I will,” you vowed, your mind clouded by the intoxicating pull of his presence, rational thought slipping away like sand through fingers.

The Keep lay shrouded in an eerie silence as you stepped into the dimly lit corridor from your chambers. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, as if the very walls held their breath, rendering the castle a hollow shell. With purpose, you made your way toward the Queen’s chambers, determined to fulfill your promise to Helaena and bid the twins a gentle goodnight.

You wrapped your cloak tightly around your shoulders, bracing against the biting winds that swept through the stone hallways. A sense of foreboding clawed at your thoughts, quickening your steps as you approached Helaena's solar.

As you neared her chambers, the quiet was shattered by a pained whimper—a sound that sent a chill racing down your spine. Without hesitation, you pushed through the door, only to freeze in shock at the scene before you. A filthy man loomed over Helaena, his grip merciless as he held a knife to her delicate throat. The metallic scent of her blood hung heavy in the air, as you noticed a small nick on her neck.

Your instincts flared to life, propelling you forward to confront the intruder. But before you could move, strong arms encircled you, halting your advance. "Who the fuck is she?" the brute growled, his gaze locked onto the man who held Helaena captive.

“She’s the queen she is,” the crazed man replied, a sickly laugh escaping his lips, his gaze dancing between you and Helaena, relishing the chaos.

“A son for a son, he said,” came the rough retort of the man holding you, his grip tightening like a vice. “Does she look like a fucking son to you?”

The realization struck you like a bolt of lightning—revenge. These madmen had been sent by the Blacks, likely by Daemon himself, to claim a son in return for Lucerys Valaryon.

Pointing with a blood-stained finger, the deranged man holding Helaena, gestured to the cribs across the room, where Jaehaerys and Jaehaera lay asleep, vulnerable to the whims of fate. “Over there,” he sneered, a glint of madness flashing across his eyes.

A chilling wave of nausea washed over you as dread seeped into your heart, realizing the intent behind his actions. Yet, even with the unfathomable power you possessed, you hesitated. You could kill these men in mere moments, reduce them to shredded pieces, but the fear in Helaena’s wide eyes anchored you. You could not afford to frighten her further.

“Release her,” you commanded, your tone a blend of authority and menace, ever mindful of the trembling figure of the queen. “You do not know the darkness you invite with your intentions”

The grip of the man holding you tightened, his fingers like iron shackles, deaf to your words. Instead, the madman holding Helaena chortled, an unsettling sound that grated against your nerves. "We need to get our head and get out."

A simmering rage ignited within you at his vile insinuation, your voice turning low and menacing as you retorted, "If you dare imply what I think, know that your life shall end before you can ever look upon the prince."

The large brute, his bulk a grotesque parody of strength, pressed his clammy hand against your throat, constricting it as he growled, "Shut your fucking mouth, woman."

In that chilling moment, Helaena found her voice, her eyes wide with terror as they darted between you and the man’s tightening grasp. "I have a necklace," she stammered, her heart echoing her fear, "It's of great value."

The man holding you scoffed, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "That’s not a son."

His grip tightened further, but to you, it was nothing more than the grasp of a mere mortal, a fleeting nuisance. With an air of fatalistic calm, you shrugged, “I’ve warned you, and now you shall reap the consequences.”

As the darkness of your true nature surged, crimson flames ignited in your gaze. Veins suffused with blood snaked under your skin and the sharp glint of fangs elongated in exquisite hunger. The man holding Helaena faltered, the smile that once adorned his lips vanished, replaced by a primal terror as he regarded you. “What’s—what’s happening to your face?!”

Confusion roiled in the eyes of the man who had once held your throat captive. Before he could fully comprehend the depths of his error, you moved with the swiftness of a striking snake, your head whipping around as you buried your fangs deep into his pallid flesh. His scream reverberated like a death knell against the stone.

With one fierce tug, you tore into him—a vicious rip that sent a warm spray of blood cascading over your face, painting your features in hues of crimson. The brute’s body slackened, his grip fading as life bled from him like the night fleeing before dawn. He crumpled to the ground dead.

Your attention shifted, a predatory glare now focused on the other man, who quivered holding Helaena securely but fearfully at knifepoint. His confidence wavered as your fury ignited the air around you, and he stepped back, terror threading his voice, “If you come any closer, I swear I’ll kill her—”

In a heartbeat, you were before him. Your eyes cooled to an earthly hue, compelling yet cold, as your voice held the weight of your compulsion. “Step away from the queen."

The resolve in his eyes shattered, obedience taking root as he released Helaena, fear transforming into a savage obedience. But that was not enough; oh no, they would pay dearly for their actions. You stepped closer, lowering your voice to a whisper laced with venom. “Now… stick your knife in your throat.”

Tears cascaded down his cheeks, streaming with unspoken horror as he felt the weight of your will. Whimpering like a child at the mercy of a storm, he struggled against the compulsion, but your magic throbbed through the air, binding him tighter within your grasp. The dagger trembled in his hand before the metal found flesh, cutting deeply as crimson blessing spilled forth. He gasped, choking as despair overwhelmed him, stabbing again and again until his last breath escaped into the silence of the room, and dropped to the ground.

In the wake of such violence, as blood pooled and splattered across the cold floor, your features softened, the fierce gleam fading from your visage. Your fangs retracted, and your eyes reverted to their natural colour, the monstrous visage slipping away like a shadow at dawn.

A tumult of emotions swirled within you—fear, regret—until your gaze flicked to Helaena, ready to face the disgust you expected. Yet, as her eyes met yours, confusion twisted within you; there was no horror, no disgust in her gaze—only a profound relief.

You took a hesitant step back, bewildered by her calm demeanor. "Are you not afraid of me?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion as she softly said, “You saved us."

You realized she might be still grappling with the shock, as she drifted across the room, her movements fluid and deliberate. She bypassed the gruesome scene left in your wake, retrieving a handkerchief with an unsettling nonchalance. Approaching you with a tender resolve, she reached forth, seeking to wipe the blood from your face. Her touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the brutality that had just unfolded.

Yet, as the fabric of her care swept across your skin, your brow furrowed at the sight of tears beginning to brim in Helaena's eyes. “Helaena—what's wrong?” you implored, clasping her trembling hands firmly within yours. “You need not fear; all is well now, you are safe.”

Her tears continued to spill softly, tracing delicate paths down her pale cheeks, as she whispered in a voice that seemed to drift like a dream, “I thought I was lost in one of my dreams. I did not realize it was the truth laid bare before me.”

“It was,” you replied gently, your voice a quiet promise. “But it is over now.”

