#you always walk between passion and poetry

[thewritetofreespeech]

Romantic relationship headcanons for Dracula, Hector, Issac, Alucard, and Trevor?

Castlevania Boys Romantic Headcanons

Dracula

Once his defenses are down, he’s a very romantic man.

Despite his eons of life, he still believes in love, and true love, and expressing that to those that matter.

Even if it’s few & far between on being able to find it.

Since his time is endless, and theirs possibly short, he wants to spend as much of it as he can with them.

Going on walks, picnics, or just being together in comfortable silence while they read or relax by the fire.

He is also a very passionate man. So make sure your evenings are free for him.

Hector

Aww bless him. He tries.

Which is probably his biggest flaw. He tries too hard.

Hector is a classic over thinker, in the sense that he thinks on ever scenario and plans it out. Thinking this will create a perfect plan with now flaws, except he forgets that people are flawed.

Inevitably this usually ends in failure, but still a sweet gesture that is appreciated.

His gifts are usually very thought out, but also miss the mark. Like one time you said you liked green, and Hector remember this and gave you an emerald ring he pulled off one of his night creature carcasses.

At least your pets will live forward though.

Alucard

Although jaded by life, Alucard is actually still an incredibly sweet and charming man.

Though he tries to keep his heart safe and locked away, he does still keep it on his sleeve. And once he’s warmed up to you, will gladly give it.

Words often escape him, as he’s worried about saying the wrong thing. So his romantic gestures are usually in, well, gestures.

Finding a book he thinks you will like. Coming across some manner of poetry and leaving it on your nightstand. Collecting wildflowers when he goes out to hunt or fish for supper.

Trevor

More swagger than romance, but he’s getting there.

Trevor always says the right things. Good on compliments. Great on telling you how beautiful you are.

Terrible at remembering dates or plans though. So don’t expect him to remember anniversaries, or show up to dinners on time if you have a special one planned without reminding him 18 times.

It’s not that he doesn’t care. It’s just that his brain doesn’t work that way. More in the moment than a future plans kind of person.

He longs to be close to you, always. Not necessarily in a sexual way (though that is a lot) but just beside you, next to you, curled up by your side.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers) #trevor belmont x reader #trevor belmont #castlevania alucard x reader #alucard x reader #castlevania alucard #alucard #castlevania hector x reader #hector x reader #castlevania hector #hector #castlevania dracula x reader #dracula x reader #castlevania dracula #dracula

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [2] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); wooyoung x reader, yunho x reader; 11.4k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore

Desire is such a futile thing. Grasping at a fleeting fit of passion that will be over in just a few breaths. Yearning for a moment ever so brief, it was like it never even began. It only continues to ponder you as you stare at the book of forgotten history, tucked between an old Jane Eyre and newly found poetry. It's an odd place, but Soobin himself is odd. He thought that it would allow someone to find a new interest – resting unlike books next to one another. You yourself didn't even know the book existed until you stumbled upon it. Your fingers glide along the pages, many dog-eared. A part of you hopes that whenever Soobin comes back he could tell you why he noted these particular pages. If he ever does, that is. The lump in your throat continues. You flip a page with hopes to distract yourself.

The multitude of Fae folk is still unknown. Ranging from the dozens to hundreds, not one researcher agrees on how many exactly exist, or if they truly exist at all. But what we all know is that it begins with disappearances.

Until a town is drained dry.

You close the book, the familiar chill creeping up again. The store is closed now and you've checked twice to make sure it's empty. There is no real reason why you feel fear. But you're not one to ignore it. You tuck the book away, locking up the front gates to the store and exiting promptly, the apartment above the store left abandoned.

It has been over a month now since Soobin has disappeared. You've been interviewed by the local sheriff's department for your involvement and your plea for innocence was believed. No one could say nor prove it was your fault that Soobin suddenly vanished. Nothing tied you to it. Even the townsfolk, as bitter as they may be that you weren't the one to leave, told the police that you were at various stores in town when he was no longer around. You could only thank them. Perhaps your reputation isn't as heinous as you once thought.

Contacting his family was your biggest fear. His parents told you that Soobin called at the time, explaining he needed time away then never called again. They aren't as worried as you, apologizing for the way he broke up with you. Neither of you understand why he just left. It's not like him. He fights tooth and nail and never just leaves. Foul play has been ruled out but you just can't wrap your head around it. The two of you loved one another. Giving up that easily… Do you even know the real Choi Soobin?

Have you ever?

"Haven't I told you not to walk home alone?"

Seonghwa appears next to you as he always does. Hands tucked in his sleek trench coat, the same friendly smile on his lips. His strange appearance is nothing new. A few times a week he seemingly conjures up on empty streets and sidewalks to walk you home. Only another check on your list of him not being human. He never threatened you nor persuaded you with anything nefarious as of yet, but his presence still brought fear. One day the visits wouldn't be so meaningless. One day he won't be as kind.

"There's no one ever around for me to be scared, Hwa," you say. "Unless you want me to be afraid of you."

"You should be mindful. Not everyone is as they seem. You should know from experience."

Whether or not his words are a purposeful jab is frivolous, but they do sting. "Feels like a warning for me to stay away from you, Seonghwa."

He doesn't stop walking, his voice is softer this time. "I didn't mean it that way. You know that."

You do. Since you've met the mysterious man all he's done is stand up for you. Irritate the locals with his snarky remarks, enough so that many began to leave you alone. Sure, the lack of customers is quite severe at this moment, it was better than having to force a smile on your lips as they mentioned how Soobin ran the store better than you ever have. There's only so many strained smiles you could muster.

But trusting Seonghwa? The creature of the night who you are ninety-five percent sure is a Faerie? An Unseelie one at that? You can only hold back your scoff. What you have found about them is helpful. One of which you haven't tested yet – whether or not they could lie. Now is a prime opportunity. You glance at the man walking next to you, before speaking. Low ball questions first, before you can gradually ask the important ones.

"Do you think I'm doing well?" You ask.

His brow raises. "Change of subject?"

"A bit, but not really. I just… it's been a lot, being on my own now. I was self-sufficient before I met him and still am, but things are different. I wanted this dream with him. I wanted to struggle with him. Sometimes I wonder if all of this is worth it. If I should even wait for him."

"You are doing well," he murmurs. "As well as a human can under these circumstances."

Your chest begins to tighten at his words. The thought of proving yourself right is gone. The sincerity of his goes in one ear and out the other. Only one word you can focus on. One sticking out in the sentence, bile gathering at the back of your throat.

Human.

No one you've met in your entire life speaks of people that way. You struggle to hold your poker face. Pretend that nothing is wrong. You take a slow breath. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem. Ah, I must go now though, my family will be wondering where I am by now," he glances at his watch, before shooting you a small smile. "I will see you soon, y/n. Have a good rest."

He turns on his heels before you can say more, disappearing into the night. You hold your bag closer to yourself, steps quickening. You have little option left. You can't leave the town no matter how much you want to – that'll mean leaving the bookstore behind. A sound minded person would forget about it and just leave but you can't. Despite how disappointed you are for Soobin leaving you alone, you can't leave the store. It's silly, but you still care about him. It'll hurt you to see the store fall apart. You just hope he'll come back soon.

Maybe then he'll be able to tell you if you're being delusional or not.

-

"She knows." Seonghwa enters his home, frustration coating his features. "I fucked it up and now she knows."

"Told you~" Wooyoung's falsetto tone rings through the corridors. "I should have gone to her instead."

The glare Seonghwa sends him is enough for Wooyoung to drop his grin, exiting the room. Jongho and Yunho are the only other two in the room, both focused on reading. They're underdressed for this time of night; Seonghwa knows that Hongjoong planned another visit to the human world for food. And it's their turn to join them, though they look too involved in their own separate readings to even change out of their sleepwear. Yunho looks up from the writings.

"On a scale from Hongjoong tripping on a rock to Mingi setting fire to a village, how bad?"

Seonghwa sighs. "I said humans in front of her."

Jongho winces, "No coming back from that. What did you do after?"

"I panicked and left. Her heart rate picked up and her perspiration began coating her forehead. I thought I would be able to last longer–"

"She is quite intelligent. It wouldn't have taken her longer than another week to put the pieces together. You just sped up the process," Yunho murmurs. "But the question still remains: How do we explain this to everyone else?"

"We don't," Jongho closes his book softly, glancing between them. "Wooyoung is very likely running around our home right now telling every living soul what happened. We'll just have to deal with the repercussions. She knows now, which means that she will avoid you Seonghwa. And will very likely be wary of any new people hovering around her. It won't be as easy this time to convince her to come here."

"We keep her here then?" Yunho suggests.

"No…" Seonghwa stops pacing, thinking. "She trusts me. At least more than the rest of us. I can convince her to come here willingly."

"Can you?"

Seonghwa frowns. He's not too sure. He's broken it at this point. Struggling to mend it back together will just take too long. You'll slip right through their fingers. So despite how much he does not want to consider this choice, it's all he has. Perhaps the incessant little voice in the back of his head is correct.

"Wooyoung may be able to. I know we've avoided his particular methods, but there's little left to be done. The rest of us aren't as friendly as him, aside from Yunho. And you often avoid humans entirely because of your attachment issues."

Yunho frowns, "Thanks for pointing that out."

"Your decision has come too late," Another voice interrupts them, their gaze moving to the door. San leans on the threshold, cross arms against his chest. "The little turnip has already left our home. It's only a matter of time that he stumbles upon her path."

Their combined groans echo around the room.

-

Wooyoung sits on the edge of the stone fence, leg swinging. He can recall Seonghwa saying that he saw you meander by this path often, but it’s been several days now and Wooyoung himself hasn’t seen you once. Perhaps it was a different path? His fingers run along the stone, humming. Moss covers the gray now, the elements turning it into a darkened, brown color. He whispers into his fingers, pressing them back to the stone. His gaze softens when he sees the color slowly coming back.

“Humans,” he murmurs, scowling. A sweet smell fills his nose. He looks up from the rock, licking his lips. You stand at the end of the path, frozen in your spot. Your hands grip the straps of your bag. Eyes widened in fear. His match yours, but instead in glee, hopping off his spot. You don’t move – even as he slides down the hill, stopping just in front of you.

His hair is long and wavy, framing his cheeks. Kind eyes that seem to be without malice. But you’re not too sure of that. Faeries have a way of concealing their true intentions without much effort. He pushes strands away from his face, tucking it behind his ear. His wear is unusual – mossy green transparent attire adorning his slim frame, barefoot, though no sign of torn skin from the rough ground. You wrinkle your nose. Dwelling on odd observations won't pull you out of this situation.

“y/n. Seonghwa never told me you were easy on the eyes. It’ll be sadder for me to dance with you now,” he frowns, gaze flicking over your face. Dance?

He leans forward. “Your aura is bright. You remind me of a sunset.”

You try and pretend the familiar name does not phase you. It's difficult – you've suspected endlessly that Seonghwa is a faerie and his words are merely confirmation. So maybe this is a friend of his, or family? Either way it doesn't matter to you. Sticking around is the last thing you want.

“I have to be somewhere,” you say through tight lips. He shrugs, taking another step toward you. Panic settles in your chest. No one is around, no one would stop him even if they were. You're all alone in this. “Sir, pardon me–”

“Oh!” He grins, laughing. “Sir? Do not tease me, human. My name is Wooyoung. Ah wait, look at this my lux solaris.” He turns his hand over, palm facing you. You look away from it, a sigh echoing around you. “I won’t kill you, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t hurt me.” A quick thought crosses your mind: where’s Soobin when you need him? Just as the silly thought appears it's gone. Nowhere. Nowhere around here for all you know. You hate how your mind next moves to the kind Seonghwa. Would he do anything? Or will he only allow this to happen? And why are you depending so much on a man – no, faerie.

He purses his lips, “You know the way of the fae. Fine, I won’t hurt you or ensnare you or kill you in any way right now. Now look,” he nudges you slightly. You finally move your eyes down to his hand. Using his other hand, he drags his pointer finger across his palm. A bright yellow path follows it, disappearing off the edge of his palm. His eyes flick to yours, grin widening.

“It is solaris, like you.” he closes his fist, “I’ve practiced that trick for hundreds of years now, you know. It’s hard for humans to see the Will o’ the Wisp without falling prey. So you must be quite special."

You back away from him, "It was a trick?"

"No, because I can't lie as you know," he rolls his eyes. "I just knew you wouldn't fall underneath the spell because we have tried it already on you, silly."

…

"Excuse me?"

"You are resistant to our will, solaris. And none of us quite know why. I'm here to pretend to woo you and guide you back to our home to do testing. By any means necessary. And if my surly words don't work, I'll do it by force."

Everything he says confuses you more and more. "Why would you tell me you're to lure me?"

His smile slips. "What would you rather me do, lie? You know yourself that Unseelie cannot lie. So why shall I tread around the truth?"

"Will Seonghwa be there?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course. He needs to be there so he can see that my method works much better than he has ever done or ever will."

"... Is there any way for me to get out of this?"

He pouts, shaking his head. "Of course not."

Debating on running would be also silly then. He lets you ponder, folded hands resting behind him as he paces. You look back at the path. Just as you're about to turn, Wooyoung appears by your side. His sudden presence makes you stumble, falling back to the sidewalk. He sighs, watching as you gather your things and stand again.

"Running would be useless. I can just make you come with me solaris. But I want to make this easy."

"Kidnapping someone is never easy," you murmur between tight lips. Why did you ever decide to enter this town? It seems like every signal mythical creature around is appearing. It wouldn't shock you if Soobin suddenly appeared, explaining his disappearance is due to him being a merman. The thought makes you snort.

Wooyoung grins. "Now you understand! Let's go!" He touches your elbow lightly, and before you can shove him off, an uneasy feeling settles over you. It grips your skin, painfully pulling against the surface before your surroundings change. You can barely breathe, falling to the grass beneath you. The sidewalk from before is gone, replaced with thickened underbrush and endless woods. You swallow, mouth dry.

"Hm," he bends down, eyes roaming over you once. "Perhaps Hongjoong was right when he told me humans couldn't demanifest."

"You're sick," you manage to speak, coughing. Your body slowly begins to feel like your own, trembles cascading through you. Wooyoung does nothing to help, looking you over as you finally bring yourself back to the reality in front of you. It's difficult to stand but you manage. Your bag is gone, probably somewhere between the split of reality he just dragged you through. "Never do that again."

"I won't. Demanifestation seemed to have done a number on you and I apologize for that. But it appears that a part of you was left behind."

You immediately touch your body. Your clothes are intact, fingers touching your hair. You look at him in confusion, his wicked smile stretching across his cheeks. The breath that comes out feels louder than before.

"You tricked me."

"No," his brows furrow. "Your bag. It's still back on the sidewalk. But your town is … well, I'm sure it will remain in the same place."

There's no reason to reply, steadying yourself. You look around, the forest too dense for you to see any opening. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with the faerie. He knows it as well.

"We're done after this?"

He doesn't say a word.

—

“Our home is quite simple since we live in the middle of the Rowan trees. We have to make sure it’s hidden enough from both humans and other faeries,” he explains. You notice how light his steps are, as if he is floating over bricks, barely making an imprint in the dirt. Unlike yourself – stumbling ungracefully over rocks and forestry, trying your best to stabilize yourself. Wooyoung doesn’t point out your lack of coordination, still speaking about the grandeur of a house that’s … the opposite? You're not too sure on the nuances.

“There’s no need to worry,” he says after a moment, stopping just in front of you. "I'm not bringing you to your death."

"You vaporized me and transported me to the middle of a forest, and shortly after told me you didn't realize it would bother me. So I'm sorry if I don't exactly trust anything you say to me."

"It's true," he whines. You stare at him strangely. He has to be much older than you – Unseelie live to unfathomable ages from what you've read. They're conniving and humorous to capture you but after, ruthless and unforgiving. Now that Wooyoung has you, you can't see why he's still acting so silly. Humorous even. You might even enjoy his company if you weren't in the situation you are right now.

"Okay," you murmur.