“If you had not been here, Jaehaerys would be—” she faltered, her composure cracking as a choked sob escaped her lips.

You could only watch her, sorrow etched upon your face, as she turned away from you and hurried to the crib where Jaehaerys slept, oblivious to the tempest that had transpired around him and his sister. Slowly, she lifted the sleeping boy into her arms, his silver hair catching the light like stars against the night sky. She cradled him tightly, swaying gently as if to soothe not just him, but the remnants of her own grief.

“They almost took my boy,” Helaena murmured, her voice a soft lament, entwined within the strands of Jaehaerys’ hair, as if she sought comfort in his very existence.

Aemond exhaled sharply as he finally approached the entrance of the Blue Pearl, its facade gleaming with a deceptive allure. He paused for a moment, memories swirling like smoke from the incense within—each recollection a weight pressing down upon him, reminding him of the last time he had stepped through these doors.

As he crossed the threshold into the brothel, the atmosphere assaulted his senses: the heady scent of incense mingled with the intoxicating sounds of fervent moans and whispered promises that echoed through the dimly lit chambers. The air was thick with a palpable energy, a collision of desire and desperation.

Maintaining a cold and stoic demeanor, Aemond navigated the labyrinth of shadowy corners and silken drapes, his singular focus on securing a room where you both could retreat from the burdens of the outside world, if only for a fleeting night. Under the enveloping darkness of his hooded cloak, he radiated an aura of menace; others instinctively parted before him, quaking under the weight of his dangerous glare.

However, his composure faltered for just a moment when he felt a delicate hand brush against his arm. A surge of indignation coursed through him, instincts honed to ready his strike against anyone who dared encroach upon his space—anyone, that is, who was not you.

Yet, upon turning, he found himself face to face with the last person he wished to encounter. Madam Sylvi, the proprietor of this establishment, stood before him, her presence a haunting reminder of a past he had sought to forget. She was the first woman to lay claim to him, a forced initiation into a world of shadows that had snatched away his boyhood, all at the insidious urging of his brother. Aemond's heart raced, caught between the clutches of anger and the bitter taste of old wounds that threatened to resurface.

"My Prince," she began, her lips curving into what she believed to be a beguiling smile. To Aemond, however, it appeared more akin to a grimace painted upon her features. "What an unexpected pleasure it is to see you once again in these halls."

Feeling a tide of shame wash over him, he averted his gaze, staring intently at the carved wooden floor beneath his feet. “All I seek is a room,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

"And which girl shall I send to warm your bed?" she teased, her tone dripping with seduction. Then, with a coy pause, she added, "Or perhaps you are in need of a woman instead?"

He clenched his jaw, his frustration rising. “Just a room,” he insisted, his voice firm, yet faltering.

She let out a soft, lilting hum, feigning disappointment. “A shame,” she purred, her fingers trailing along his arm—a gesture that made his skin crawl. “But know that my arms are always open, especially for you.”

The urge to retaliate surged within him; he imagined the swift, savage justice he could enact. Yet, he found himself rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the memory of their past encounters—memories that danced like shadows in his mind, haunting him still.

Clearing his throat, he risked a glance in her direction, his resolve strengthening. “A Lady will come through your doors. Instruct her where to find me.”

With that, he turned on his heel, striding away before she could utter another word.

Not long after, five figures had made their way into Helaena's solar, their presence a stark contrast to the brutality that had enveloped the chamber moments before. A maid, having spotted one of the trespassers who had slipped into the shadows, acted on her apprehension and sought out a guard.

This led to Lord Otto Hightower being summoned, and he, it seemed, was the sole soul present who maintained the decorum expected of his station. He had seized Aegon with the kind of authoritative grip one might use on a mischievous pup caught reveling in intoxication on the Iron Throne, before promptly calling for Lord Larys.

In due course, Queen Alicent and Ser Criston appeared, ostensibly by chance, though you with your keen senses could detect the unmistakable scent of their shared intimacy lingering upon them, a confirmation of their clandestine liaison.

You sat beside Helaena, who cradled Jaehaerys to her chest as if to shield him from the undercurrents of chaos swirling around them. In your arms, you held Jaehaera, both twins blissfully unaware, lost in the serenity of slumber.

“Who dared to do this? I demand to know! Who is responsible?” Aegon's voice erupted, slicing through the stillness with an edge of fury. News of the attempted assassination against his son had ignited the embers of his inebriated stupor into a roaring blaze of rage. You cast him a disapproving glare, a silent rebuke for his outburst, mindful of the slumbering children.

“The man uttered, ‘a son for a son, he said,’ I suspect he was referring to Prince Daemon, Your Grace,” you interjected softly, your voice a steady balm amidst the tumult.

Alicent, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, approached Helaena, settling beside her. She reached out tenderly, her fingers brushing against the peaceful features of sleeping Jaehaerys, you could see how guilt was feasting upon her soul.

"These villains, these traitors," Aegon spat, his words laced with venom. The anguish of nearly losing his heir carved lines of distress into his face, revealing that beneath the hardened exterior, perhaps Aegon did possess a heart capable of love. "My son is my legacy. My son is heir to the iron throne!”

His gaze then turned, sharp and accusatory, to Ser Criston, whose presence loomed in the doorway. "And where were you, Ser Criston? The Lord Commander of my King's Guard slumbers while my blood is threatened?"

You noted how Alicent’s expression tightened with concern as she cast a furtive glance toward Criston, who stared resolutely at the stone floor, his shame palpable. "I was abed, Your Grace, having dispatched orders to the Night's Watch," he replied.

"Abed?" Aegon echoed, incredulity lacing his words. "While your post was to safeguard the sanctity of my family?"

The Hand let out a weary sigh from his position at the periphery of the room. "Calm yourself, Aegon. The prince still lives," he interjected, attempting to quell the rising tide of tension.

"Yes," Aegon yelled, his attention shifting to you, "only because of Lady Mikaelson. A woman! All of you should hang your heads in shame."

You inhaled sharply at Aegon's jab, which he unknowingly let out. Lord Larys, his gaze insidious and lingering, leaned forward with a slithering curiosity. "What I truly wish to understand is how you managed to subdue two fully grown men, my lady."

The weight of every gaze in the room now turned to you, even Aegon momentarily relinquished his tirade to await your reply. You spoke with steady conviction, "I grew up among five brothers, My Lord. The dance of a blade is not foreign to me." Your voice joined the whispers of the past, your eyes glancing at the first man you had killed. "The first was a brute, slow in his approach. The second, however, was a madman, blinded by insanity."

"It matters not how she accomplished it," Aegon interjected, his impatience barely concealed, "The only thing that matters is she saved Jaehaerys' life."

A wave of relief washed over you as the next figure entered Helaena's solar, a dim light spilling in from the hallway. Aemond's gaze instantly locked onto the grim scene before him, his single eye widening as it fell upon the two lifeless bodies, bloodied and sprawled across the elegant stone floor. “What has happened here?” he demanded.

Aegon's temper flared like wildfire at the sight, stepping forward to confront Aemond, but the latter remained unruffled, his expression a picture of cool composure amidst the turmoil. “And where were you, while my son lay nearly murdered in his own bed?”

“On patrol, brother,” Aemond replied, his tone smooth and casual, though the lie dripped with an unsettling ease. His eyes then landed on you, his brow furrowing as concern flickered across his striking features. Ignoring Aegon entirely, he approached you, noting the streaks of crimson marring your skin. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice softening.

As his hand reached towards your face, you instinctively recoiled, acutely aware of the watchful eyes surrounding you both. “It is not my blood, Your Highness,” you assured him.

Aegon's voice roared again, filling the solar like a tempest. “What course shall we take now? How do we retaliate?” His frustration echoed off the walls.

You could hear Otto Hightower’s resigned sigh. “This is not a moment for rash vengeance, Aegon. Perhaps there is some good may yet come of this.”

“I will not be seen as weak,” Aegon ground out, determination hardening his features.

“You’re already seen as weak, Aegon,” Otto replied with cold clarity, counting off each grim incident, “A hasty coronation, a dragon escaping the pit. The people see an omen. They whisper in the streets. They say, perhaps Rhaenyra should be queen.”

"Let us thus feign that the deed is done, that her assassination was successful." He paused, his keen gaze settling upon the slumbering form of little Jaehaerys. “You would name her: monster. Slayer of infants. I would do more than that—a funeral procession. We shall construct a small casket for Jaehaerys and let the realm gaze upon the handiwork of this pretender who seeks the crown.”

“Your grand design has a singular flaw, Grandsire,” Aegon spat, stepping protectively in front of Helaena and the sleeping child, his posture defiant. “Jaehaerys lives. His existence cannot be kept hidden within these stone walls; word of his survival will soon seep through the cracks.”

“Not if we send him away—this very night,” Otto replied, his voice resolute, a calculated glint igniting his gaze.

“No,” Helaena murmured, instinctively tightening her embrace around Jaehaerys, as if her warmth alone could shield him from danger.

“No!” Aegon echoed, his tone thunderous compared to Helaena’s whisper. “It is far too dangerous for him beyond these castle walls.”

“And yet,” Lord Hightower replied, his tone sharp as a dagger, “he came dangerously close to death even within them.”

“Then where shall he go?” Alicent broke her silence, her voice carrying the weight of desperation.

The Lord Hand fell silent, his brow furrowed in contemplation, before his keen gaze shifted toward you. “Lady Mikaelson,” he began, a shrewd glint of ambition glimmering in his eyes, “your family resides in the Reach, do they not?”

"Indeed, Lord Hand," you replied smoothly, a lie slipping from your lips with practiced ease. You anticipated his intentions even before he continued. "We lie just beyond Golden Grove."

“Ah, that lies near Highgarden,” Otto mused, his mind racing with possibilities before breaking the stillness of the room, “The Tyrells have pledged neutrality, rendering it one of the scant havens in all of Westeros. Thus, it is decided: Jaehaerys shall journey there with Lady Mikaelson tonight. She has protected Jaehaerys once and now she will do so again.”

Aegon, his fingers brushing through Jaehaerys's soft curls as he rested, sighed in reluctant agreement. "Very well, but I demand that half of the White Cloaks accompany them."

Otto scoffed derisively, shaking his head. "No, such a show of force would raise too many suspicions. We can spare only two, perhaps four at the most."

"It would be swifter and safer by dragonback," Aemond interjected, his voice threading through the tension in the room. You turned to meet his gaze, which seemed to be focused only on you, "I can take Lady Mikaelson and Jaehaerys upon Vhagar."

Otto Hightower’s brow furrowed in disapproval. "That would be far too conspicuous."

“Then I shall accompany them,” Aemond asserted, his determination hardening like steel.

"No," Aegon countered firmly, his tone brooking no dissent. "We need you here."

Before Aemond could mount another argument, you rose from your seat, gently moving the sleeping Jaehaera into Alicent's waiting arms. Your voice rang out, steady and resolute amidst the rising tempests of conflict. “It is alright," you spoke clearly, “I will go.”

If Aemond ever met the Mikaelsons...

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @anyisaravia2001 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @ellie-xOxo @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @darktrashsoulbear @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @sunset18rose @filmflux @esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @ln8118 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #aemond x you #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #the originals #mikaelson #ewan mitchell #vampire!reader

548 notes · View notes

last-words-ofashootingstar · 8 days ago

Note

STARRRRRRRR ✨✨✨✨✨

I saw the comfort reqs are open and had an idea.

You write Seonghwa so beautifully and with the summer vibes of GH3 (and the horrendous hit here in England at the moment), I’m envisioning 310 and 320. Sweaty, summer fun by the pool or beach. Maybe with a touch of coddling but in a comfy way from Hwa? 💕

Nothing screams comfort like the way you write him 🥺🥹

➯a/n: oooooH I LOVE YOU FOR THIS !! it's hawt as hell here too, i feel like we all need to cool down with caring hwa <3 thank you smmm and may i present:

Popsicles

➾In Which: The height of summer, the hotel pool, and your loving boyfriend.

❥Park Seonghwa x gn reader

♫"An empty pool, we both take a dive." -Emily Kinney, Popsicles ♫

310 + 320: needing to cool down + taking a trip

(¯ ³¯)♡genre: fluff fluff fluffy fluff

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: none really ! short and sweet, established relationship, sharing drinks, playful banter, hwa calls reader pretty (pretty can be for any gender !!), pet names: baby, love

➯a/n2: "star haven't you used this song as inspo before already ?" yuurrrp ! my favorite summer song <3

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sousydive @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

ఌ

You wait outside of the ice cream shop, leaned against the wall and out of the way of the waves of people.

"Here, baby," Seonghwa reappears by your side, extending a popsicle towards you while sucking on one of his own.

"I told you I didn't want one." You pout, earning yourself an eyebrow raise as he looks between you and the cold sweet. "Fine, I changed my mind." You take it quickly, licking up the drop on the side of it and letting the coolness soothe over you.

"Thought you might have," he chuckles, taking your free hand in his gently and leading the way back into the bustling street.