He holds out his hand. Fear curls in you as you take his. His skin is warm, fingers entwining in yours with ease. He stares ahead, humming. "Humans can't see our home since we're quite close to neighborhoods. Hold onto me until we pass the threshold, alright? And don't let go until I tell you. It'll feel as if your body is being torn apart if you don't pass through properly. Do you understand?" There isn't any teasing like before, eyes focused. You nod, and he matches you. With his free hand, he holds it out.

The air seems to shimmer and bend beneath his fingertips, twisting reality. Just as quick as he does it, your surroundings change. What was once endless forest is now a large structure in the middle of overgrown trees. The home looks pristine despite its surroundings, vines covering and growing into the brickface. It looks to be three floors, a wrap around porch, all of the windows and doors ajar. Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief. His fingers begin to slip from yours. Your own grip tightens and he furrows his brows, confused.

“Hm?” His lips part, recognition. “Ah, I’ve pulled you through the fabric of reality already, solaris. You can let go whenever you like. Though I don’t mind continuing to hold you.”

You let go, his laugh echoing through the forest. Without pause he walks toward the home, not bothering to turn and see if you’d follow. You do, of course. There’s no reason for you to try and run away now, you’re deep enough in the woods that you’d lose your sense of direction and end up lost. The smell of something sweet glides through the low breeze. Cinnamon-like. Wooyoung enters through the front doors, glancing around before turning down a hallway.

“No one’s around,” he murmurs, glancing back at you. “Seonghwa should be here soon though, he’s not out with the others.”

You pass by an open kitchen. Everything is neat and tidy, table set with lavish flatware and utensils. As you squint, you’re sure it’s made out of some type of gemstone. He continues down the hall.

“He’ll be going to his library first, so we should wait there.”

You stick closer to him now, carefully maneuvering so that your shoes don’t stumble over loose vines moving in and out of the hardwood. The doors down this hallway are closed, locks hanging from the knobs. You don’t say a word but he seems to notice your expression, grinning.

“Unseelie are quite forgetful when it comes to locks. We’ve locked ourselves out enough from places around here that we thought it best to just leave the keys in the knob.”

“None of you are afraid of an intruder?”

He chuckles, “No one would dare enter without our permission, solaris. That’s just a death wish.”

He opens the doors at the end of the hall, beckoning you inside and closing the door behind the two of you. The room is enormous, stories high shelving, endless literature surrounding you. Some titles you recognize from your own bookstore, others unfamiliar. There’s a lot in languages you cannot begin to understand or recognize. It seems endless as your eyes roam. Your stomach twists. Soobin would have loved to see this for himself.

“Ah, he must have cleaned up,” Wooyoung murmurs. “Wonder if he saw the mess Jongho left.”

You walk around slowly, careful not to disturb anything. “How many of you live here?”

“Why? Want a room?” Wooyoung sits on the edge of a table, legs swinging. “I don’t mind it.”

“Just want to know what I’m dealing with,” you frown.

“Hm,” he stretches his fingers, counting beneath his breath, “One, two… Eight. Including me.”

Eight Unseelies. And that's just the amount that live near your home. You can only imagine how many roam the streets, disguised as humans. Dwelling among you. You called the townspeople silly for believing in such superstitions. Now they would just laugh in your face if they knew the truth.

"The people missing…?" You trail off.

Wooyoung doesn't respond to your inquiry. He's moved towards a desk, flipping through the pages in silence. You almost repeat it until he turns to you, eyes flicking between yours.

"We simply ask for a dance. It's their decision on whether they'd like to take our hand. You are your own maker. It's more fun that way.”

A chill passes over you.

He balances a flask between his fingers, humming an unfamiliar tune. Allowing him to drag you through the forbidden Rowan trees into their home is not exactly what you planned, but is there any other choice? Figuring out what he is, what they are, is another point added to your list. There’s just no plan after it. So what if they’re Unseelie? The townsfolk would rather sacrifice you than their own family members. And you can’t blame them. They’ve already blamed the disappearances on you. This will only be something else added to their endless list of hating you.

"You scare me."

Wooyoung looks at you, eyes seemingly somewhere else entirely. "A wise choice."

The door slides open, familiar hands gripping the panel before sliding it back. His eyes slide over to Wooyoung, before looking at you. He lets out the loudest sound you’ve heard from him, groans bouncing against the walls. It’s a bit surprising to see him in such fancy wear, close to what he wore when you first met. His fingers gently rub his temples, obscenities mumbled under his breath.

“You’re just getting worse by every moment,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “If I were Hongjoong you would have been thrown to the Seelie by now.”

“You wouldn’t!” Wooyoung gasps. It’s very much exaggerated, eyes wide. The moment that just passed between the two of you long gone.

“I would. Fortunate for you that I cannot,” he barely glances at you. “You’d follow a stranger into the woods? Have you not listened to any of the words I’ve said?” His tone is harsher than before, formerly kind eyes filled with mire. It was quite silly of you to think that for a second he actually did enjoy your presence. Unseelie are the way they are. He is no different than the rest.

“I had no choice, he threatened the town.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “Of course he did. Why do you even care for a town that doesn’t care for you?”

“Why am I even here?” you say. Seonghwa does not bother to reply to you, fingers gracing one of the leather bound books. He walks past the two of you, lounging in the chair in the farthest corner.

“Hello?”

“Seonghwa wants to experiment on you,” Wooyoung shrugs. “Each attempt that he’s tried to use his abilities on you has faltered. It’s like you’re immune to it. That’s why he’s been spending so much time with you, learning the way you work, your habits and schedules. To see if there’s some explanation for your resistance. Unfortunately he hasn’t found a lead yet. So, I decided to bring you here to see if any of the others can penetrate that strong will of yours, and for him to continue to conduct his research.”

"You're joking."

Wooyoung shakes his head. "Not in the slightest."

You grab your bag, ignoring the pleading eyes Wooyoung attempts to send you. He steps in your way and you only slide beneath his outstretched arms, leaving the room all together. Wooyoung turns around to catch Seonghwa's gaze, pout burned into his lips. Said man still doesn't look up from his book. Of course, Wooyoung could have stopped you if he truly wanted to. An Unseelie versus a human is an easy match. But his mate likes the theatrics of it all, so Seonghwa sinks further into his seat, frames resting on the tip of his nose. It's for show – none of the Unseelie have bad eyesight.

Wooyoung slumps over, knees hitting the mossy floors. "Hyung, please," he whines.

"Typical Wooyoung. Only respecting me when he needs something," Seonghwa murmurs, flipping a page. "Go after her, I'm not your babysitter. Preferably sooner rather than later, unless you want Jongho or Mingi to stumble across a human in our home."

"You're supposed to help me."

"Your mess, not mine," he points out. "Why do you expect me to clean it up? Do it yourself."

"What will you do if they think she's food?"

Seonghwa shrugs. “They know who she is already.”

"Your experiment!"

Seonghwa pauses in his reading for a moment, looking up. He does want to see what exactly is different about you. A clan member taking your life before it happens isn't what he wants. But he's grown tired of fixing things that aren't his problem. Especially one as monumental as this. He gets up, pushing past his grinning mate and exiting the room. It isn't hard to trace your tracks, your heartbeat louder than anyone else's in this home. He just hopes that he gets to you first.

—

Walking through the home is easy and straightforward. You don't bother glancing to the side, previously closed doors ajar casting fear in your heart. Wooyoung so easily lets his words flow, telling you that Seonghwa planned on experimenting, perhaps even dissecting you. All of it is too much, too soon. Too overwhelming for you to comprehend without losing your mind. You step out the front doors, suddenly stopping.

Wooyoung warned you of stepping through without holding his hand. Is that danger gone, or do you still have to worry? Are you forced to stay here against your will?

You should never have gone to that silly bonfire.

"You'll die if you leave without our permission."

You turn, Seonghwa standing there. His hands are tucked in the pocket of his cardigan, glancing over your shoulder. "We never leave it open. A few more yards and you'd be vaporized."

"Wouldn't you enjoy that?"

His lip quips, "Wooyoung told you that I wanted to experiment on you. It would be difficult to achieve that if you're only dust in the wind."

The change of personalities is still difficult to grasp.

"Then what do you propose?" You say.

"Stay longer. I'll let you go after I've tried a few things. None of it involves seriously injuring you. It's just blood sampling and majik tests. Should be no more than an hour. Once that is complete I will do further tests, but that will be in a few days."

"... and then you will let me go?"

He nods, "I have no reason for you to stay. You're not a real burden to us since no other faeries are around. As of now you’re no threat."

The alarms are blaring in your head as you stare at him, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. His words aren't enough to convince you, but you have little choice. You need one of them to help you leave. And you're positive they wouldn't until you let Seonghwa do whatever he needs to test and see why you're resistant to them. There's nothing else to debate or dwell on. The front porch creaks, Wooyoung leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. The same smug look on his face.

–

"Pretty," Yunho whispers to himself, sitting on the edge of the roof. He leans forward, dust and leaves from the tiles cascading down to the ground. It's as if in slow motion, your gaze flicking to the fallen leaves. Surprisingly, you don't look up to see where they've come from. Instead, you catch one between your fingers. Examining it for a brief moment you tuck it in your pocket, following Seonghwa into their home. Yunho almost slips as he follows your movements, flustered. He sighs, pressing his hands against his cheeks. They're quite warm despite the drop in degrees tonight.

Too pretty, he thinks. Humans aren't this pretty. The others said you weren't a faerie, but were you something else? He lets his thoughts linger, until the loud stomping of Mingi's feet distract him. He glances back, his friend sitting to the right of him. His clothing is freshly pressed. No evidence of tonight's events covering him.

"You're getting distracted already," Mingi points out, the front door closing behind you and Seonghwa. "This isn't something to attach yourself to, Yunho. An experiment and nothing else."

Yunho rolls his eyes, "I know I know, and I'm not getting distracted. She's just a human." He narrows his eyes. Right.

You're just a human.

—

"Arm."

Wooyoung’s eyes widen as he stands there, almost perturbed at the thought. “Pardon?”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “I need a baseline for the testing. Having your blood is necessary to see the differences and compare.”

“I don’t want to be used in your experiments on her!” Wooyoung’s voice rises, glancing at you. “Sorry.”

“No need,” you shrug. Your arm is wrapped, Seonghwa already pricked you with the small needle. Bottles of your blood sit on the side, labeled with symbols you recognize from Unseelie literature scattered about. He didn’t say anything to you as he took it from you, passed you a sugary drink and a cookie. It would have been endearing if he didn’t look so frustrated while doing it. You debated on calling him out at the look but again, you’d rather not irritate a being you know nothing of. The Seonghwa you’ve met is gone. Replaced with this angry and quite bitter Unseelie.

“Why do you make everything so difficult,” Seonghwa rubs his forehead. “Why are you even standing there if you’re not willing to help-”

“I’ll volunteer.”

Another voice enters the conversation, your gaze moving to the man who just entered the room. He’s taller than Seonghwa, quite tall actually. His face is kind, brown eyes filled with glee as they look at you. Unlike Wooyoung’s teasing which seems a bit unnerving at times, his look is easy. As if his lips naturally sit in a small smile. He lifts his sleeve, stepping around Wooyoung.

“Nice to finally see the shining star. I’m Yunho,” he holds out his hand and you take it. You can’t help but notice how despite how you always insisted that your hands are pretty big, he just engulfs yours.

“Hi. I’m y/n.”

He laughs softly, “That I know.”

Wooyoung’s voice rises. “Wait-”

“We don’t have time for the back and forth with you,” Seonghwa murmurs, beckoning Yunho closer. “Next time just say you’re okay with it and move on.”

Wooyoung’s frown only seems to deepen. He huffs, glancing between all of you before exiting the room. The door slams quite loudly, unable to stop yourself from flinching.

“It’ll be quick, you already know what to do,” Seonghwa says. Without another word he slides the needle into Yunho’s skin. You notice that his blood is clear, a thicker consistency than yours. Seonghwa pulls out several vials of it, the silence growing. Just as quick as he began it’s over. He grabs the vials, glancing between the two of you. “I’ll be back in a moment, talk amongst yourselves.” He walks off, murmuring something about refrigeration.

Yunho’s gaze easily slides over to yours. “I’m sorry about Wooyoung. He gets a bit antsy when it comes to things like this. We are wary of sharing their blood.”

“Can I ask why?”

He nods. “You might know a bit about us already from interacting, but when it comes to our essence it is sacred. Faeries are sensitive to blood exchanges because it is only something you do with a fae you are mated to. The majority of us would never willingly give up our blood for something like this. That’s why Seonghwa didn’t offer himself, and why Wooyoung was so flabbergasted at the thought of your blood mixing with his. It’s a quite sensitive topic.”

“And yet…” You trail off. And yet you did it without a second thought.

“Mhm,” he agrees, still staring at you. “The others think you’re special. So I would love to have the honor to be the baseline for the experimentation,” he chuckles, sliding his sleeve back down. “Seonghwa isn’t coming back, by the way. He’s told me to guide you out the forest and back to your home.”

Trying to decipher the wording is too much for your tired mind to comprehend right now.

“Demanifestation again?” Your stomach lurches at the thought. You’re not sure you’d survive it a second time.

Yunho shakes his head quickly. “Never. Wooyoung is a fool to have done that to you. We’ll be traveling on foot. Your home isn’t too far away from where we reside. I just need to help you through the barrier.”

You agree, standing slowly. Yunho reaches out his arm and you take it, thanking him softly. The hallways are quiet as you walk through, glancing at him. You can see his gaze glued to one of the doors you pass by, giving you a quick smile as he picks up the pace. You exit their home, and he does the same as Wooyoung did. The forest warps, the home disappearing behind you.

“You can continue to walk straight. The forest will guide you home,” he says softly, bowing. “I wish I could accompany you, but some Unseelie has been making a bit of a mess in our home and I need to fix it before Hongjoong comes.”

Hongjoong. You’ve heard the name a few times. Enough so that you can guess he’s their leader of sorts. But you’ve involved yourself enough. “Thanks for helping me. Straight you said?”

He nods, “Straight. See you soon, y/n.” He turns on his heels, dissipating into the forest. You can only imagine what the town would say if you told them of this encounter. Staring at the spot he once was, you turn back around, walking straight.

-

Yunho winces at the noise, shutting the front door. All of the doors of the home are open, various items thrown carelessly on the hardwood floor. He notices that the door to the library is shut. Seonghwa has had enough of it, it appears. Yunho does not blame him in the slightest. He steps over the broken vases and torn books, head aching already.

“What an incompetent Unseelie. Thriving in chaos does not mean we want it all over our floors,” Seonghwa’s voice echoes through the hallway. Ah, perhaps he is trying to deal with it now?

Yunho steps around the corner, entering Wooyoung’s room. It’s in a dire state, clothing and potion spilled, sheets ripped in half. Just as Yunho steps through the threshold, he’s thrown against the wall. Wooyoung’s hand wraps around his neck, his claw digging into Yunho’s skin. It doesn’t hurt, no, but it is a bit uncomfortable.

“What’s the reason?” he says through struggling breaths. He pulls his hand off with ease, coughing. “Shit.”

“You are always there, always stealing things from me. Could you not rest? Why in every lifetime do you have to take her away from me?” His voice cracks at the end. Yunho’s brow furrows at his words, confusion mounting. “It is always you, everytime. You always ruin my fun.”

“You’re acting like a child because I willingly exchanged blood with the human?” Yunho scoffs. “You shouldn’t have made it such a pressing issue if you wanted to do it.”

“You…” Wooyoung points his hand at him, slowly dropping it. “Give me a chance this time. Don’t steal her from me again.”

“We’ve just met this woman, Wooyoung,” Yunho says. “She is not anyone else.”

His eyes narrow, “You know what I mean.”

The front door slams loudly. Yunho closes his eyes, knowing his headache will only grow once Hongjoong enters the room. He looks at Wooyoung, blinding slowly. “You can do whatever you want with her, I don’t care. The blood exchange is complete now. You’ll have to find another way to bond with her. Figure it out yourself,” he steps out the way, feeling the wrath of his leader just behind him. Hongjoong gives him a look and he does not bother saying anything else, leaving the room.