It's a rarity for him to have so much time on his hands, but this summer brought along with it a much needed break for him and his group.

"What did you want to do today? We came out just for ice cream?"

"Mhm~" He hums around his popsicle, looking around at all the vibrant colors of the foreign summer.

"Hey," you lean to him conspiratorially, "Wooyoung and San are still going to that one restaurant right?"

"Mhm," he repeats himself, tilting his head.

"We could swim without getting splashed- woah!"

He holds your hand tightly, weaving through the crowd of people. "Let's go!"

ఌ

"Has it been long enough?" You whine, "they're going to sneak up any second, I can feel it. My WooSan senses are tingling..."

"They just left before we got here, love," he laughs, "we have to let the sunscreen sit for at least ten minutes, I don't want you to be burned-"

"Blah, blahhhh," you giggle, nudging his hip with yours as you both stand by the hotel pool.

It's ten o'clock on a Wednesday, so nobody else is here. The sun beats right down on you, gleaming across the crystal clear water. A drop of sweat runs down your neck.

He shuts the timer off as soon as it rings, throwing his phone onto the folding chair, "time!"

Before you even know what's happening, he wraps his arms around you and falls back first into the deep end of the pool, dragging you with him.

You emerge with a large smile, taking in a large gasp of air. "You jerk!"

He swipes his hair back and laughs, "you were the one who was sooo ready to get in~"

"I'm gonna get you back for this," you chuckle as you swim closer to him, being drug into his arms easily. You wrap your legs around his waist, arms floating in the water.

"I look forward to it," he beams, eyes sparkling in the cruel sunshine. "You have the rest of the summer to get me back."

ఌ

"How can you possibly be that fast?!" You pant as you lift yourself on the edge of the pool with your arms. "I'm never swim-racing you again."

"Long legs," he grins as he joins you. He reaches and drags the chair closer, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to you. "Here, hydration, baby."

"Like a freaking spider." You deadpan as you take a sip before handing it to him.

"Thank you," he takes a sip before quickly spitting it out as he realizes what you said. "A spider?!"

"Oh, would you look at the timeeee," you squeal as you kick off the wall to get a head start in swimming away.

"You- get back here!"

ఌ

Floating hand in hand on your backs, the warmth of the sun meets the cool water around you.

You peek an eye open and look over to him. Only to find him doing the exact same thing.

"Oop-" You both turn your heads quickly, like you've been caught staring at your crush and not your long time partner. "Creep~" Your voice reaches him muffled through the water.

"Perv~" He teases you right back, eyes trained on you unabashedly now. "You're so pretty."

You lose your focus on floating, quickly fixing yourself upright. "Where'd that come from?"

"Just letting you know~" He hums as he closes his eyes again, blissful smile on his lips. "Love you is all."

"Shut up... Love you too."

ఌ

#request #stars ask and receive #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #seonghwa fic #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #ateez fluff #ateez comfort #comfort fic #fluff fic #seonghwa fluff

151 notes · View notes

gymbunnycandiehart · 1 month ago

Text

🎆 Fireworks & Frosties 💙🍟

Candie had no big plans today—just a quick errand or two—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it fun. He tugged on his soft, powdery blue leggings, laced up his vintagey red-and-white sneakers, and pulled his hair into a high ponytail tied with ribbons that sparkled like little stars. A red tank top completed the look, giving him that playful sparkle of summer spirit.

He wasn’t just walking into town—he was making an entrance. His first stop: the local fireworks stand, where the smell of cardboard fuses and sunscreen filled the air. He giggled at the names on the big boxes: “Glitter Tornado,” “Liberty Boom,” “Patriotic Puff.” He didn’t even need fireworks; he just liked looking.

“Cute shoes,” the teen girl at the register said, not even looking up from her phone.

“Thanks,” Candie replied with a little twirl and a wink. “Gotta match the sky somehow.”

On the way back, he treated himself to a cherry slush and sat on the curb, soaking in the moment. No one asked him why he looked so cheerful. No one needed to. “She” was his own little celebration, walking around wrapped in ribbons and brightness, just because Candie could.

✨ A Thought to Tuck in Your Heart ✨

I dream often. Not just the usual daydreams, but whole moments I can feel—where I’m walking through the world as Candie, simply and sweetly, without explanation. Sometimes it’s a cheer uniform and bows. Other times it’s leggings and sparkle-tipped nails, or maybe even something boyish with a feminine twist.

And I find myself in these lovely, unique little scenes that would be so normal if Candie had the freedom to just be. Not forced. Not a prank. Not a bet or a dare or some cartoonish “punishment.” You know the stories. I’ve read them too.

But what if it wasn’t fiction? What if it was simply accepted? What if being Candie wasn’t a narrative twist—but just life? What if I could pick what fits my soul each day—boy, girl, or a mix of both—and it was no bigger deal than choosing what color to paint my nails?

When I let myself dream like that—when I really allow it—I don’t feel silly or strange. I feel comforted. I feel more me than I ever have trying to fit someone else’s story.

So dream with me. Let yourself imagine that world. It might be gentler than you expect. 💙✨

Much love to you,

CandieHart 💋

#candieland

92 notes · View notes

saessenach · 1 month ago

Text

Wip Wednesday Whenever

Tagged by the lovely @rookamell 🫶 thank youuuu!!!

here's a little painting study that later turned into Teia

Let's pretend she's lounging in her gardens in the sun, and someone brought her a glass of something sparkling and cool in the summer heat ✨

If anyone feels like hopping along for the WIP of the Week, consider yourself tagged!

#wip wednesday #andarateia cantori #my art #wip #da #datv #teia cantori #otp: gentle pursuits #i got new gouache brushes for procreate and I'm loving them

66 notes · View notes

supernaturalfreakout · 4 months ago

Text

— I love you, I'm sorry (Sam x fem!reader)

Summary: Sam regrets ever letting you slip away. Based on the song "I love you, I'm sorry" by Gracie Abrams. Notes: This was a request, and again, something that never would have existed if it wasn't requested. When I first received this ask, I have to admit my immediate thought was, No. I looked at the lyrics and had no idea how I would make it fit the kind of stories I like to tell. But then I had an idea, and just ran with it. Featuring Sam's POV again, and his incredibly messed up feelings. Thanks @mehartoor for the challenge ✨ PS. I've never written a songfic before this, so any feedback is welcome! CWs: Angst and regret, heartbreak, ?second chance romance, intentionally ambiguous.

Apologies have always come naturally to Sam, “I’m sorry” slipping from his lips as inevitably as dying leaves abandoning their branches in the fall—or is the tree the one that lets go? All his life he’s had something to regret, whether by the actions of his own hands or that of the universe, so he’s had plenty of practice, and this is nothing new. Regardless of how often he whispers those two, savage words, however, they never get any easier. And it's never been harder than the day he’d had to say those words to you …

Late Kansan summer. Lazy day by the lake celebrating your two-year anniversary. Sam remembers that day as clear as his conscience had been when you’d lain under the sun that afternoon: golden rays on your back, hands entwined in constant companion. Drinking champagne neither of you could afford from a flask to keep it cool. Feeding each other strawberries, juice dripping down lips and over chins. Backtracked by the distant splash of water and the laughter of families making the most of their summer vacations. Overseen by the clouds: stoned, and drifting fluffy and hypnotic in a crystal-blue sky.

By sunset, you were both sunburnt and tipsy, heads muzzy in their collective daze from the bubbles and humidity, and the constant buzzing of the lake flies that left a dizzying static in your ears, and that made Sam feel he was observing someone else’s life rather than his own. But that didn’t stop either of you from making the most of the night.

Pictures flash in Sam’s memory. Movie-reels in faded sepia. Haunting melancholies encoded in his skin. Images of you on your knees, grass-stains that persisted until morning. Pleasure coursing through his veins. The feel of your hair in his hands as he plastered his lips shut and prayed no one was exploring near where you had set up camp for the night. Luminescent bellies of fireflies that emerged at dusk and swept his mind to a distant shore.

Then you on your back, his head between your legs. The salt on your skin as he sucked on your thighs, leaving mottled red patches in his wake, and the itchy mosquito bites on your calves that he later soothed with lotion—because Sam always packed lotion (that was one of many things you’d loved to tease him about).

The softness of your stomach against his as he entered you softly, and the scent of your tears as you made love in the muggy, august air. The sweat you’d shared, bodies dewy and glistening in the moonlight. And, later on, the sparkle in your wet eyes when, tangled under the stars in your love-drunk state, you’d promised him “forever.”

A sharp pang shoots through Sam’s chest whenever he thinks about that. A rod lodging its way in his windpipe. The fear that overtook him that night led to him saying some truths the following morning that he probably should have kept to himself. Stupid things he didn’t mean. Things he wishes he could take back.

But he can’t. And he couldn’t then.

It was too late the moment he said them, his words too hurtful—too honest—and you had left.

You had left, and for what?

To confirm his suspicions that he was never destined for happiness?

That everything he touches eventually turns to ash?

That he is doomed to end up loveless and alone?

Sam shakes his head, the memories too painful to bare, the ‘what ifs’ too hopeful to fathom.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt you, but Sam knew better than to promise forever. Because forever wasn’t his to claim. For what does forever even mean? Until the end of the world? No. He’s lived through several. Til the end of his days? That might not be that far away. Until the end of yours…? Sam didn’t want to even contemplate that. Because forever wasn’t real; it was a cruel joke people told themselves to make the fall hurt less.

And then he’d found himself panicking, ruminating about how he’d be condemning you—that he already was—just by existing.

He knew then that he had to let you go, because he loved you too much to watch you die slowly in his arms. Because that’s what would happen if you’d stayed, lest you burn up in a blaze of agony like everyone else he’s ever loved. He couldn’t chain you to him; you had a future ahead of you, one that promised wealth and happiness and connections. A Mercedes Benz. First-class flights. Shit neither of you cared about but had let infiltrate your dreams nonetheless.

Sam could see it now: you, years from now, laughing in a sunlit kitchen, someone else’s arms around your waist, another man's child in your belly. It made bile rise to his throat, thinking of anyone else being with you like that, and touching you as he does. He wanted to scream that he'd loved you first, that it should have been him there with you. But he also couldn’t deny that it was the safest option: a life without him, free from darkness.

A life you deserved. A future you’d trained and charmed for. One that promised status and would satisfy your parents’ shallow sense of self-worth, something Sam himself would never be able to satiate. One that offered opportunity and adventure, without the constant threat of damnation. He had to slam the door closed before it knocked both of you out. It was inevitable, after all. That’s just the way life goes.

So he’d been a dick; he needed you to hate him, and had pushed you away. It was the easiest way.

Two years down the road, thinking enough time had passed to anesthetize the pain, Sam tries to make amends, which results in you exchanging several messages. Surprisingly, you seem cool about it, and Sam doesn’t know how to take it. He thought he would be able to deal with it, that he was over what had happened, and that it would put his mind at rest. But he is wrong again, and it only brings up unresolved feelings. This shit never ends.

Joyriding on the back of those memories, Sam realizes that loving you is his greatest regret; you are simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. Because there’s no way in hell or on earth that he will ever get over you.

It's a car crash, yet he still can’t look away. So he sighs, fumbles in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and types out a message, because one last text can’t hurt, can it? As his fingers hover over ‘send,’ he looks up at the sky, and wonders whether you are up there, in that plane passing by.

His belly lights up with hope, fireflies flickering inside him, battering him from the inside out. A self-destructive habit, an age-old curse that will surely kill him one day if you don’t send someone to do it instead.

His fingers fly back over the screen, messages spilling from his gut, bursting forth in staccato rhythm.

He presses send again. And again. And holds his breath as his words float into the abyss. The feelings they contain no longer obscured by blurry nostalgia, but the painful, hopeful reality of the present.

“I love you,” the first one reads, in crisp, clear letters. But that’s not all.

“I love you,” the second repeats, because one statement is not enough; Sam always has to twist the knife deeper.

“I love you,” comes the third.

And the fourth.

The fifth …

"I love you

I love you

I can’t stop

I’ve always loved you and I always will

I was wrong

So, so wrong

And I’m sorry

So deeply sorry

About what I said

About that night

For everything.”

There’s not enough oxygen in the universe to supply Sam’s lungs as he waits for your reply. And when he sees the read receipt, followed by three little dots appearing and disappearing repeatedly at the bottom of his screen, that tumultuous swarm of hope threatens to choke him.

In his mind, he is already back beside that lake, tangled beneath the stars. He is dirty, and dishonest, but he is happy, and so are you.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate, or laugh, or brush off your remark with some snide and self-destructive statement about how the future doesn’t exist.

This time, he is ready and willing to give up forever, whatever that means.

75 notes · View notes

lzjian79 · 1 year ago

Text

════════════⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎☯︎☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆════════════

The setting of two suns 🌇✨

Chapter 3: The search

A story about what happened to the human counterpart of Sunset Shimmer.