The door cracks against the frame as it shuts.

--

It’s been a few days since you’ve heard from the Unseelie. You’ve been on edge all the while, tensing everytime the bell rings against the door. Only your fellow townsfolk have entered your shop now, picking up essentials and other things they need. The talk about Soobin has significantly decreased, much to your surprise. You expected for the talk to continue until the end of time. Or maybe they’re just not saying it to your face this time. You still look at your phone every time it rings, hoping to see an unknown number. You answer every time, waiting for the soft voice of Soobin on the opposite side. Instead it’s mostly robocalls. The sinking feeling has not gone away when it comes to him.

Why would he leave you?

The bell rings, and you barely glance at the door. You turn around to place a book on the shelf, dropping the one you have in your hand. He catches it with two fingers, holding it out to you. Taking a step back, you take it from him.

Wooyoung’s barely a foot in front of you, hands tucked in his pockets. He grins, brows wiggling. “Long time no see, solaris.”

He’s wearing casual clothing quite similar to Seonghwa’s wear. Instinctively, you glance down at his feet. He wears shoes this time. In fact, you’re sure you’ve seen Seonghwa wear the exact same outfit. He catches your eye, slipping from the aisle and standing in the middle of the store.

“You like?” he asks, spinning in a circle quickly. “I dressed Seonghwa in my clothes whenever he visited you. He only had those strange trench coats. Stuck out like a sore thumb.” He does the same, thumb in the air for emphasis.

You place your book on the shelf, not sure what to say to him. “Didn’t expect to see you,” you admit. “I thought Yunho or Seonghwa would come around again.”

“Seonghwa won’t dare enter human owned land again after his brief experience,” Wooyoung says. “He hates it. And Yunho isn’t really permitted to leave our land unless he’s given explicit permission. Me on the other hand,” he tilts his head. “I allow myself to enter whenever and wherever I’d like.”

They seem more restricted than you previously thought, minus Wooyoung. How he’s roaming around while - even as briefly as you’ve met him - Yunho not being able to, is a bit strange. The difference in temperament is noticeable. You saw how Seonghwa physically relaxed while taking blood from Yunho. The friendly giant feels more human-like than Wooyoung ever did.

“Why are you here?” You ask, pushing your cart into the next aisle. “Does Seonghwa need me for something?”

“Can’t I just come and visit you, solaris? Is that such a crazy idea?”

“Crazy no. Weird, yes.” You glance at him, eye twitching when you see his leg resting on the loveseat. “You act like you haven’t been around us in thousands of years. I can’t see why you’d want to hang out in a bookstore when there’s so many places in town to go to.”

“The bookstore is the only place that has the sun,” he shrugs.

“You say even stranger things,” you murmur. “And would you stop calling me that?”

“No,” he says immediately.

All you can do is sigh, continuing to place books on your shelves. Wooyoung interrupts you every now and then, either poking fun at you, or telling you another fact about them. Apparently, they’re the only group of Unseelie in town. Unseelie are rare in the faerie species, most eradicated by Seelie. He states the fact with a bit of a somber look in his eyes.

“There were thousands of us at one point,” he explains. “Then the Great War happened. Years ago, so far beyond your comprehension. So many of us fought to the death to survive. The hatred for each other runs quite deep. Most of the time when we stumble upon each other it ends in death. Now that our numbers have dropped so low - we’re not even sure how many of us are left now. Our species of faerie is dying.”

“Is that why Seonghwa is persistent in finding out why I am the way I am?” You ask, and he nods.

“If humans are developing resistance to our abilities, we will die. And not just Unseelie. Faeries as a whole thrive off of human auras. Having that removed from our societies will be detrimental. Mermaids, Seelie, Cave dwellers, Unseelie - so many of us will be gone. If there is a way to prevent that from happening we would do anything for it. But,” he shrugs. “None of us are majikians. Majik can only take us so far. Even if we find a cure, we’re in a new world. Humans will eventually discover us in masses. There will be a war, that I know of. Then Unseelie will be completely eradicated. We will be nothing.”

He twists his body to look at you. “That is why you are my solaris. My sun. You are capable of bringing us life and prosperity. You are also capable of destroying everything we have ever known. Right now you shine brightly. Let us hope that you continue to.”

“I didn’t know this was so important.” Is all that you say.

“Would you have if I didn’t just tell you?” his brow raises. “I’m not here to convince you either way. You would have to come with me whether you’d prefer it or not. It’s just nice to give you some background,” he gets up from his seat, moving around the shop. “It’s quaint here. Small town places always make me feel warm inside.”

The sudden shift of conversation is something you should get used to around them. “Soobin designed it that way. He’s been wanting this place for a while. It’s his home.”

“Soobin is your partner,” he states. Your back is turned, so you don’t see the shift in his expression. How terrifying it would be to see the ghost of a grin on his lips. “He’s not around anymore.”

You take his statements as questions. “Yeah, he is. Well, was. We had a disagreement and…” You stop in your talking. “You should know already, I’m sure Seonghwa told you about it.”

“He did, I just like hearing you talk. It’s much more soothing than his irritated, quick words everytime he speaks to me,” he murmurs. “Why aren’t you afraid?” he asks after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Before,” he slowly walks up to the opposite side of the counter, sitting on the stool. “You were afraid of me when I showed up. I heard your heart beating against your chest, but it’s silent now,” he raises a brow. “What changed?”

“You said I was in no danger with you,” you say, and he nods, waiting for you to continue. “I didn’t see a reason to continue to be scared, so …”

“That is perfect then,” he smiles, resting his head against his palm. “I’m glad you feel that way. I don’t want you to be afraid of me anymore-” He stops, turning around. This time your heart does rattle against your chest. His teasing is gone, sliding off the chair. The door swings open, bell ringing. You cannot see the door from where you are, the opposite side of the store covered by the wide shelves. Not skipping a beat, Wooyoung turns to you.

“Hide. Now.”

You immediately turn, heading to the back office. Despite how much you want to turn around and look, you don’t. You hear a loud crash, the sound echoing through you. Your back office door is open and you enter, shutting it and locking it behind you. There aren't many places to hide in this room, except for exiting the store through the door. Hearing Wooyoung’s words in your head, it wouldn’t be safe for you to just leave. But there’s people out there. It’s evening. Whatever is here wouldn’t attack out in the open, right? Taking the chance, you swing the door open.

The figure standing there is terrifying enough to make you halt your escape. Its claws grip your throat, pushing you back against the back wall as it enters. Wide, golden streaks dripped down its pale body, several limbs severed and dragging along the floor behind it. Its touch is cold, nails sinking into your skin. You can’t say a word even if you wanted to, fear unlike anything you’ve ever experienced sinking into you. Its mouth opens, rows of jagged teeth lining its jaw, stench horrid.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” it hisses. Its finger slips, ripping your skin even more. You cry, hands gripping the one on your neck. It leans forward. You cannot tell whether it’s looking at you or not, holes where eyes would usually be.

“This is what they were floundering over. This is what the Unseelie are concerned about,” It spat, “Weak just like the other filthy humans.”

Its mouth stretches, the hole large enough to swallow you whole. Tears roll down your cheeks. You feel its spit drip against your forehead. Just as you have accepted your fate, you’re thrown out of the creature’s hand, body slammed against the floors.

“Repulsive.” Yunho holds the creature against the far wall, face twisted in disgust. The look is unfamiliar to you, already used to the warm gaze he shot you. He grips its neck, twisting it harshly to the side. The sound of bone and flesh being torn apart fills the air. It’s enough to make you look away. The distraction is gone, pain increasing rapidly as you look down at your injuries.

“Yunho shouldn’t be here,” Another voice appears. Seonghwa looks around the room, eyes immediately roaming over your figure. “Hell.” His body is soaked in what you can only assume is blood, immediately crouching down over you. “Think you can stand?”

You nod. You rest your hands on either side of your body, muscles straining to lift yourself up. Seonghwa merely sighs, reaching out an arm and pulling you up with ease. You stumble, pressing yourself against his chest. He doesn’t say anything more, lifting you into his arms. Your eyes roam behind him, Yunho’s face unrecognizable as he rips the being apart. Wooyoung must have entered without your knowledge, pulling his friend off the creature.

“Relax Yunho – it’s in ruins now. You don’t have to continue.” He pulls on Yunho’s arm again, this time thrown back against the floor at his attempt. Yunho does not bother turning around, continuing to rip into the thing.

“Fuck off, Wooyoung.”

“Time to get Mingi,” he sighs, glancing back at you. His brows contort in worry, “Oh my solaris, it stole your shine.”

“Get him under control enough, Mingi should be arriving soon,” Seonghwa helps you through the door, easily carrying you. You notice townspeople walking, none bothering to glance your way. Too tired to question it, your body slumps in his arms.

“The Seelie almost tore you apart,” he starts, waiting for a car to pass before crossing the street. “Wooyoung called for us just in time. Ah, your neck,” he winces as he looks at it. He lifts a hand and lightly touches your skin, mumbling words underneath his breath. “That should seal it up enough. We’re almost there.”

Your mind is too clouded with the events to give him a response. He takes it in stride, stepping into the forest. You aren’t sure how long it has taken to get to their home, but you see the familiar woods, trees gathered around the house that sits in between. He says something to another in passing, stepping into the library and shutting the door behind him. Seonghwa places you in a seat.

His hand lightly touches your temple, exhaustion slowly fading away. You blink quickly, glancing around. The room is lined with glass, contents unknown. He turns around to grab a small case, finger dragging across the surface. Inside are several bandages and other first-aid kit items. You want to thank him but your mouth is dry. Only a small wheeze escapes your lips. He glances back at you, wiggling his pointer finger.

“It is a binding spell. No words can escape until I let it be so. The claws of that Seelie dug in deep. If you speak, it may only worsen your condition.”

He rests on one knee, humming to himself. The jar he has in his hand is written in unknown scripture. He picks up the ointment with two fingers, slowly brushing it against your skin. “This is toad puss. Disgusting name and scent, but it will seal your wound much quicker than ordinary human antibiotics. Ah,” he glances behind you. “Took you long enough to arrive.”

You cannot twist your neck, moreso out of fear of tearing your skin. Wooyoung appears beside Seonghwa, glancing over your wounds. “The Seelie almost shredded her. I looked around the bookstore as I cleaned up but there was no sign of any carvings. There’s nothing on her body either. I’m not sure why they came or how they found her. ”

“Us, silly,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. He grabs the gauze, slowly wrapping it around your neck. “One of the Seelie found out that we knew of a human like her. They followed one of us, or both of us, and located where she resides. Though I don’t know for sure if they followed you today and or followed me weeks ago. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Her bookstore is compromised.”

“Then what do we do?” Wooyoung asks, eyes still on yours.

“We talk to Hongjoong.”

You can see how his body deflates immediately. “But –”

“He’ll be furious, yes, but we need to tell him that the Seelie are back. And what steps we take from there. Actually, I think I heard him rummaging around his room. After I get her fixed up, I’ll go speak to him. I’m sure he’s already listening in on our conversation anyway.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything else, but you can see how Seonghwa’s words weigh heavy on him. You wish you could speak up for yourself. Your mind is leaning towards yelling at them for putting you in this mess in the first place. Wooyoung leaves without another word, the tap of the door closing behind him.

“What a mess,” Seonghwa sighs. He looks at you, humming again. “You are probably furious right now, aren’t you?”

You nod, and he merely laughs.

"Well you might as well get used to it. No such thing as happy endings for demonic creatures like us. Unfortunately for you, you’re now associated," he rips off the gauze wrapping with his teeth, spitting flyaway pieces to the side. His fingers slowly lift your leg. His touch is soft in comparison to his words, glancing at your face for any signs of discomfort. Not seeing one, he continues. "We Unseelie exist to balance the universe. We are not inherently evil, no. But our mere presence is distasteful, disastrous. We cannot feed without hurting humans, we cannot survive without interfering in your lives. We breathe chaos. It is all we've known and all we'll ever know – oh, did that hurt?" His voice is soft for a brief moment, seeing your brow furrow at his pressure. "Tight?"

You don’t say anything. His eyes widen for a moment, fingers brushing against a sliver of skin peeking out from the bandages on your neck. “Apologies. I was wondering why you remained so quiet.”

Your voice escapes you, quite low. "I’m fine."

He narrows his eyes but continues, much slower this time. You're not sure where this conversation stems from, but you don't dare interrupt. It's the most any of them have spoken to you about their kind. "It's not like a human would understand that it's natural for us. We enjoy killing because it is in our nature. We cannot live without it. It's a shame, really. So many Unseelie have tried to pull away, tried to stop killing. But all attempts have failed. Each one has died in the process. It is like if humans decided to stop feeding on plants and meat and decided to eat air instead. It won't work. It's unsustainable."

"I understand."

He pauses. "No, you don't. Not really."

You clear your throat. "Who are we to tell you what to do? We've considered ourselves the top of the food chain for so long, we can't think of something stronger or faster or wiser than us. What am I to do? Kill off every faerie I see?"

He nods. "That's what many human hunters have done. What many have decided to do over centuries."

"But not me."

His eyes flick between yours, expression unreadable. You don't bother to fill the silence and neither does he, hooking the gauze together with a small metal clip. You think the conversation is over, until he speaks up again.

"You are a strange one. It is of no wonder so many of us admire you."

“What –”

"It is funny what humans think of us,” he interrupts, not allowing you to comment though you desperately want to. “There is no good versus evil. Despite how much we hate the rigidness of the Seelie, they are faeries just like us. But they are not innately good just as we are not innately evil. If the world was that simple, we would have been eradicated long ago," Seonghwa muses. "Us Unseelie value chaos, sacrifice. We fight for our positions when necessary, and enjoy power. Though we all dislike humans, perhaps hate in some cases, we do welcome you. Even if it is temporary. Just because we live in forestry hills does not mean our heads are filled with dirt."

"Do you like me then?"

He grins. "I enjoy you as an experiment if that would make you feel a bit better."

"Ecstatic," you murmur.

"Well you know we cannot lie, so it must give you some reprieve. Unfortunately for us, you can lie," his eyes narrow. "What is your ex-partner's name again? Soobin?"

You say nothing. Allowing him into your head, letting him question you – it is exactly what you should not do when meeting a faerie.

"Ignoring my words?"

"You should know why I am."

He narrows his gaze, "Filthy humans and their silly rules."

"They keep us safe."

"They ruin the fun we have,” he sighs. “I can’t have you back at that bookstore, or your home,” Seonghwa stands, fingers dragging through his hair. “It’s no longer safe for you. You’ll have to stay with us for now.”

You want to debate with him, want to say that you’d rather tough it out and deal with it on your own. But you cannot forget how utterly terrified you were when that Seelie attacked. How you froze. If they weren’t there, you would’ve been long gone by now. Your family would mourn your disappearance, desperate for answers that you wouldn’t have been able to give them. Perhaps wondered if you left with Soobin, wherever he went.

It’s not something you’d ever want.

“Okay.”

He nods. “Okay then.”

He stands, about to leave. "Seonghwa."

He turns around.

"Before, Wooyoung was telling me how you would never enter the human owned land again because you despised it. But you did today. Why is that?"

A strange look crosses his face. "Wooyoung told you such words?"

You nod. "He did."

A breathy laugh follows suit, "That seems like something he would do. I'll set up your temporary room and be back." Seonghwa doesn't say another word, exiting the room. His avoidance of the question only creates more confusion.

-

“You are all making a fuss for a human you don’t even know. Curiosity can only stretch so far. What else are you going to do? Sacrifice yourselves so that she can live? This is more than silly. It’s stupid.”

Hongjoong paces back and forth in the library, Seonghwa flipping through several documents to see if there is any solution to what’s happening now. If he can find some semblance of an answer, perhaps she wouldn’t have to stay at all. But as of now he has found nothing of consequence. Nothing to stop the Seelie from coming after you.