321 notes · View notes

spade-riddles · 23 days ago

Note

Howdy, Spade! So now it seems that the bigger picture having to do with the NFL stunting was so she could Finance the purchase of her masters. Obviously, this may or may not be true, but that's how I see it now. I'm sure there were other factors that play, but the tour, the movie, and the bearding could have been part of her plan to be able to buy her masters, you know?

Now that she has them, I wonder if it will affect her bearding plans? I mean, the world is still a dangerous place for those of us that love a little differently, and she definitely has protection from that Meathead, if nothing else. I'm kind of worried that the NFL stuff made backfire on her if she comes out. She gained a lot of new fans, if you believe what you read online, from dating that doofus. I can imagine that some of those people would not take kindly to her coming out.

Anyway, just wondering if anyone has any thoughts on this, or if any of our insiders would like to pop their heads out of the sand and give us some information.

I guess I do not see the 🏈 connection to her masters.

This TK/NFL/Movie/TS arrangement was a business deal that involved a lot of people/entities for promotional and financial reasons.

NFL wanted to grow their female audience. Bring on Taylor Swift.

AMC Theatres was founded in Kansas City. Hence the Chiefs jersey with AMC Theatres name on the back in a photo with Taylor. She bypassed the traditional Hollywood studios and partnered with AMC Theatres, the world's biggest cinema chain.

Taylor had a film deal through AMC Theatres for her Eras Film. She was able to get free commercials/promo for it by working with the NFL. The NFL ran commercials and the commentators mentioned the film and Taylor. Projections said this was worth millions of dollars in advertising for Taylor's team.

The Chiefs and TK got massive exposure, making money off merchandise, podcasts, etc, while TK networked to create post-retirement opportunities.

I don't see the masters situation as connected to her 'split' timing with the Oaf. To me it just seems like a completely separate business deal.

Others feel free to chime in. I may be missing a connection.

As for protection due to the political climate. I am a firm believer that things about close to changing for the better. This should be a sparkling ✨ summer in more ways than one. And, I believe Taylor's plans are purposely in line with this timing.

#taylor swift

37 notes · View notes

treviso-nights · 5 months ago

Text

✨ lucanis dellamorte core ✨

warm, stubbly cheeks. the scent of coffee and cakes. rough hands. onyx wings streaked through with violet. daggers in every glove and boot. spice market dates. late night walks under the twinkling lights of treviso. sparkling trays of poison just in case. a lilting accent in the dark. trim, sleek hipbones. mugs of liquid chocolate for when you cry. zipline races in the summer air. the glow of amethyst when spite feels lonely. cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and chili powder. the taste of expensive coffee on your tongue. an assassin's head in your lap.

#lucanis dellamorte #veilguard #datv #dragon age the veilguard #my writing #da drabbles #rookanis #mine #rook x lucanis

55 notes · View notes

rowdyluv · 1 year ago

Text

Like Real People Do - lh43

summary: luke spends time thinking about rosey and how she’s locked him out of her life the last few weeks. he shows up on her doorstep in one last attempt and she lets him in

warnings: small use of y/n, adult content, talk of blackmail, ex boyfriend being harassing, talk of nudes, sweet fluffy luke, depiction of depression overtaken room,

word count: 3.68k+

notes: hozier’s song ‘like real people do’ has been stuck in my head for days. so hence the name ✨ not really based of the title but title is used

adult content is used in this fic, 18+, minors do not interact. Thanksies🫶🏼

Rosey, wasn’t just a girl to Luke. She was the girl.

His girl.

Rosey, a girl who painted the world with her laughter and filled the air with the sweet scent of her favorite honey crop apple scented based shampoo and apple perfume. Her eyes, always bright and sparkling. Luke swore that they could outshine any gem, that her eyes held a depth that he found himself drowning in every time she looked his way. Her hair fell in soft waves just the way she liked for it to, framing her face perfectly. Luke had come to memorize the freckles that danced across her nose like constellations in a summer night sky.

Only she had a way of bringing light to the darkest of days, and Luke allowed himself to bask in her glow whenever she was near.

It was when Luke realized his feelings had grown beyond the confines of friendship that he began to notice the tiniest of things. Like the way she threw her head back when she wholeheartedly laughed at his jokes, how her cheeks flushed that shade of rosey red that never failed to make his heart race. The way she leaned into him when they would watch movies, how her body fit perfectly against his as if they were two puzzle pieces that had finally found their rightful place. And the sweet, lingering scent of her apple shampoo and perfume always seemed to follow him around, leaving a trail of warmth and longing in its wake.

It was in the quietest moments that truly spoke volumes to him recently. When he sat alone where they used to sit together on the tire swings in his backyard, where the setting sun would have been casting a warm glow over her features, that Luke always found himself lost in his thoughts about her. He had found a four leaf clover and picked it. Had he found it months earlier maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here alone.

Months ago he had silently wished for the courage to tell her how he felt, to confess that her smile had become his reason to get out of bed in the morning, and her voice the sweetest melody to his ears, even when she squeaked along to Taylor Swift. He still found it endearing. Yet, fear held him back and then her relationship with Jason held him back. Then he took his opportunity, it seemed to have been mutual. But since that day he’s been alone, Rosey shutting him out. He’s not even sure she’s left her house. Luke has made numerous attempts to go across the street and see her. Her mom stopping his entry with sad eyes and a simple apology each time. The fear of losing her friendship, of her looking at him differently, of shattering the delicate balance they had so carefully maintained for years. The terrifying thought of losing her entirely was overwhelming.

He decided to try again today. The air was cool, the scent of rain lingered from earlier in the day’s downpour, almost as if it was mimicking Luke. The world felt like it was holding its breath waiting for the next heartbreak to happen.

He knocked gently on her door, the anticipation building in his chest like a pressure cooker about to blow. The door swung open and there she was, standing before him, looking just as beautiful as ever, yet sadder than he had ever seen her. The sparkle in her eyes had dimmed and her smile was forced, a mere shadow of its former glory. His heart ached for her, and he wished more than ever that he could just pull her into a hug and take away her pain. Luke’s arms twitched at his side merely able to hold back.

“Rosey.” His voice betrayed him in his attempt to sound strong, instead his voice cracked through the knot in his throat.

Her eyes met his, the pain in them resonating deeply within him. “Hey, Luke,” she managed to say, her voice quieter than the rustling leaves at their feet.

“Can I come in?” He asked tentatively, unsure of his welcome, after being turned away time and time again.

Had she known he’d come?

Rosey nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. The house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the usual symphony of life that resonated through her walls. The living room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep the prying eyes of the world at bay.