“If the Seelie are after her and want to kill her, then there’s something there. Why give up now?” Seonghwa says, barely looking up from his literature. “It doesn’t have to involve you if you don’t want it to. We can keep her away from this side of the house.”

“That’s not my point and you're more than the wiser to understand that."

“Then what is?”

“You are undermining me,” Hongjoong’s eyes narrow. “You all made me the leader of our spark. And it is my duty to protect us all from harm. Ever since this human has come around, things have been happening. You should have just killed it when you first stumbled across it. And now Yunho is all out of sorts and Mingi has to watch him. Seelie have emerged again. None of this is okay.”

Seonghwa merely rolls his eyes. “We are Unseelie, we’re trained for this.”

Hongjoong stops pacing, shaking his head. “We are very few in number, Seonghwa. We cannot risk our extinction. Not for a useless human. Once the news has spread that you three have killed Seelie, there will be war. There is only so much I can protect us from.”

“We can protect ourselves. And it is too late anyway,” Seonghwa says simply. “We killed the Seelie for a reason.”

“You could have let them kill her and we would have had this problem eradicated.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Hongjoong pauses. He stares at his friend, his mate. Seonghwa does not often express his care. Has not for a while. “Unless you care for it?”

Seonghwa frowns. “Stop suggesting silly things.”

“Say you don’t care for it and I’ll believe you.”

Seonghwa stares at him, desperate for the words to escape him. But his true nature prevents him from doing so. He can only hope that Hongjoong does not push the issue further. He’s already dealt with endless pestering today. He thought he'd at least get a bit of reprieve from Hongjoong. Instead he is only being scowled. It's no wonder he actively avoids his presence every chance he gets.

“Say it, Seonghwa.”

“Haven’t we all irked him enough today?” Yunho enters the room, Wooyoung close behind. Not seeing Mingi hanging around is a bit odd, but neither of them mention it. “Pestering him about this is a mute point. We all have to keep an eye on her for now. Until all of this is settled. Maybe we should pick up the talks tomorrow.”

Seonghwa grabs the book he has in his hand and leaves the room, Hongjoong exiting in the opposite direction. Yunho sighs softly, exhaustion riddling his body. He doesn’t acknowledge Wooyoung trailing behind him, lounging on the long sofa. Said Unseelie paces around his resting figure, picking at the skin by his nails.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Yunho murmurs, one lid opening to look at his friend. “I’m okay now.”

Wooyoung sits in front of him, head pressed against his thigh. Yunho reaches down, fingers massaging Wooyoung’s scalp. It's a common routine. Anytime he's overwhelmed, Yunho hears the soft tapping of his knuckles against his bedroom door. Most times he needs the comfort of their bodies against one another's, breathes mingled in the low light. But this is one of those rare moments that Yunho isn't able to provide such a comfort. His mind is too consumed with thoughts unlike his own. And Wooyoung seems to know it as well, trembling underneath the scratch of Yunho's nails against his scalp.

He lets out a long breath, looking up at his mate. Yunho's eyes look heavy. Exhausted. “It is not her I am worried about right now, Yunho. I shouldn’t have called you.” Wooyoung starts.

“You only thought of the first person on your mind. It’s alright.”

“It should have been Mingi or Jongho first. We all know how these things affect you and I messed up again. Much, much worse than last time.”

Yunho's fingers pause in combing his hair. A horrid reminder. He swallows slowly, pushing those thoughts away.

“Wooyoung,” Yunho shakes his head. “You can’t continue to blame yourself. The past is the past.”

He closes his eyes, lower lip trembling. “You could have lost yourself completely. Yunho, Mingi had to injure you to stop you. I should know what to do when you’re like that, I should be able to stop you–”

"Your presence was enough."

He shakes his head. "The Seelie was barely recognizable. It was a pile of mashed flesh –"

“Hey, stop,” he pulls his fingers from his hair, resting on the bottom of his chin. His strength is barely used as he tilts his head up to look at him. “I’m fine. We’re fine. I can’t tell you to stop thinking about it because I know you and I know you will, but I’m okay, Woo. I’m fine. Please don't let those thoughts burden you. You could not pull me out of it, but it's not your fault. I listened to your call. I decided to come. I could have told one of the others first. It was my choice.”

  "Yun…"

"Mmm," He lets go of his chin, arms opening. Wooyoung wastes no time in sinking into his embrace, chest rising and falling calmly. "I'm okay."

“Are you sure?” His voice is softer this time. His fingers dig deeply into the fabric of his blouse. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Unseelie can’t lie.”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes, Yunho’s warm laugh echoing around the room. “Fine. I am okay, and I’m not lying to you.”

"Promise?" He's persistent, hands cupping Yunho's face. "Promise me?"

"I promise, pretty faerie."

Wooyoung hides himself in the sleeve of Yunho’s shirt. "You're trying to distract me."

"It seems to be working," Yunho teases.

They enjoy each other's silence, Wooyoung lifting his head up again. "I'm sorry for before. For getting angry at you like that. I just let my feelings overtake me and blew up. I'm sorry."

"Already forgiven."

"You shouldn't, though. I hurt you," Wooyoung's eyes roam Yunho's neck. Though he has already healed, the puncture marks of his claws are still scars against his skin. Wooyoung leans up, pressing his lips lightly against the risen skin, Yunho's body trembling beneath the touch. "I hurt you."

"You can't help it."

"But I didn't try to stop myself."

"The human brings out the worst in us, it seems."

Wooyoung laughs, the sound not at all reaching his eyes. He ponders for a moment. "I like her."

Yunho takes his words with hesitance. It's been very apparent since he's seen you that Wooyoung has grown a soft spot for you. Though he can't quite understand how it happened so quickly. The Unseelie has barely spent more than a day with you. "I know."

"I want her to like me too."

"Good luck with that."

He frowns. "She will like me, Yunho."

"I know. You're too easy to like, Wooyoung. She will eventually feel the same as you."

"You think?" he gives Yunho a toothy grin.

"I know."

—

You sit on the porch, staring out into the night. The breeze is quieter than before, whistling through the branches and leaves. The throbbing pain in your neck has subsided greatly. You can only thank Seonghwa silently, fingers brushing against the gauze tight on your neck. You can still see the way that Seelie looked at you, the ferocity in its eyes. How easily it could have snapped you in half if it truly wanted to. Have you brought this all upon yourself? Letting Seonghwa creep into your life? Was the loneliness too much to bear that you've attached yourself to the next person who was a bit kinder to you? You rub your eyes, chest rising and falling slowly.

"Pathetic," you mumble, tucking your knees close to your chest. Your desperation for a reason why Soobin left you alone led you here. Stuck in a house filled with mythical beings. None of which care for you. You should have just gone home once he disappeared. Maybe then you wouldn't be stuck here. The stinging feeling in your throat burns. You hold it back. You can't cry. Not here. Not around them.

"Thoughts fogging your mind so deeply that you didn't hear me knock?"

You look up, Wooyoung's head peeking out from the overhang on the porch. His hair is wild, flowing in the breeze. He takes your non answer as acceptance of his presence, dropping down from the roof to sit on the railing. He tilts his head as he stares down at you. "You look upset."

"I'm stuck in a place I don't know with people I don't know because creatures I don't know are attacking me for a reason I don't know. So yes, maybe I'm just a little upset about my circumstances."

"You do know why they attacked you," he points out. "They want you dead."

"Reassuring," you give him a half smile. "Thanks for that."

"I'm… I'm not trying to get on your bad side, solaris. I'm trying to make you like me. I want you to be comfortable around me."

"You shouldn't care how I feel about you, Wooyoung. You've already done your job luring me here. Now leave me alone."

His lips frown, sighing softly. "What else can I do to help?"

"Is it not enough that you've trapped me here? I would thank you for saving my life, but you all are the reason those things came after me. I would have lived normally without your meddling. Seonghwa should have…" He should have killed you and gotten it over with.

"You don't mean that." He looks at you with such a pitiful, worried look that for a moment, you believe in his concern. Believe that he actually is upset for you. But you know it's not at all true. You know it's another ploy to make you feel comforted by him, by them. And you're not foolish, no. Unseelie do not care for humans.

They never will.

"I do."

"Solaris–"

"And call me by my name, Wooyoung." You slowly stand up, ignoring his hand reaching out to steady you. "Now goodnight." You slowly limp towards the French doors, shutting them behind you. You stare into his eyes as you turn the lock, shutting the curtains.

#fic: wonderwall #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader #seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader #briefly: #jongho x reader #hongjoong x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez fluff

[ugh-yoongi]

Congrats on the 1k!!!

Can I request an idol boyfriend Namjoon and y/n drabble? Something like they’re on a museum date and Joon is being his intelligent/passionate about art self, talking all the artwork and whatnot, and y/n just gets so turned on so they end up hooking up in a hidden part of the museum? 👀

namjoon being an enthusiastic art heaux? this is right up @effortandmore's alley. thank you for this request, though. this one was fun.

most of the history on the piece described here is from the met's website, here. it's a really interesting and heartbreaking piece; i encourage everyone to check it out.

(also, this is more "waxes poetic about art" than anything else. smut takes me forever to write and i figured you've waited long enough, so you'll have to headcanon it, i am so sorry. also, something about this piece just screamed namjoon to me and i wanted to write it. hope you enjoy anyway!)

nydia

pairing: namjoon x reader (no pronouns used) genre: established relationship au; fluff warnings: can be read as idolverse or not, one mention of suicide (the story behind the sculpture is pretty depressing), light swearing, namjoon being hot and smart, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1k

The next gallery you walk into is vast.

Full of windows that cast a mid-afternoon glow on the floor. Stained glass casting colors. In here, everything feels grand. Feels a little overwhelming, reminds you of your place in the world: small, irrelevant, hopeful. You’re standing in a room of giants, both literally and metaphorically.

Namjoon is large on his own, but here it feels endless.

Diana is centered in the room, light dancing across the bronze. As you stare up at her, you wonder if she’s happy with this iteration. If she mourns her original purpose, poised atop one of the city’s most recognizable buildings, now long-gone. Demolished. You wonder if she’s content to be stationary when she used to go the way of the wind.

She’s stunning, even as a replica of her original self, but she’s not what Namjoon came here for.

What Namjoon came here for is also in the center of the room. The marble she’s carved from is more modest than Diana’s glittery bronze, but no less impactful. Her name is Nydia, and Namjoon has been obsessed with her since he’d gotten his hands on a first edition of an old novel, out of place amongst his poetry, but inspired by art and weathered by time and someone else’s devotion to it.

“There she is,” he says, and the room is vast and empty but you could make out the hushed awe in his voice from miles away.

You tuck yourself into his side, feeling just as small next to him as you do next to all of these sculptures. Laugh softly, endlessly endeared, at all the pamphlets he has clutched in his hands. History upon history, always something else to learn, and you could write just as many on the man beside you.

“Tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks down at you. Smiles. Says, “Her name is Nydia,” even though you know that already. “Randolph Rogers sculpted her in 1856. She’s based off of the character from The Last Days of Pompeii.”

You study her. Admire all of her intricacies, all the love that had gone into creating her and telling her story: her closed eyes, the broken Corinthian column lying at her feet, the movement of her dress. You’re vaguely aware of her story, recited to you by Namjoon over the span of three afternoons, one for each volume, so you know enough to know the tragedy, but you’d be able to feel it if you hadn’t.

“In the novel, she was kidnapped and enslaved and rescued by a man named Glaucus. She falls in love with him, but he’s betrothed to Ione.” He sighs, subdued; probably knowing too much about unrequited love. Probably relating too much to the sculpture standing tall before him. “There’s a lot that happens in between, but Vesuvius erupts and Nydia leads Glaucus and Ione to the Bay of Naples, where they’re able to board a ship to safety.”

Namjoon reaches out, careful not to touch, and traces the air along Nydia’s fingertips, her hand that’s raised to her ear. “She’s blind, so she’s used to navigating by sound. Everyone else in Pompeii is unable to see through the ash and rock, but Nydia has never been able to see, so she’s able to get them to the ship by listening to the ocean.”

The two of you share a quiet moment. You wonder what it must’ve been like, living through the chaos of that day. Watching, hearing the world burn down around you, helpless to stop it. Knowing you’re doomed to your fate. You wonder if you would’ve made the same decision as Nydia, if the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you in return would hurt too much to be selfless. You wonder if it would’ve haunted you.

“What happened to her?”

Namjoon remains quiet. You almost think he doesn’t hear you, but then he answers, just above a whisper: “She decides that death is preferable to the pain of her unrequited love for Glaucus and kills herself. Slips into the sea.”

“Oh.”

The huff of laughter that tumbles out of Namjoon surprises you. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to be depressing.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll just have to write a strongly-worded letter to Edward Bulwer-Lytton.”

A full-on cackle. “Yeah. Let me know what he says.”

“Probably, ‘Sorry my novel upset you, but I’ve been dead for a hundred and fifty years.’” You sigh, trying to shake off the dregs of sadness. “Tell me about Rogers. Is that less depressing, at least?”

Namjoon lights up the way he always does when you ask him about art: entirely, with his whole being. Looks like the first time you told him you loved him, and you think they’re probably the same, that they say the same thing. “Mostly. C’mere.”

You follow him to another sculpture. Ruth Gleaning, it says. “He carved this one, too. It was his first large-scale work, since he’d mostly sculpted busts of tourists after he moved to Italy. Nydia was much more popular, though; a year or two later he was commissioned by the U.S. to do the bronze doors for the Capitol building. He was also commissioned to do a statue of John Adams but it got lost at sea.” Namjoon looks anguished at this. “Fuck, can you imagine? He had to redo the whole thing.”

“Sounds a lot like you.”

“Wow, rude.”

The two of you share another laugh, but you’re struck by all of what Namjoon is. Intelligent, empathetic, eager. Always wants to bring you into what he loves, always wants to share it. Doesn’t deem anything unworthy of knowing, because you wouldn’t have thought Namjoon would know all of this, the history of an American sculptor forgotten behind the likes of Calder, Nevelson, French. But he has assigned spaces for everything, so of course he knows.

It’s a little overwhelming, how much you love him.

How much you want to know him the way he knows everything else.

The gallery you’re in is vast, but it’s filled with love. An artist’s love for its subject, your love for Namjoon. They say the same thing.

#work: 1kfm #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jewel answers #jewel writes

[meowzfordayz]

this is us

Author’s Note: this is a blend of poetry and prose; of nonsensical musing and nonlinear storytelling; of loving and being loved; of fearing and loving despite fear. 💙

this is us

Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

~faqs~

I love you whispered soft and certain, caressing the heat of your earlobe, a tickling breath.

I miss you, constantly pressed warm and firm into the small of your back, reaching for your hand, swinging while you walk side by side.

I hate you shouted careless and ragged, sharp inhale followed by regret, a hesitation of withheld apology unable to clear the air.

This is love.

Love. A summer night of mosquito bites and squinting at stars. Sky so vast you feel like you’re falling, falling, swimming. Chasing each other across grassy hills. Dew already forming, sticking clear and cold to flip flops nearly worn through. Arms wrapping exuberant, gentle, around your sweatshirt clad waist. A damp, cheerful nose nuzzling playful and familiar into the crook between your neck and collarbone.

This is love.

The days grow long, short, and then long again. Matching footsteps. Outpacing the loneliness. Of wayward dreams and maybe-probably-someday adventures. Driving from one heartache to the next, a looming tree in the foreseeable distance. You cup your knuckles to your chest, flesh raw with envy and desire. Your pulse wishes to sync with your lover’s. To weight itself with his habits and passions. To comprehend the depth of the glow in his eyes. To search for the missing fleck of your favorite color, sewn into his hidden jacket pocket.

This is love.

“How do I keep going?” Giyuu asks you, hushed and sincere, midnight fading to give rise to the time with no name.

The moment with only a beginning.

“I don’t understand,” you confess, drowsy and enamored, desperate to float in the moonlit pools of his gaze, elbow almost slipping off your knee.

“Careful,” he admonishes, steady fingers grazing the armrest of your lawn chair, “Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Too late,” you shrug, yawning widely as your chin tilts upward, “I could fall asleep here.”

“Trust me,” he drawls, “You do not want to sleep in a garden.”

“But how about this garden?” you muse bravely, internal clock tick, tick, stopping.

“Hm?”

“We could fall asleep together.”

The yearning starts as soon as you promise your self. Not your frills or your laughter, albeit he treasures those dearly. Your self. Your untethered, quarrelsome grin. How you smack his bicep when his smirk refuses to dissipate. How you willingly and wholeheartedly despise him. How you wear his sweatpants like they were made for your legs, for your hips, for your silhouette. Dancing ahead of his eventual, patient melody, twirling for his view. For his leisure solely.

This is love.

“Could you say something?” you demand, frustration brimming as tears in your glare.

“Something,” he deadpans, eyelashes heavy.

“For fuck’s sake Giyuu, are we five?”

“No, just me,” he retorts, low and undeterred.

“You’re insufferable,” you’re moving now, toward the door.

Toward the exit.

“Great.”

“Do you even care about this conversation?” you beg, doorknob shiny and brittle to the touch.

“Does it seem like I care?” he raises an eyebrow.

So serene. So scared of fraying edges.

“Not at all.”

“Well aren’t you intelligent,” he mutters.

“I’m done,” you declare, wobbly and labored. “I was done… fifteen minutes ago.”

So nonchalant. So accustomed to leaving.

You’re seething, desperate to meet his stare even as you hardly spare him another glance, “And fuck you for wasting my time!”

You never fight again, drained and incomplete from your last first bout. He welcomes you home with shaky exhales, goosebumped forearms, and a new promise.

“I always care about our conversations. I always care about you. I’m sorry for shutting down, for shutting you down, and for shutting down on you.”

“I’m sorry,” you’re blubbering, cheeks stained with the sourness of abandonment, body aching to be forgiven, “I’m not done. I don’t ever want to be done with you.”

“Me neither,” Giyuu swears, reeling himself in, thinking about winter mornings spent with your freezing toes digging into his thighs, your face blurred and bright, childhood blankets swathed cozy and tight, “Me neither.”

A montage of everlasting film, grainy and remembered with every secretive smile. Stolen agreement shared over shoulders, lost and found with the wind and the rain. Watching snowflakes melt on palms, lips chapped and stinging. A tangle of finality and deja vu, like looking into a mirror and noticing how intently he focuses on you. Memorizing his favorite color so you can unearth the blueprint of his soul. Forgetting to build its walls and roof, nevermind its foundation or decor, because a soul cannot be earned. Nor copied. Simply seen and heard. Cherished for its fullness, battered for its repeating threads.

This is love.

“Where do you envision us in ten years?” he’s contemplative, naked beside you, allowing you to hog the hot water.

“Like, exactly ten years? Or a theoretical ten years?”

“If you could predict exactly where we’d be in ten years, then I’d be very impressed,” he snorts, plastering himself to your glistening skin with a tender greediness, “What if we’re still showering?”

You chuckle, bar of soap clutched careful in your grip, gliding atop the curve of his ass, tracing the path of his spine, “Wouldn’t that kill us?”

“In less than ten years,” he nods solemnly.

“So we’d actually be in the ground.”

“That’s your prediction?” he teases, quiet groan sinking happy and faint into your embrace.

“Nooo,” you huff, returning the bar of soap to its pretty bamboo dish, “I envision us like this.”

“Like this?”

You interrupt him before he can joke In the shower? again.

“Like this,” you emphasize, stories glittering sweet and delicate on your tongue as you interrupt him with an adoring kiss, “This is us,” you murmur, words filling his head with afternoons of reading and ice cream, of living room forts and misshapen pizzas.

“This?” his voice is round with joy, so blue and crystal and real you can taste it, “This is love.”

#giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #tomioka x reader #water hashira #one shot #modern au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

[joshym]

“all of you is accepted and celebrated here”

my inbox is ALWAYS open. don’t ever be afraid to reach out.♡

my blog is a safe place for everyone. no hatred or bigotry of any kind is welcome here.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

❊join the taglists!❊

𖥧᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘᠃𖥧

(☀︎-smut) 18+ ONLY

(☾-fluff)

(⭒-angst)

requests are currently open!

Watch Me ☾: Josh x f!Reader

You love getting to support Josh in all of his pursuits, but sometimes your anxiety gets the best of you. And knowing this, he finds the perfect way to use music to offer you comfort in a particularly anxious moment. 

No Hands☀︎: Josh x f!Reader

Your little game works out exactly in your favor.

•Part 2 ☀︎ & now it’s his turn.

Lilac Moon(wip)☀︎☾⭒: Josh x f!Reader

You left everything behind to make music.

Your band is struggling to make it, you're struggling to make it.

That is until one day, you meet the singer of the band that inspired you to chase your dreams. And not only do you meet him, but he wants you to go on tour with him and his band.

You happily obliged, though you were not prepared for the whirlwind of emotions and love that awaited you.

This tour will change everything for you.

Lets Share☀︎: Danny x f!Reader x Josh

You’re undeniably Danny’s but, he doesn’t mind sharing.

Release☀︎: Dr. JMK x f!Reader (coming soon♡)

Your body is far too tense these days. A massage from the best of the best is just what you need to remedy it, although his measures are bit...unconventional.

Le Morte d’Arthur(wip)☀︎☾⭒: College AU Jake x f!Reader

It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for...

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Bloodstream(wip)☀︎☾⭒: vampire!Jake x f!Reader

This is a very special collab with @jakeyt 🤍

Folklore. Stories passed down through generations. Imaginations run rampant with their tales of sorcery and the supernatural.

But for Tommie, it was different. Somehow it was more. She had become transfixed by a local legend - one that told of an unlawful love affair between a witch and a vampire. To Tommie, it was an alluring tapestry woven with threads of forbidden love and timeless secrets. Yet something about it felt strangely familiar to her-but why?

It was only a story. . . wasn't it?

Prettiest in the Morning☀︎☾: Jake x f!Reader (request)

Jake is worth being late to work for.

Muse☀︎☾: Jake x f!Reader (request)

Your struggling artist is desperate for some inspiration.

Why Don’t You Make Me?☀︎ ⭒: Sam x f!Reader

You learn what being sassy with Sam leads to.

Lets Share☀︎: Danny x f!Reader x Josh

You’re undeniably Danny’s but, he doesn’t mind sharing.

GVF poetry:

pieces inspired by the boys, the band, & the art they have gifted us. 𖥸

Josh

Jake

Danny

Sammy(coming soon♡)

𖥧᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘᠃𖥧

#greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fic #josh kiszka smut #jake kiszka smut #sammy kiszka smut #danny wagner smut #gvf fic #josh kiszka x reader #sammy kiszka x reader #danny wagner x reader #josh gvf #jake gvf #sam gvf #danny gvf #gvf poetry #gvf smut #gvf fanfiction #gvf fanfic #greta van fleet poetry #gvf masterlist #watch me #no hands #why don’t you make me #lilac moon #let’s share

[melrosing]

What if brienne's mom was still alive? How much of her character/story would change? And what do u imagine their relationship would be like? 🧐

sorry for the late reply! I think I’ve written something on this before but im on mobile and i know im never gonna find it so. this is mostly hcs:

for whatever reason I’ve always imagined Brienne’s mother as a quiet, daydreamy person who doesn’t smile much but somehow exudes warmth anyway. Selwyn I imagine as having been a big character in his youth but he turns inwards after the loss of Cyril (my hc name for her) and their children. but anyway they were an odd couple in their youth but it kind of worked

the main thing she and Brienne share is a passion for stories, songs and poetry: I think Brienne gets her romanticism from her mother, and Cyril knows a lot about stormlands folklore etc and Brienne is always eager to hear about. they go on walks about the island together to see supposed sites of magic

otoh i think Cyril would be aware that Brienne looks different to other girls but her approach is just to never comment on it. which is fine at first but hard for Bri in adolescence bc she kind of needs Cyril to say she knows she’s different and that’s fine, but Cyril thinks if she says nothing then Brienne will never even realise

Brienne still would have suffered the insults of someone like Septa Roelle, who is more than happy to tell her precisely the ways she’s different, but she doesn’t want to tell her mother bc she’s scared of Cyril confirming it’s all true so unfortunately that never gets addressed

hc that Cyril living means Selwyn maintains his big personality to a greater extent, and he’s warmer towards Brienne as a result. but he’s often distracted by his role as the Evenstar so Bri doesn’t confide much in him EITHER

you know I guess it all really depends on what kind of person Brienne’s mother was in terms of what impact she would’ve had on Brienne’s story. I think she and Brienne would’ve been warm towards one another but not similar people, so she can’t necessarily heal all of Brienne’s hurts and Renly’s kindness is still enough to drive her to join his train

I don’t picture Cyril trying to stop Brienne leaving, she thinks it’s kind of romantic. but Selwyn being less inward in this AU, he does try to stop her as his only heir and that creates a rift between them. maybe that results in Brienne being more resolute about not returning till she wishes, or less so idk. but in short my hc is that Brienne got away with much of her nonconformity through the emotional absence of Selwyn who is too lost in grief to pay her enough attention

maybe in the least, Brienne doesn’t immediately feel so strongly tied to Catelyn, with whom I think there’s a slightly maternal relationship going on? bc she doesn’t lack a mother, that bond doesn’t feel so urgent as it does in ACOK, for either of them: Brienne subconsciously looking for the presence of a maternal figure, Catelyn missing her own children terribly and especially her daughters

idk hope this helps

#ask #brienne of tarth #cyril swann #selwyn tarth #asoiaf

[joon4eva]

FOREVER? ✰ KIM NAMJOON

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: strangers-to-lovers ✰ fluff word count: ~1,640 words tags/warnings: none, really.

the reception hall buzzed with excitement as the newlyweds swayed in each other's arms, sunlight filtering through the large windows and bathing them in a warm glow.

you, feeling slightly out of place, retreat to the bar and perch on a stool, a glass of red wine in hand.

truth be told, weddings have always made you sulky — something about watching other people's happiness can be a tad unbearable.

you weren't much of a drinker, but the setting demanded some sort of prop to give off the appearance of enjoyment.

your eyes scan the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces, half-heartedly appreciating their joviality as they reveled in the festivity that weddings brought.

​​a man walks up to the bar with an easy sway in his step. he stands out from the crowd: sporting dark hair that frames his face and tall with just enough muscle to hint at hidden strength but not to overburden his lean frame.

there's something captivating about him. although he dresses simply, there's an undeniable elegance and charm to his appearance.

he moves closer to order his drink, and without meaning to, your gaze lingers on him.

his eyes suddenly meet yours, and it feels like he can see right through you.

you didn't even realize you were staring until your eyes meet and you feel your face instantly warm in mortification. great.

but he just grins at you and throws in a playful wink, setting off laughter between both of you and breaking the ice.

with an amused smile on his face, he raises an eyebrow and approaches you.

"it's not polite to stare.”

"i guess i owe you an apology then," you reply as you grin back sheepishly.

he chuckles lightheartedly before extending his hand towards you. was that a dimple? you must be imagining things.

"namjoon," he introduces himself. you take his hand gently and introduce yourself as well.

"nice to meet you," you say, still holding onto his hand a moment longer than necessary.

"the pleasure is all mine," namjoon replies with a soft smile.

he releases your hand slowly, his fingertips brushing your skin lightly.

his proximity makes you acutely aware of every detail of his face: his tan skin, the faint stubble that shadows his jawline, the way his dark eyes gleam, and yup, those were definitely dimples.

you feel an unexpected attraction to him and find it harder to look away than usual. his confidence is disarming but not overbearing.

you're intrigued and appreciate the boldness he brings.

"mind if i join you?" he asks, gesturing to the stool next to yours.

"please do. you're a friend of the groom's or…?"

namjoon shakes his head as he takes a seat. "nah, i'm actually friends with the bride's cousin. i know virtually nobody here."

"ah, so that makes two of us then. i'm friends with the bride, but we haven't really kept in touch over the years. now that we're all gathered, i find myself hardly recognizing anyone."

namjoon casually drapes his arm over the back of your chair, not quite touching your shoulder but close enough that you can catch a whiff of his cologne and feel the warmth radiating from him. "well, aren't we a pair? maybe we can keep each other company then."

you tilt your head considering his offer and respond, "i'd like that."

you find out that underneath the sultry demeanor, namjoon is incredibly intelligent and well-read.

you bond over your shared love for literature, poetry, and philosophy. it turns out that you both enjoy the same authors and have been to some of the same bookstores in the city.

namjoon passionately talks about a recent novel he read, and you catch yourself staring at the movement of his lips as he excitedly recounts the story.

namjoon's kindness doesn't go unnoticed either.

you observe him engage with the waitstaff at the bar, always saying "please" and "thank you." simple acts that might seem mundane when performed by anyone else suddenly become intriguing when he does them. like the way he runs his fingers through his hair when deep in thought. even something like lifting his glass to take a sip or leaning back casually against his chair seem effortless yet so damn attractive.

you like it. you like him.

as the night goes on and empty glasses pile up on the bar counter, namjoon pulls himself even closer — so close that his thigh is touching yours and each time either of you chuckles or leans in slightly during whispered moments of banter, you feel his warm breath on your skin.

that wall of distance which was holding back your mutual attraction gradually crumbles under the weight of the liquor's influence. you find yourself leaning closer and closer to namjoon, your personal space no longer off-limits.

during one particularly heated exchange about books both of you adore and can't understand why others don't, namjoon boldly tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear in gentle defiance; his fingertips fleetingly grazing your cheek in the process make your heart skip a beat.

he gauges your reaction for a moment, sensing if you're receptive or reluctant concerning his advance.

you feel your cheeks burn and surprised by the sudden heat growing within you. feeling eager to escape the crowded reception, you impulsively stand up and grab namjoon's arm, pulling him from his chair.

"let's go," you urge. a playful grin spreads across his face as he stumbles after you, laughter bubbling between you both.

as you sprint through the venue, weaving around tables and startled guests, your laughter echoes through the room, growing louder with each stride.

finally escaping the confines of the bustling room, the brisk night air greets your warm cheeks while you continue to sprint breathlessly for several more blocks.

the feeling intensifies as every step sends the world spinning ever so slightly.

as streetlights morph into streaks of color, the adrenaline pumping through your veins, fueled by several glasses of wine have left you feeling a bit dizzy and inexplicably bolder.

rounding a dimly lit corner and making a mad dash across the dimly lit street, you veer toward a quiet park nestled inconspicuously among the towering cityscape.

clad in shadows cast by ancient trees and illuminated softly by the moon's glow, you both come to an abrupt halt against a nearby bench, panting heavily and doubled over as the laughter slowly fades into ragged breaths.

amidst your gasping attempts to catch your breath, you glance down and suddenly notice that your hands somehow found each other - fingers intertwined effortlessly.

looking down at your clasped hands and then up at namjoon, you shyly giggle, and he mirrors your reaction with an equally warm smile.

his eyes flicker from yours down to your slightly parted lips, made rosy and full by the earlier glasses of wine, and then back up again – an intent gaze accompanied by a light dusting of red on his cheeks and nose.

you lean in a little closer, and namjoon takes it as a cue to bridge the gap between you two.

his hand tenderly cups your cheek as he places his other arm around your waist, drawing your bodies together.