Luke’s heart sunk more at the simple sight of the curtains. She used to sit there and watch him and his brothers play out in the street for hours from the window. It slowly turned into her reading nook and their study spot. The open curtains were also Luke’s way of knowing she was home and he could come over. He knew then she really didn’t want to see him.

It was clear she had been crying. The evidence lay scattered across the coffee table in the form of used tissues and an empty pretzels bag.

“Rosey.” Luke whispered. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you letting me in? Letting me help?” His voice barely making it over the knot growing in his throat, fighting the urge to cry seeing his usual happy-go getting girl so deeply depressed.

Rosey took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She sat down on the couch, her posture deflated, and motioned for Luke to join her. He sat down gently beside her, his arm instinctively reaching out to wrap around her shoulders. She leaned into him, the warmth of her body seeping into his, offering a small sigh of relief. “It’s Jason,” she began, her voice trembling. “He won’t leave me alone. After the breakup, he said he’d make sure no one else could ever have me, not like that.”

Her words hit Luke like a punch to the gut. He had always known that Jason was no good for her, but he never imagined the depth of his spite.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low and measured, trying to keep his emotions in check.

Rosey took a deep, shuddering breath.

“After we broke up, he kept texting me, saying he had something to show me, something that would change my mind about him. He said it was proof of how much he cared. I was so stupid to believe him. He sent me these pictures... pictures of me that he took without my consent, and said if I didn’t take him back, he’d send them to everyone we know.” The tremble in her voice grew stronger, and Luke felt his blood begin to boil.

The room seemed to close in around them as she spoke, the very air thick with the weight of her words. Luke’s mind raced with a mix of anger, confusion, and fear for her safety. He had always known that Jason had a possessive streak, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined. Jason hitting Rosey was a tough pill to swallow for Luke and now, the thought of anyone seeing Rosey in such a vulnerable state made his stomach churn.

In Luke’s mind she was already his ever since that day at his house.

“Rosey girl, he can’t do that, you’re not 18 yet it’s illegal. Do your parents know?” His arms tightened around her, practically pulling her into his lap in the need to keep her close to him. In fear she may disappear from in front of him again. Luke felt the need to whisper to her although it’s just the two of them in the house.

Rosey nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “They know, but the police said they couldn’t do anything since my face isn’t clear in the photos. They said it’s not enough to prove it’s me and that without that it’s just his word against mine. And everyone knows how convincing he can be.”

Luke’s jaw clenched as he processed this. He had to help her, but the thought of anyone seeing her that way, even for a second, was unbearable. He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or uncertainty, but all he saw was fear and resignation.

“If the faces are unclear or can’t be made out, are you positive it’s you in those pictures, Rosey?” he asked gently, hoping against hope that there was some mistake.

Her gaze remained unwavering. “Yes, Luke. I know it’s me. I know his sick mind and what he’s capable of. He made sure to get enough of me that people would know it’s me, just not my face. It’s like he’s playing a twisted game with me, enjoying my pain without fully crossing the line he knows would land him in trouble.” Her voice was laced with bitterness and despair.

“I need to see them, Rosey.” Luke’s voice was firm, his eyes searching hers for any hint of resistance. “Just show me the blurry faces. I don’t need to see anything else.” He insisted. “I know my sweet Rosey.”

Her eyes searched his, a silent conversation passing between them as the gravity of the situation weighed heavy in the air. After a long moment, she nodded and reached for her phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating before finally unlocking it. She scrolled through her messages, finding the dreaded thread from Jason, and handed the phone to Luke.

He took it with trembling hands, his stomach in knots. The first few pictures were blurry, as she had described, but then he saw it.

The mole on the neck of the girl in the photos.

His Rosey doesn’t have a single spot on her neck. He was positive.

Luke knew this for sure, yet he still softly grabbed her by the chin and moved her head around softly to complete the inspection.

“Babygirl, these aren’t you, it’s your blurry face on some other girl’s body.” Luke explains. His thumb softly caressing her tear stained cheek.

“How, how do you know? How can you tell?” Rosey hesitantly asks Luke leaning into his touch.

“From years and years of admiring your beauty. Memorizing every visible part of your body. Look here, this girl has a mole on her neck, you have no markings on your neck. Just right here.” Luke taps her nose for emphasis. Earning a small giggle and a smile.

Rosey lunges into Luke’s arm, her face in the crook of his neck. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Lukey,” she whispers, her voice muffled against his skin.

Luke’s heart swells with a mix of affection and pain. He wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly as she sobs. Her tears dampen his shirt, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is that she’s here, with him, and he’s going to do everything in his power to make this right.

“Rosey, I’m going to talk to your parents, and we’re going to deal with this. I won’t let him keep doing this to you. You’re worth more than his twisted games.” He whispers into her hair, inhaling the sweet apple scent that has become a balm to his soul. “I can’t go another second of another day without you.” Luke nearly whimpers, his heart cracking at the thought of her putting him out again after jumping into his arms.

Rosey pulls away slightly, wiping at her eyes. She sniffs and looks up at him, her gaze earnest.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out, Luke. I just didn’t know how to face you after everything. I was so afraid of disappointing you that I couldn’t even look at you without feeling like I had failed.” More tears fall, tracing a delicate path down her cheeks, reflecting the dim light from the window.

Luke’s heart feels as though it’s been ripped out of his chest and handed back to him in a million pieces and they’re slowly putting it back together while in each other’s arms. He cups her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the fresh tears. “Rosey, you could never disappoint me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just want to be here for you, to help you through this.” His eyes are filled with sincerity, his voice raw with emotion.

Rosey’s eyes searched his features, looking for the truth in his words. The sadness in her gaze slowly lifts as she nods. “I just... I just didn’t know how to deal with it all. And the thought of losing you, too... it was too much.” Her voice cracks, her grip on his shirt tightening.

With her eyes still on his, Luke leans in closer, his heart racing. The scent of her apple perfume fills his nostrils, and he feels like he’s been waiting for this moment for an eternity. Her eyes flick down to his lips and back up to meet his again, a silent invitation that sends his pulse soaring. He whispers, “Tell me to stop if I should, Ro,” his voice barely audible above the sound of their mingled breaths.

Rosey’s gaze holds his, and for a moment, she seems to weigh his words. But then, she tilts her head slightly, closing the space between them. Her eyes flutter shut, and Luke sees this is it. He’s been given the green light, and he’s not about to waste it. He’s been waiting weeks to feel this alive again. He presses his lips to hers, tentative at first, feeling the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath mingling with his own. They were frozen in time, the air charged with unspoken confessions and long-held desires. It was then that Luke’s heart skipped a beat, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He leaned in, the anticipation making his stomach flip just like the first time. He felt the warmth of her breath mingle with his, and it was all the encouragement he needed.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were trying to make up for lost time. Luke’s hand slid into her hair, feeling the softness of the strands between his fingers. A soft sigh leaves Rosey’s mouth and Luke nab’s his chance to explore her mouth with his tongue.