"can i?"

you nod slightly, unable to trust your voice with the torrent of emotions swirling inside you.

hesitantly, but delicately, he closes the gap between you, his lips softly pressing against yours.

the soft brush of his lips fans the heat within you, your heartbeat pounding furiously in your chest.

your hand instinctively slides up his neck and into the hair at his nape, fingers gently tugging to elicit a low moan from him.

namjoon's grip on your waist tightens, almost possessive but not forceful - just enough to reassure you that he has no intentions of letting go anytime soon.

namjoon tilts his head just enough so that his tongue barely grazes past your lips to playfully brush against your own; a lingering trace of whiskey teases your taste buds.

with each tender stroke of his tongue and every peck and nip on your lips, you find yourself sinking deeper into a whirlpool of emotions that you never imagined could be so overwhelming yet exhilarating.

his fingers dig into the small of your back as if anchoring himself to you – unwilling to let this moment slip away – while yours trace patterns along his spine, each new discovery eliciting another shudder or gasp.

as your breathing grows heavier and more ragged, namjoon's sheer need gradually softens into a tender embrace as he pulls away slightly. his breathing is uneven and eyes widened by the flood of emotion threatening to drown him.

he gazes at you intently, searching for answers to questions not yet formed.

as he regains composure, uncertainty washes over him like a torrential wave.

finally finding his voice again, he asks with trepidation dancing in his glistening eyes, "can i see you again?"

his vulnerability in this moment tugs at your heartstrings. with a smile, you reach up to gently stroke his face, your thumb caressing the heated skin of his cheek. "yes," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

namjoon exhales, relief washing over him as the knot in his chest loosens. a warm smile graces his lips as he tenderly presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

as the moonlight continues to bathe your surroundings in a gentle glow, the two of you sit side by side on the bench – entwined fingers resting on your lap – both lost in thought and basking in the lingering feelings of this serendipitous encounter among the ancient trees and moonlit shadows.

#bts x reader #bts imagine #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon #bts #bts fanfiction

[dyns33]

The Surgeon

Not proud of this one but I wanted to do one last Nigel Colbie x female reader. 

Maybe he's a surgeon ?

The sentence had awakened Y/N in the middle of the night.

One of her colleagues had said this several hours ago, when the entire police station brigade had gathered to talk about the new murder attributed to the serial killer whom journalists had dubbed "The Fanatic" and who eluded the police for more than ten years.

Reports had long since established that the individual was definitely a white male, between thirty and forty, educated, socially well off, smart, and well versed in human anatomy.

There had been mortgages concerning an autodidact, a medical student or a butcher, in any case someone who had never managed to obtain the career he had always dreamed of.

But the track had quickly seemed absurd, because the psychologists who had been interested in the killer had all decreed that there was neither anger nor revenge in his crimes. They couldn't really determine what drove him to kill, there was obviously a ritual they didn't understand, and probably an impulse, but it wasn't related to frustration.

As they started over from scratch, a young policeman innocently asked why it couldn't be a surgeon. Even though it was a respectable, time-consuming job that involved a series of tests to make sure the doctor was fit for the job, if the serial killer they were looking for was really smart, he could look perfectly normal, live a trouble-free life, and find time to kill.

So maybe he was a surgeon.

The phrase echoed in Y/N's mind as she opened her eyes, before looking up at Nigel, still peacefully asleep beneath her.

Nigel Colbie, her husband, a thirty-five-year-old white man, surgeon, the best in his school, coming from a wealthy family, his parents having tragically died in a boating accident and their bodies never having been found. Her husband, calm, charming, normal, except perhaps his passion for the history of the Templars and the religious rites of ancient civilizations.

They had met when Y/N had just gotten her police constable badge and Nigel was still a surgical intern. A totally unexpected encounter, on a bus, because Nigel's car was broken and Y/N didn't feel like walking to work when it was raining.

Sitting side by side, she had liked that he was reading a collection of poetry and he had found the music she was listening quite pleasant. They had talked the whole way, very unhappy when it was time to part ways.

It was Nigel who had asked her for her number. It was also Nigel who had called her first to ask if she wanted to have dinner with him. Two years later, it was he who proposed to her.

Everything had always gone perfectly between them. Normal, since Nigel was perfect. The best at his job, the best husband, the best lover. Despite all the work he had, he found time to cook for her, he was there to massage her feet asking her how her day had gone and he told her all the time that he was proud of his inspector-wife.

The only thing that might have seemed strange was the few details he gave about his past. About his parents' accident, which he spoke about without the slightest sign of sadness. There had been suspicious deaths at his school, but that didn't seem to bother him. The fact that his best friend was accused of these murders, before disappearing.

     "I don't know what to tell you." Nigel replied when she asked him about it. "What happened to my parents is tragic but there is nothing I can do about it. I did not know the two students who died, and regarding Jack, even though I considered him a brother, I cannot condone what he did, so I'd rather forget about him."

     "Jack ? I read in the report that his name was Alex."

     "That was his nickname. My dear Jack, totally mad and clueless. But let's stop talking about him. You didn't tell me if you caught any bad guys today."

     "There was another murder. The Fanatic, obviously. The victim suffered a lot... Yet it could not be seen at all on his face, he looked peaceful. The killer placed the body as a work of art, it was as beautiful as it was disturbing. Of course, no fingerprint, no witness, nothing. We will never catch him."

     "Don't say that." purred her husband, kissing her. "You're the best. If anyone can catch him, it's you. Even though you sometimes seem to admire him a lot. Maybe you can't catch him because you don't really want to."

Trembling, moving slowly so as not to wake him, Y/N slipped out of bed into the kitchen, where she drank some water before splashing water on her face to try to calm herself down.

It might have been nothing. A coincidence. Her tired and wary mind. But if his parents had not had an accident. If Alex Forbes hadn't killed those two students and run away. If in addition to finding time for her, Nigel had time to walk around, meet people he didn't know, and whom he quietly killed before returning home or going to work.

He asked a lot of questions about the Fanatic case, especially since Y/N had been put on the investigation, so he knew absolutely everything the police knew. Meaning that they didn't know anything.

Besides this curiosity, Nigel seemed happy when Y/N complimented the killer. They weren't exactly compliments, but she admitted that he was gifted, very intelligent, and that there was something artistic about these murders. If it hadn't been for the murders, she might have considered him an artist.

And now she was in her kitchen, at two in the morning, wondering if she had married a serial killer. No, it was madness, a nightmare, a ridiculous idea. But then why was she staring at Nigel's phone so insistently ? Why did she text one of her co-workers asking him to check her husband's schedule and whereabouts ?

There was nothing to check. She wouldn't find anything, because there was nothing to find, because Nigel was innocent.

However, since he was innocent, there was no reason for her to be afraid to look.

     "My love ?" a voice asked behind her, startling her slightly.

     "I woke you up ? Excuse me."

     "No, but I sensed that you weren't with me anymore. Someone called ?  A case ?"

     "Just a nightmare."

     "My poor darling." Nigel sighed as he took her in his arms, kissing her forehead. "Come back to bed, you must be exhausted."

Y/N followed him, lay down against him again, her ear against his heart and she didn't sleep until the next day.

It was impossible to explain to her colleagues why she wanted information about her husband. When they asked her if she thought he was cheating on her, she replied that it was something like that. If she said she thought he was the Fanatic, either they'd think she'd lost her mind, or they'd go and arrest Nigel, when there was still a good chance he hadn't done anything. 

It was better if she checked on her own first.

For several weeks she studied the times he had been in the hospital, with witnesses, with her, and the times when it was impossible to know what he had done.

And she had the unpleasant surprise to discover that each time there was a slight gap in his schedule, it left him enough time to kill one of the victims.

But that wasn't really proof. It could only be a coincidence. Because for the rest, there was nothing. No connection between him and the victims. No clues to the crime scene, the bodies, or their home.

Y/N wanted to believe that she was totally wrong. Because she loved Nigel, her Nigel, the best husband in the world who made her terribly happy. But her instinct was telling her to keep looking.

So she continued to track his actions, tapping his phone and being suspicious of everything.

Until the evening when he woke her up with a tender kiss, apologizing because there had been a road accident and he had to go to the hospital quickly.

After a quick check, no accident to report. No surgery scheduled for Doctor Colbie that night. Y/N therefore decided to follow him, tracking his car, in which she had placed a beacon, in case he turned off his phone.

She found him in a small cabin in the middle of the woods.

Slowly, she entered, discovering her husband who was cutting a man, while talking alone. Or rather talking to a skull.

     "See, Jack ? It's really not complicated. You could have done it very easily if you had made an effort, but I was wrong about you. You were not the right one. I think I found my Malaclea, but she's not ready yet. I won't make the same mistakes as with you, I'm not going to rush. She understands my art, I see the admiration in her eyes, something that wasn't in yours, or that you were ashamed of. She just has to understand that it's not bad, and then nothing can stop us."

     "Hands behind your head."

     "... My love ?" he whispered without looking back.

     "Nigel, put your hands behind your head." Y/N sighed, pointing her gun at him. "Please."

He first put down his scalpel before obeying her and turning to her. Nigel didn't seem angry. On the contrary, he was smiling, as if he were really proud of her.

     "I knew you would find me. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this moment."

     "You wanted me to arrest you ? It might help you in front of the judge. Besides the fact that you're talking to a skull."

     "Jack hears me, even though he can't answer. We're linked in death. I was hoping we'd be linked in life too, but he disappointed me, he wasn't like I imagined. It saddened me so much that I wanted to die, but he didn't even have the courage to shoot me, so I took care of him, before resuming my journey, alone. I had always been alone and after him I thought I'd never find anyone else. Then I met you, my love. And I knew it would be you."

     "Turn around so I can handcuff you."

     "Think of how much we can accomplish together." he continued while still obeying her, letting her tie his hands without resisting. "It would be magnificent and no one could ever suspect us."

     "Please shut up."

     "I know you won't disappoint me, not like him. My heart, my sweet, sweet heart. In the end, I was only killing for you. To see your bright expression when you told me about the case. Do you remember when you asked me about the Templars, because you were wondering if one of the rites had something to do with them ? I thought you had guessed, that I was going to be able to tell you everything. But no, you had seen the design, not the designer. Not yet. But we're finally there !"

He looked so happy, so calm, like the whole situation was normal, that he hadn't just killed someone, that he wasn't talking with a skull, and that Y/N wasn't sobbing, realizing that her beloved husband was mad.

A cry a little louder than the others seemed to wake him up. Nigel was suddenly sad, asking her why she was crying, approaching as if he didn't see the gun, to kiss her like he did whenever his wife was sad.

Y/N let him, too confused to react, and remembering all the good times they had spent together. A hand on her cheek, and another on the hand that held her weapon brings her back to realization.

     "Hush." Nigel muttered, taking the gun, hugging her. "It's okay, love. I know you're a bit lost. It's normal. But I'm going to help you. Come, you'll see, it's simple and wonderful. Jack never got it."

Too scared to refuse, Y/N watched him put the gun in his back pocket, before retrieving the scalpel, which he placed in her hand, before positioning it in front of the corpse. Slowly but firmly, he guided her to open the chest.

Y/N didn't want to look, and at the same time she was fascinated, as Nigel placed his hands in the opening, rummaging inside before pulling out the heart.

     "Normally I do this well, taking the time. But I'm too excited tonight. Look, Y/N, my maraclea. Here is a heart for you, as an offering. A heart that we took together, symbol of our eternal love .Oh, you don't know how happy I am right now !"

He kissed her again, still holding the heart. Y/N let him, while twirling the scalpel between her fingers, considering the options available to her. Kill him and hide his body to avoid scandal. Hurt him and take him to the police station. Follow him in his delirium and continue to live with the man she loved, even if he was sick and he was going to want them to kill together.

A glance at the skull reminded her of the existence of Jack, Axel Forbes, whom Nigel had loved, and who had disappointed him, and whose remained were now on this table. If she didn't make the right decision, she might join him.

So Nigel continued to kiss her, whispering that he loved her, and Y/N continued to play with the scalpel, praying that the last option was that this was all just a bad dream, and that her husband was just an innocent surgeon who was sleeping peacefully next to her and who would laugh when she told him about this nightmare.

#like minds #murderous intent #nigel colbie #nigel colbie x reader #nigel colbie fanfiction #nigel colbie imagine

[and-the-stars-collided]

The First Elves as Aesthetics:

Finwë  —  grey skies, pine trees, stag's antlers, gritted teeth, piles of firewood, howling winds, lace table cloths, black ponds slick with ice, cautious, likes to plan, whispered confessions onto the autumn wind, the sharpness and cutting edge of a cold breeze, the glint of a metal blade, the bright teal of a midday ocean and the blackness of wild volcanic beaches, strong and independent, black hair, often staring into space, autumn mornings, braiding hair, love ballads, smiling fondly, lying by a small creek, falling in love when you shouldn't, starlit nights, regret, bittersweet kisses, being left wanting more.

Míriel  —  memories of past lovers, withering flowers, polished gravestones, being young and naive, gathering flowers and seeds, uncut gemstones, the gleam of a single tear falling, the silver reflection of the moon mirrored on the surface of a pond, an absence of sound, morning mist, hazy eyes, uncertain smiles, subtle exchanged glances, rich tapestries, tears streaming down their face, shattered promises, a not-quite persistent yearning, shaky breaths, moonlit rows, nimble hands, dancing to music playing softly in the distance, trusting the secrets of the night, waking up anew with determination.

Indis  —  warm tea, comfortable silence, soft eyes, messy hair, golden clouds, the sound of rain, a heart traced onto fogged up windows, yellow clothes on the days where the sun seems to have left forever, waking up to tear-stained sheets and feeling a little bit lighter, hopscotch in puddles, love at first sight, soft forehead kisses, secretly insecure, easily mistaken for the bad guy, wants the best for others, lost in thought, star gazing, always wearing some sort of shimmery nail polish, flowing dresses, wavy hair, the peace maker, the one to be called when something very specific is needed, butterflies, sparkling eyes, second chances.

Ingwë  —  bare feet on warm summer dirt, flower crowns slipping off heads after being flung back with laughter, mugs of too-sweet tea, sweet kisses, heart-wrenching poetry, pressed flowers, long hugs, warm and hazy afternoons, singing old songs, sunflowers, laughing till your chest hurts, bathing in sunlight, has the brightest smile ever seen, dried paint on their clothes, headbands and scrunches, fresh pancakes in the morning, stubborn but quick to learn, wanting to be on time and always a few minutes late, an artist's way of thinking, a journey of discovering one's passion.

Ilwen  —  the feeling of walking barefoot, inhaling the salty smell of the sea, forgetting about everything else but the fact that you are alive in that exact moment in the universe, grapes and oranges, the refreshing feeling of laying on the cold sand, complex architecture, busy markets filled with noises, the light swaying of a ship, sun-kissed skin, the smell of freshly baked bread at sunrise, drinking coffee under the warm morning sun, linen sheets, home-made jam, caring touches and warm smiles, looking for a shape in every cloud going by, simply enjoying the scenery, watches butterflies, drowsy days. 

Ingwion  —  dark brown eyes, apple cider, thunder, creaking doors, owning up to rare losses, not accepting the path already created, confidently moving, staying in the deep end of a pool, reserved laughter, reckless, somehow manages to stumble into opportunities whenever they need them, quite the expert at falling out of love, will not worry unnecessarily, not taking the word of strangers seriously, seems warm but surprisingly coldblooded, deadpan jokes, sees everything but speaks rarely, dark under-eyes, loves stormy nights, punches and bruised knuckles, surprises and laughter, long empty hallways, tight hugs.

Thingol  —  regal, attempting to remain calm while in pain, silver moonlight, a thin pane of glass between you and society, luminescence, corrupted kings, forced smiles, too much ambition, protective of their family, falling through the sky, sharp collar bones, lip biting, purposeful words spoken with a sharp tongue, black coffee, dangerously flashing eyes, dripping false smiles, talking to people they have never met before aggressively, not held back by wanting to be in control, hoping for your demise, viciously smiling at others innocence, craving to turn the knife in the wound, perfectionism.

Olwë  —  begging to fly, pebbles thrown into the sea, rain falling against your face, not knowing if you are alive or dead, fingers tracing the petals of a wilting flower, rejoicing in storms, losing reality, staring at the horizon, deep conversations, knowing looks, rather standing shoulder to shoulder with one of their own than with an outsider, living a solitary life, sleeping on the ground, carving their name into rocks, crashed and wrecked boats, smoke signals, a fear of confrontation, bruised knuckles, patiently waiting for their enemies unhappy ending, pretty smile concealing a savage nature, bad manners sometimes.