He’s dreamt of this moment happening again for what felt like forever. The way she melted into him was like she had been waiting for this moment too. It started off as the sweetest, most tender kiss he had ever experienced, and moved to the sweetest and neediest kiss. And it left him feeling like he could conquer the world.

The sound of the door opening and closing brought them back to reality, but they didn’t pull away, lost in the moment. It wasn’t until they heard the unmistakable sound of her parents’ footsteps approaching that they broke apart, their eyes wide with panic.

“Y/n, honey, we’re home,” her mother’s voice called out from the hallway.

The two of them sprang apart, hearts racing, evidence of their passion filled kiss placed on both their faces, swollen lips, bliss filled eyes, messy hair and looking straight in the face of impending parental judgment.

Luke’s mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse for the intimate position they’d been caught in. If this was his house Ellen and Jim wouldn’t think twice about Rosey straddling across their son’s lap as she is. They have two older sons they had to live through.

He glanced at the phone still in his hand, the non-incriminating evidence of Jason’s threats a reminder of how they ended up this way. They both jumped to their feet as the footsteps grew closer, the sudden realization of the situation crashing over them like a wave.

“We need to tell them,” Luke murmured, slipping the phone into his pocket and placing a comforting hand on her arm.

Rosey nodded, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope. They stepped out of the living room, her parents’ footsteps drawing nearer. Her mother’s cheerful voice calling out to her was a stark contrast to the turmoil within.

“Y/N, we’re ho— oh!” her mother’s voice grew louder as her parents approached Luke and their daughter in the hallway to the living room.

Rosey’s mother stopped abruptly, her eyes taking in the scene before her. The way Luke’s hand rested protectively on her daughter’s arm, the lingering closeness of their bodies. The look on their faces was one of pure panic and shock, but it was quickly replaced with something else, something she hadn’t seen in her daughter’s eyes in a long time—happiness.

Her father’s voice cut through the silence, a teasing tone in his words. “Nice to see you let Luke in finally. Poor boy looked like a lost puppy every time he stopped by, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, sweetheart.” He winked at his daughter, trying to lighten the mood.

Rosey felt a blush creep up her neck, her eyes darting to her mother, who gave her a knowing smile. It wasn’t lost on her that her parents had noticed the change in her demeanor and the persistent presence of Luke at their doorstep.

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “Mom, Dad, we need to talk. It’s about Jason,” she began, her voice wavering.

Her father’s playful expression faded, replaced with concern. He stepped closer to them, his hand landing on her shoulder. “What’s he done now?” His voice was firm, the protective instincts of a parent coming to the forefront.

Luke’s arm instinctively tightened around Rosey.

“I.. uhm respectfully i look at the pictures.” Rosey’s parents eye’s widened. Her father’s face turning sour at the thought of another boy seeing his baby girl that way. Scaring Luke silent.

“Daddy listen.” Rosey urged her father.

Clearing his throat, Luke continued. “I only looked at the pictures from the neck up. Yes I know the faces are blurry but the amount of time I’ve known your daughter, and honestly the time I have spent in love with her I’m confident in my ability to know her by the features I’ve seen almost everyday since we were little.”

Rosey’s mom is looking at Luke in awe as he rambles about her little girl. The love he’s had for her has been evident for many years and if he’s truly on to something her husband may just finally let go and let him in.

“What are you getting at son?” Her father growing impatient.

“Ro, zoom back in them please?” Luke ask softly knowing even opening them still makes her queasy.

“If you look here, this girl has a mole on her neck. Rosey doesn’t have a single mole or freckle on her neck. The only place, that I have ever been able to see sir, she has freckles is across her nose.”

Rosey’s mother took the phone, her eyes inspecting the blurry images. She nods in understanding, looking back up at her daughter with a fierce expression. “We will deal with this, honey. Your dad and I will handle it. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Her father’s gaze switched from the phone to Luke. He studied him, his eyes intense and searching. Then he spoke, his voice a mix of relief and warning. “You’re right, son. I’m trusting you to keep an eye on her, keep her safe. Don’t let anything happen to my little girl. Just don’t let yourself learn where anymore freckles on my baby girl are!”

Luke laughs nervously at his last statement.

“I understand, sir. I promise to do everything in my power to protect her. She means more to me than you could ever know,” Luke replied solemnly, his love hazed eyes never leaving hers.

Her father’s gaze softened slightly, recognizing the sincerity in Luke’s voice. “Good. Because she’s going to need someone like you by her side.” He squeezed her shoulder gently before turning to his wife. “Let’s go upstairs and talk this through, honey. I think these two have some things to discuss as well.”

With a knowing smile, her mother nodded, leaving them alone in the hallway. The air was thick with tension, but there was also a newfound sense of unity between them.

Luke’s hand found hers, and she laced their fingers together, feeling a rush of comfort at the simple touch.

The two sat back down on the couch, the earlier intimacy of their embrace now replaced by a shared comfort knowing her parents are pushing to overcome this latest hurdle.

“Thank you, Luke,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Really, truly I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his. “You’ll never have to find out, Ro. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice was firm, the words a promise that he intended to keep.

Rosey’s eyes closed as she melted into his embrace, letting out a sigh of relief. The tension in her shoulders visibly dissipated as she felt his comforting touch. For a moment, she allowed herself to just be in the safety of his arms, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her chest. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long few weeks, and it filled her with a sense of peace she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

“Lukey?” She mumbled.

“Yes pretty girl?”

“Back to the last time I saw you, can I fulfill what I said? I want to be yours and just yours. Now and forever. A real relationship where I can kiss you like real people do and I can tell you I love you whenever and it not be weird and-”

Without allowing another word, Luke leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, silencing her nervous babbling with a gentle, lingering kiss. It was a promise and a declaration wrapped in one sweet embrace.

His eyes meeting hers the second they parted, and he uttered the ever so softest "yes" against her lips. “God, yes Rosey be mine.”

#Spotify #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfiction #luke hughes x reader #luke x reader #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x yn #luke hughes x y/n #Luke x Rosey x Emersyn #Luke x Rosey #luke hughes fluff #hockey #18+ mdni #nj devils fics #nj devils fluff #nj devils fic #cay writes #-> timeless

112 notes · View notes