Elmo  —  faded sunsets, running wild in the mountains and plains, kissing their lover in uninterrupted nature, dim lights, diving deep into the ocean, heartbeat pounding against your chest, flowers blooming slowly, feeling like you were made for another world, flowers growing in your heart, the accidental brush of fingers with your lover, nervously running one hand through your hair, red cheeks, tenderness, falling in love with someone you don't even know yet, pink clouds, nervous fiddling, notebook pages full of rambling, moonlight, rainy days, dreamy eyes, healing people you love, curiosity, old folklore.

#silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #silm headcanons #finwë #miriel #indis #tolkien #olwë #thingol #elu thingol #ingwion #types of people #aestheitcs #aesthetic #tolkien elves #tolkien x reader #the silm #Autumn’s Writing #the first age #noldor elves #types of girls #types of boys #types of aesthetics #tolkien elf #valinor #the silm fandom #the silmarillion #silm elves #lotr elves #elves

[doodle-pops]

Mina, did you ever write about courting? Like what does it entail? I know it's more serious than dating, but I'm having trouble defining it. Since elves court, would they still go on dates? If so, what kind of dates? The term "courting" sounds so proper. I'm a very laid-back person, the 'let's see what happens' kind, and courting just sounds rigid and structured. I'd love some help understanding it better if you have a chance to explain.

I’ve gotten for marriages and betrothal, so this is my first courtship question. Tolkien didn’t go into detail about courtship in LaCE compared to marriages, however, given his religious background and how thorough betrothal and marriages were between elves, you can find a linkage and consider courtship to be serious as well.

I would consider elven courtship to bear similarities (not all) to traditional courtship during the older era (Victorian, Edwardian, etc). Chaperones were a common thing and existed among upper-class families. However, I had never come across this existing in any text when Tolkien mentioned the elves courting, so it is safe to say that chaperones weren't a thing elves had during courtship due to their lack of desire to be naughty 😉.

The courtship between the elves was also an act that both individuals agreed to since marriage was always the end goal for each other and feelings were an essential part because they would court their soulmate (no playing around, or sorting feelings out as they go). It was rare for an elf to break things off. The only example we had was Findulias breaking off her courtship with Gwindor to be with Turin. So the act was serious and not something to play around with like some people do in modern times 😒.

Most courtships involved going on dates such as walks, lunch/dinner, to the theatre, picnics, visitations to the house, garden parties, singing songs, writing poetry, etc. It was important to note that during traditional courtship, advance notice was considered the polite form of announcing one's plans instead of randomly showing up since families would have personal time to themselves.

Gifts were also exchanged between couples to symbolise that both parties were taken/involved. Letters, poetry, songs, jewellery, and clothing were some of the gifts exchanged between couples. Furthermore, they would be gifted an item to be publicly worn, symbolising that both individuals were involved with the other; a necklace, hairpin or ring with their sigil.

Romantic gestures in the form of physical affection were also allowed. A kiss to the hand (the most respectful greeting), forehead, cheeks and lips was granted. Making out would be indecorous in public since physical affection wasn’t something the elves practiced openly, so behind closed doors should a couple wish to share a passionate kiss. Privacy would also be a thing, so entering each other's sleeping quarters with supervision or permission would be required.

That’s as much as I could propose elven courtships to contain due to Tolkien's fixation on marriage. Hope this was helpful!

For info on other topics: Info Corner

#tolkien elves #elves #elves and lace

[honeymoonswan]

You were the soul I couldn't get along with

You were the spirit I couldn't not to dream of

You were the ghost I couldn't not to see whenever I close my eyes. In my dark paradise in between my mind and my eyes

Falling for you was never quite Falling but walking in the woods till I found a home, you were my home. But my haunted home

Haunted with darkness, dark poetry, dead roses and old blood that I once bleed when I saw you, from my heart

Your shadow is no longer one, it's in the air I breathe, the floor I walk, the ocean I swim

And when you're not beside me, I torture myself with the memories you gave me wondering why didn't you take them with you ?

You were always seeing throw me , as if I was an invisible doll, that China doll you broke in your childhood because you told everybody you liked cars, but you played with my broken pieces in the case of boredom

You loved me I loved you

We both knew it

But the spark was never a light, it was the darkness that ate our passion in the name of poetry

What is poetry ? You said......making fun of it

And yes , after all what is poetry, our poetry ?

It's just the words we couldn't speak or hear , it was the words that we made from a sharp knife because peace was never enough for us

And the love you gave me was stronger than what people call faith

Your moves were the same as the wind that made me sick when I was 5

And that's how I understood you and loved you

I always got the sense that you was the bad one . But ohh !

Tell me what is the difference between me and you if I didn't let you go right when you destroyed me?

We were the bad ones. Or perhaps the lucky ones because our love was stronger than trees but as the tree that has no apples, her passion was only in her color, and for us it was in the words but never in our actions, just as the strong tree .

And I loved you as the younger me loved counting stars in midnight

And I hate you as the younger me hated her religion

But at the end, You are my religion

My mistake and my peace

#lana del rey #this is what makes us girls #my post #my poem #poetry #teacher x student #teacher attachment #teacher crush #girl interrupted

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hiii!! Can i request a fic where student!reader is taller than marilyn (she’s only like 5’1 haha) and she just teases marilyn for being short despite her being older than the reader. I don’t really have a plot but itd just be cute and fluffy. Thank you!!

Yesss, here it is!!! I hope you like it, even it's a bit short!! Sorry about the language mistakes!!!

The shorter, the better

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill x Fem, Student! Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word count: 1,761

Summary: You love being taller than her, and you fin it so funny sometimes…

 N/A: Requests are open!!! Sorry about the delays, I’m working hard on your requests. I love you all!!!

You were sitting at the library, preparing for your literature test. You hadn't slept well for several nights and all you did was yawn. Probably if you didn't spend your nights making out with your botany teacher, you wouldn't have any trouble sleeping.

It was something improvised, that no one could see it coming. Little by little, that trust you had with Marilyn Thornhill turned into something more than a friendship. You never asked why, or if she felt comfortable kissing a student. Certainly you didn't care much if it seemed good or bad to her, the point is that those shy encounters in the corridors, in the conservatory or in her room didn't stop.

You didn't even know if you were girlfriends, lovers or friends. You didn't know and you didn't want to know. As long as Marilyn didn't say anything about it, you could imagine whatever you wanted, and that was really, really funny.

You were almost the only person in the library. There was no people around you and that made you even more bored.

The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs distracted you from your "funny poetry study" and you looked up the stairs curiously. Your salvation slowly descended. Marilyn.

She looked around her and smiled as she spotted you, approaching you.

“Good afternoon,” she said, sitting next to you. You looked at her with a frown.

“Good afternoon?” You asked, joking. She sighed and nodded.

“You never know who might be listening behind the shelves,” she whispered to you, with a mysterious tone, as she took a stack of papers out of her bag.

“ You paranoid, ahem,” you said between coughs, dissimulating. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

Of course she was paranoid. She felt like a delinquent, loving a student, kissing her, biting her neck at night and whenever possible. You didn't understand that shy and reserved attitude she had with you during the day, but it was worth having a little patience. The nights were wild and full of passion.

“What are you doing?” She asked, pulling out a pen as well. You snorted and pointed to the huge literature book you had on the table.

“To die terribly of boredom,” you whispered in a very low voice, seeing that the librarian was walking near you.

“You are very exaggerated,” she whispered in your ear. Your hair stood on end when you noticed her breath. She always got those reactions.

“Exaggerated? Try to study all of this stuff without falling asleep, it's a challenge, I assure you,” you said, yawning again.

Silence returned to the library. She seemed to be marking tests, including yours. Your height allowed you to see well over her shoulders. Naturally when she realized it she put her arms on top of the paper.

“Don't look, that's cheating,” she told you, giving you a nudge. You smiled and shrugged.

“I deserve an A, you know that,” you joked, following the old librarian with your eyes, who imposed the particular dictatorship of silence without any mercy.

“You are very sure of yourself,” she whispered, winking at you.

You started playing with the pen, making funny faces at the redhead, bewildering her. She shook her head constantly, but she couldn't help but smile. There was a moment when Marilyn's hand reached under the table, grabbing yours and caressing it. You enjoyed those little clandestine gestures of affection. They made your heart beat too fast.

“Oh, my God,” She sighed, letting go of your hand and getting up.

“What's wrong?” You asked.

“Wednesday Addams. She always goes beyond what I ask of her,” she grumbled. You laughed, you knew your classmate well and you knew that if she wasn't the best at everything, she wouldn't be able to breathe comfortably.

Marilyn went to a nearby bookshelf, looking for a book. You looked at her funny, wishing that what she was looking for was out of her reach. You smiled victoriously as she reached for her hand to reach for the top shelf, naturally to no avail.

You couldn't help a little laugh, which obviously caught the attention of the redhead, who looked at you with eyes of fire. You dodged that poisonous glare and pretended to read the boring book you were studying.

When you thought the danger had passed, you looked sideways once again at a desperate Marilyn, who was beginning to take small jumps to reach that desired book. You laughed again, now more shamelessly.

“Do you mind stopping…?” She said aloud, earning the librarian's menacing look.

“Shh!” The old woman said, then returning to the newspaper she was reading. Marilyn rolled her eyes and surely she was struggling not to say an expletive. She looked at you again.

“Would you mind to stop laughing and come to help me?” She said, now in an almost inaudible whisper. You blinked rapidly, smirking, and moved closer, looking at her curiously.

“What's the problem?” You asked in a mocking tone, with your hands behind your back.

She grunted and pointed to the top of the shelf.

“I need that book,” she told you, hissing. You frowned and shook your head.

“Which one?”

“The dark green one,” she told you, beginning to lose her patience.

“Oh, that one…, okay…” You said slowly, reaching out a little to grab it. The redhead sighed in relief and she extended her hand towards you.

“Great, give it to me.”

You went to do it, but at the last moment you pushed the book out of her reach, raising it above your head.

“What are you doing? Stop fooling around and give it to me now.”

“I'm giving it to you, just take it,” you continued to tease her, causing her to press her lips together and move her arm awkwardly, to no avail, of course. She gave up, understanding what your game was about.

“Okay, (Y/N), what do you want?” She whispered to you, hiding it as best she could. The old witch was watching you.

“I want to kiss you,” you whispered, keeping the book out of her reach all the time. She opened her eyes and looked everywhere. Always so cowardly, you loved her.

“It's not the time, nor the place,” she told you, dragging her words. You shrugged, smiling wickedly.

Marilyn snorted and looked around again.

“Come,” she told you, grabbing your free hand and taking you to a more secluded place. Once behind a dark hallway, she put her hands on her hips and leaned into you, standing on her toes. You closed your eyes and accidentally lowered your guard.

Before her lips brushed against yours, she reached out her hand, managing to snatch that book from you.

You looked at her annoyed and crossed your arms.

“That's not fair,” you said, indignant. She smiled victoriously.

“Says the same one who takes advantage of the fact that I'm short,” she told you, leafing through that manuscript on carnivorous plants.

“Oh, I'm not taking advantage… I was just having fun,” you said, sighing, leaning against the wall.

“Does my height amuse you?” She asked, pretending to have been offended.

“Well, a little,” you said, playing along. “You have to admit that it's funny that you're so short being… Well, being older than me.”

Marilyn's jaw dropped and she shook her head.

“Oh, now you say that I’m old, fantastic,” she said, almost growling.

You shook your head, afraid that she might have misinterpreted your words.

“Oh, no, no. I didn't mean that,” you said a little nervous, gesturing with your hands. “It is just that…”

Marilyn rose back onto her toes, her hand gently stroking your cheek. She kissed you before you could react, and that kiss melted you so much that you let yourself go, grabbing her waist and pulling her body against yours. When she pulled away from the kiss, she came off her tiptoes and hugged you, her head resting a little higher on your chest.

It seemed like you were making fun of her, but you weren't. You loved having her in your arms, like something fragile, like something that had to be protected. That's what you wanted, you wanted her to feel safe by your side. You were completely crazy about her, you couldn't hide it.

“Hey, Marilyn,” you whispered, stroking her hair. She looked up, smiling and resting her hand on your chest.

“I wasn't laughing at you, I promise,” you said, staring at her and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I know, honey,” she told you, with a reassuring voice. “I like being short, I like that you protect me with your hugs.”

“You're adorable,” you said, smiling warmly. She smiled and leaned up again to kiss you.

If you continued like this, you would lose control soon. A slightly uncomfortable tension was building and you didn't want to lose your mind and put it on a table to unleash your deepest desires. You came up with the best way to put out the fire that had been fanned inside you, the only way you could.

“Hey, what do you think if we stop doing these boring things and go to your room to…? Well, for you to show me that pretty book…” You whispered, bending down to her ear.

Obviously she hesitated at first, but it didn't take her two seconds to bite her lip and nod, going to the table to collect her stuff.

Making sure no one was looking at you, you walked down the corridor where the teachers lived until you reached her room. You really didn't expect her to accept your lewd proposal, it was a very unusual time. You didn't want to think about it anymore either.

Marilyn opened the door and rushed in next to you, closing it immediately after.

Her eyes sparkled with desire, just like yours. But you needed to do something first, something you always wanted to do.

“Wait, wait,” you said, stopping the passionate kisses that she was giving to you. She looked at you strangely, looking at the old clock that it was hung on the wall. Without giving her time to think, you took her in your arms, feeling powerful, a chivalrous lover.

“(Y/N)…” She said between laughs, while you took her to bed without any difficulty.

“I promise you it's not a joke. I always wanted to do this,” you said, leaving her lying on the bed and leaning on one of your arms.

“Great, you've made it, now I want you to always do it...”

#marilyn thornhill #marilyn thornhill x reader #wednesday #ms thornhill #oneshot

[flickerfankids]

The kids! Here’s a list of them and their parents by row

Maria Ribeiro - Dashawn and Thiago

Shea Cruz - Alab and Jamila

Irene Vasiliev - Rosalie and Nikolai

Melati Tujang - Indah and Alicia

October Zhao - Liling and Quinn

Wren Briggs - Marley and Eduardo

Owen Liam - Fayola and Adanna

Jamie Soto - Seungho and Mateo

Sylvie Garcia - John and Bailey

Halley Raymond - Albert and Ally

Castor Raymond - Albert and Ally

Naomi Cecil - Ezra and William

Ethan Hayashi - Kiryomi and Melodie

Anika Sharma - Amethyst and Prasiddhi 

Ana Calimeris - Elizabeth and Veronica  

Leo Rahimi - Miguel and Reza

below is a brief description of each character: (to be added)

Maria (She/Her) is a very ambitious and passionate artist. Her chosen media is painting, whether in liquid or spray form. She aspires to paint murals all over her city someday. Maria also has a pet praying mantis she named Rocket. She’s also bisexual.

Shea (He/Him) is more quiet. He’s very by the rules at some points and tries to be polite. He enjoyed doing Scouts and often tries to apply those skills to conversation. Shea also loves to help his mom bake. He has a rat named Strudel (which his parents adopted.) He is asexual but heteroromantic

Irene (She/They) is a very loud and brass person at times. She and Maria’s personalities just amplify each other. The two had been best friends since elementary. They are the kind of person who’d immediately yell at and fight anyone that you say was mean, even with not knowing them. She enjoys dancing. Irene is a demisexual demigirl.

Melati (she/her) is a kind girl with strange interests. She adores the dark and mysterious and writes stories about it. Once you ask her about it, she’ll never stop. Melati hopes to write popular best sellers of her ideas someday. She always is practicing her knowing smile to prepare for that photo. Melati is a lesbian.

October (he/him) is very introverted. He doesn’t really talk to a lot of people but he’s respectful. A lot of people are put off by his very distant attitude but if you warm up to him, you find he’s really caring. He is generally aroace. October enjoys walking around more by hiking and going trapshooting with the school’s team.

Wren (They/Them) is a wildcard. Generally impulsively doing things that are either a threat to themself or to others (like trying to pet a raccoon.) hence the various bandages. They love to do track and took up a hobby of woodworking. They have a cat named Misa and love her so much. Wren is nonbinary and pansexual.

Owen (He/Him) is the calmest out of his friend group between him, Wren, Sylvia, and Jamie, which is sort of like being the tallest dwarf. Usually being the empathetic one to listen and to tell everyone to shut up so Sylvia can speak. Owen enjoys 2000s movies and drafting up designs of all sorts. He’s also a connoisseur of gum. Owen is gay.

Sylvia (She/Her) is very.. non-talkative. She really can. Everyone’s heard her a few times. It’s just that she has moments of not wanting to talk. Her parents had issues growing up and didn’t want her to feel like her wants didn’t matter, so they told her she didn’t ever have to talk if she didn’t want to. Sylvia took this to heart. She spends more time writing poetry and ice skating than talking. Her parents are also friends with Maria and Irene’s parents so sometimes they’ll have her come with. She is bi-curious. (Fun fact: Owen designed her hat)

Jamie (He/Him) is the last member of the friend group. He is fired up most of the time. Jamie has an affinity about baseball. When he’s not playing ball, he’s usually hanging out with the three of them, probably at a restaurant. Probably staring across the table for too long and- Anyway. Jamie is a raging bisexual but has a fem pref.

Halley (She/Her) is sarcastic. Always having to have the last word, she often finds herself fighting with Irene, though they just play it up for entertainment but nobody knows. She and her twin brother are actually new to town so they are trying to settle in. Halley loves astrology partially because it bothers her dad to no end, but she also actually loves learning about astronomy and physics. Halley has a ferret named Dynamite. Halley is unlabeled as of now, so she just tells people she’s straight when they ask.

Castor (He/They) is very much opposite to his sister’s flaming personality. When she’s riling up a crowd, they often just standing by to walk her away and back to class before a teacher gets involved. He loves inventing and experimenting, having a bunch of machinery in his room from his mom’s job. Castor often finds themself a nervous wreck, even more so after realizing he has a crush on their neighbor in the apartment complex he lives in. Castor is bisexual with a masc pref.

Naomi (She/Her) is an upbeat and optimistic ray of sunshine. She enjoys playing her drums and decorating her prosthetic leg with stickers. With one of her parents’ streaming careers helping fund pay for it, she was ecstatic about it. Naomi is part of a band with two other people, Ana and Leo. They’re called Absent July Delta. Naomi is pansexual.

Ethan (He/Him) focuses more about the other people around him than himself. He is often afraid to share his interests, but he’s a huge fan of filmmaking and programming. Ethan is working on a series that he, Melati, and Shea are all in. He’d love to invite Wren to work on it too, he just can’t muster up to ask though. Ethan is demisexual.

Anika (She/He) is a gentle and listening person. She tries his best to help everyone and be there for people. After all, he’s trying to be a therapist in the future. Psychology is one of her biggest interests, alongside dying his hair different colors) Often, he will be sitting in a chair listening to people’s problems while finishing up crocheting. She finds it’s easier to listen while her hands are busy. He is aroace and transfem.

Ana (She/Her) is a “go with the flow” type person. She really finds that anything was meant to happen for a reason. She is the one usually bringing snacks for Leo and Naomi. She’s a guitarist fanatic. Always. Naomi’s family friend even offered to give her lessons. Ana has posters all over her room and was the first one to suggest starting a band. Ana is also Castor and Halley’s cousin, has a border collie named Ruthie, and wears bright green contacts for fun. She is asexual.

Leo (He/Him) finds it interesting to debate people. Doing good is something he’s always an advocate for. Leo cares about the environment and often signs up for roadside cleaning. He also does a lot of performing activities, like singing in the band, which Ana caught him doing once and dragged him into the idea, and doing competitive speech. After a lot of this, he often just curls up on his bed and takes a nap. He is straight as far as he knows.

#flicker fankids #flicker roblox #robloxflicker #roblox flicker #flickblr

[nobrashfestivity]

Hi! Sorry this is kind of random, but you seem to have a wide knowledge of art, and I'm wondering, do you know of any photographers who also use poetry in their work/artists who pair photography and poetry together in some way? (I'm looking for inspiration and at a bit of a dead-end.) Thank you!

I think maybe my followers will have a better handle than I will.

There are many examples of this but often the relationship is somewhat abstract.

On the concrete side we have pre-Raphaelite painters inspired by poetry and myth. The Lady Of Shalott by John William Waterhouse was inspired by the Tennyson poem, John Everett Millais painted Ophelia for obvious reasons.

Cy Twombly includes pieces of poems sometimes written into his work. Joan Mitchell was greatly influenced by poetry but you see it usually in a less obvious fashion.

And it goes the other way, Plath write a poem in response to a Rousseau painting:

Yadwigha, On A Red Couch, Among Lillies

Yadwigha, the literalists once wondered how you Came to be lying on this baroque couch Upholstered in red velvet, under the eye Of uncaged tigers and a tropical moon, Set in intricate wilderness of green Heart-shaped leaves, like catalpa leaves, and lillies

Of monstrous size, like no well-bred lilies It seems teh consistent critics wanted you To choose between your world of jungle green And the fashionable monde of the red couch With its prim bric-à-brac, without a moon To turn you luminous, without the eye

Of tigers to be stilled by your dark eye And body whiter than its frill of lilies: They'd have had yellow silk screening the moon, Leaves and lilies flattened to paper behind you Or, at most, to a mille-fleurs tapestry. But the couch Stood stubborn in it's jungle: red against green,

Red against fifty variants of green, The couch glared out at the prosaic eye. So Rousseau, to explain why the red couch Persisted in the picture with the lilies, Tigers, snakes, and the snakecharmer and you, And birds of paradise, and the round moon,

Described how you fell dreaming at full of moon On a red velvet couch within your green- Tessellared boudoir. Hearing flutes, you Dreamed yourself away in the moon's eye To a beryl jungle, and dreamed that bright moon-lilies Nodded their petaled heads around your couch.

And that, Rousseau told the critics, was why the couch Accompanied you. So they nodded at the couch with the moon And the snakecharmer's song and the gigantic lilies, Marvelingly numbered the many shades of green. But to a friend, in private, Rousseau confessed his eye So possessed by the glowing red of the couch which you,

Yadwigha, pose on, that he put you on the couch To feed his eye with red, such red! under the moon, In the midst of all that green and those great lilies!

Richard Saunders,Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, and Gordon Parks all collaborated. Richard Avedon and Baldwin collborated (I have one here I think under appropriate tags). Mourning Picture (main picture), Edwin Romanzo Elmer, 1890 was from the great Adrienne Rich poem and the mighty Auden wrote

Musée des Beaux Arts, W. H. Auden (1938) 

About suffering they were never wrong,   The Old Masters: how well they understood   Its human position; how it takes place   While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;   How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting   For the miraculous birth, there always must be   Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating    On a pond at the edge of the wood:   They never forgot   That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course   Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot   Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse    Scratches its innocent behind on a tree. 

In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away   Quite leisurely from the disaster; the plowman may   Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,   But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone   As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green   Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen   Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,   Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on. 

I'll try to think of specifics and followers here I am sure will chime in, but the interest in cross pollination should be everywhere if you dig a little. Here's a more recent example:

#questions

[sunflowers-and-a-tardis]

“your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. i know hyacinthus, whom apollo loved so madly, was you in greek days.” — oscar wilde, in a letter to lord alfred ‘bosie’ douglas

as my partner can tell you, i adore historical queer love letters. i think they're the most romantic thing in the world. and oscar wilde, that wonderful poet whom i love very much, wrote many of my favourites. because this, this is so stunningly beautiful, it takes my breath away every single time. i hope to one day be a fraction as good a poet as oscar wilde, to be somehow a sliver as romantic as he was.

and, as cliche as this sounds, one of my favourite poets has always been emily dickinson. i simply adore her poems, how dark and fascinating and truly visceral they all are. she was undeniably talented. her poems shall always stand the test of time, no matter what, because they are so marvellous they shall never be able to go out of style. and her love letters are no different.

“show me eternity, and i will show you memory — both in one package lain and lifted back again — be Sue — while I am emily — be next — what you have ever been — infinity.” — emily dickinson, in a letter to sue gilbert.

there are so many more, and if i could, i would share each and every one. however, there is only so long i can write. but i implore you to find them, read them, and, hopefully, treasure them as i do.

#oscar wilde #emily dickinson #i really am hopelessly romantic #poetry #love letters #queer history #romanticism in a way #sorry this is so long

[ghost-party]

Today’s gift is a darker one — and honestly closer to a fic than a drabble — so please heed the tags and warnings. 😱 And if you’re a minor, do not interact!

Want a sneak peek? Now a newlywed, it feels as if your life is perfect. Your husband is the partner you’ve always dreamed of having. But will you feel the same when you discover his terrible secret?

Warnings: abusive ex, drowning, death and loss, deceased parents, alcoholism, parental abuse, physical abuse, fatal car accident, sexual content, swearing, stalking, murder, pregnant reader, manipulation

“I won’t be gone long. Just a few days.”

You hum in acknowledgment of your husband’s words, head tucked against his bare chest. It’s nearly midnight. The two of you are lying in bed, and even in the darkness, you can see the moving boxes still stacked next to the closet.

“You won’t miss much,” you murmur. “More unpacking. Seems like I’ll never be done.”

Zeke’s lips press against the top of your head. “I’m glad you moved in. You make this house feel like home.”

You softly laugh at the Hallmark card platitude, and his beard tickles your forehead as he leans in closer. “What? It’s true.” His hand finds yours, his thumb rubbing back and forth against the gold band on your ring finger. “You breathe life into this old place, Mrs. Jaeger — and into me.”

Tilting your head up, you can just glimpse the warmth in his gaze, the affectionate tilt of his lips. Oftentimes, you can’t believe your luck, being able to call him yours.

Two years ago, you met at your local bookstore. He was perusing classics, while you were on the hunt for an elusive volume of poetry you needed for a class you were teaching that spring. Coffee led to a date which led to another and another…

If you were honest, he was the one who breathed life into you. In the six months prior to running into him, you had been mired in a strange sort of grief. Your former high school sweetheart, whom you had dated for five years, died after getting drunk one night and taking his boat out on the lake.

No more random texts from different burner numbers you had to block again and again. No more wondering if he would show up at your school, asking to see you. No more checking your locks at least three times before going to bed. One of your friends bitterly joked that he really did drown his sorrows, and you laughed until you cried, hard sobs that silenced the whole group.

It was just another loss tossed onto the already significant pile. Your mother died when you were nine, and your alcoholic father, who vacillated between pretending to care and slapping you when you forgot to do the laundry or wash the dishes, died in a car accident the year before your ex.

You felt weighed down by death, as if it were an unwelcome friend who continued to trail one step behind you, a heavy hand always resting on your shoulder.

But then you met Zeke. He listened. He cared — deeply, openly, passionately. He charmed your friends and remaining family. He was incredibly thoughtful, always making sure you were alright, exceedingly generous with both his time and money.

For a while, you had felt guilty about the latter. But when he explained that he had inherited a fortune when his father died after years spent battling cancer, and that he could think of no better use for it than spending it on the woman he loved, it was hard to argue.

When he proposed, you were elated. And when you walked down the aisle and saw him standing there, crying, smiling at you like you were his world… Your heart felt whole, perhaps for the very first time.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks now, pulling you on top of him.

“You.” He grins, and you can’t help but smile back. “Us.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmhm…” You rest your chin on your crossed arms. “When I’m done unpacking, I should start decorating for Christmas. I want it to be special — our first one as newlyweds.”

He rubs your back. “Don’t do the tree yet. We should put it up together.”

You nod, then bite your lip, hesitant before you ask, “I brought all of my stuff, of course. But… do you have any other decorations? Maybe in the basement?”

Zeke flinches just slightly. His face, however, is impassive, revealing nothing. “You know it’s just my office down there, sweetheart. A computer and a shit ton of paperwork.” The barest sliver of a smile curves his lips. “Remember what we talked about.”

His words settle in the pit of your stomach with a flash of shame. The only thing your husband has ever asked of you, and still, you keep subtlety prying. But it’s almost like you can’t help yourself.

“I won’t go down there,” you whisper, and his hand resumes its languid movement over your skin. “I’ve just never —”

Your words turn into a gasp as Zeke’s hand slides lower, until it’s pushing between your thighs, his fingers stroking you through your panties.

“I like having you on top of me,” he says, voice low and mischievous as he continues to tease you, reveling in your huffs of breath and the way you squirm against him. “But even more than that…”

In one quick movement, he has you on your back. He’s propped above you on one muscular arm, his wandering fingers now pushing inside you. “I like you like this… looking all helpless and desperate.”

•••

It only took one day for your curiosity to grow too insistent to ignore. And as you stand there, in the one room you were always told not to enter, a room whose key you had to search for in the toolbox Zeke kept under the stairs, a sudden voice startles you.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

You turn around to find your husband leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. You didn’t even hear him come down the stairs.

He must have come home early. The worst possible timing.

But he seems surprisingly unconcerned with the fact that you’ve broken his one rule and violated his privacy.

“What… is this?”

You gesture at the photos, the desk messily piled with maps and call logs, your personal bank records, school transcripts, text conversations you’ve had with friends and exes — fuck, you know what it is. What it means. But you want to hear him say it.

He tilts his head, a hint of concern in the crease between his brows. “You’re upset. I thought you might be, if you saw all of this.”

Stepping into the room, he loosens his tie. “It was a risk, of course, keeping it here. But I have a soft spot for mementos.” His eyes flicker to the cardboard boxes sitting on nearby shelves.

“It’s simple. I saw you. I wanted you. And so I made you mine.”

You try to take a step back, but you bump into the desk, and you can only turn your head away as he moves even closer, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. “You stalked me?”

Zeke makes an irritated noise, something between a grunt and a sigh. “I watched over you — kept you safe, even before we first met.”

His fingers graze your cheek, and you try to suppress your shiver. “I‘ll admit, it began as a selfish desire — to know you, possess you. But I wanted you to be happy. I’ve always wanted that, more than anything.”

Your mind is struggling to keep up with his words, your gaze now focused on the papers just beside you. A chill settles into your bones. Your ex’s address, his daily schedule, habits of note — including the fact that he often enjoyed hitting the bar on Thursday nights before going out to the lake, either with friends or by himself.

“You killed him.”

Zeke’s hand hesitates, still lingering at your cheek. “Yes.” His voice is low and cold, unrepentant. “He hurt you. And I knew he would just keep doing it if I didn't step in.”

You finally manage to meet his gaze, flinching at the hard resolve you find there. “Did you…” You swallow hard. “My dad, too?”

Seeing the fear in your eyes, Zeke’s expression softens, his other hand settling on your waist as he slowly nods.

“He was a vicious drunk. It didn't take much digging to figure that out.” His touch is so familiar, it’s hard not to lean into it. “He hurt you, too — for much longer, in different ways…”

His expression clears, becoming unreadable. “I did what I had to do. For you. Always for you.”

“Have there been others? Before me?”

How many lies has he told you over the years? How tightly have you been wrapped around his finger?

He shakes his head. “You’re the first. And I’ve always intended for you to be the last, my only. I’ve tried so hard to make things perfect for us.” He looks plaintive, desperate for reassurance. “You’ve been happy, haven’t you? I’ve made you happy.”

The word lingers unspoken on your tongue, thick and cloying. Yes. Of course he has. From the moment you met, it all felt so easy, like something had clicked into place that had always felt misaligned within your life.

He was a kind, supportive partner. Devoted to you, determined to see you succeed… Eager to start a family. Determined to grow old together. You don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes the tears away, patient as he waits for your answer.

“Yes. But I…” He looks nervous and guarded, his hand squeezing your hip a little tighter. “What if you change your mind someday?” You take a deep, shaky breath. “Will I end up in a lake? A car crash?”

He fervently shakes his head. “No, no… Sweetheart, never.” Pressing his forehead to yours, he sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you cry. But I promise — I would never hurt you.”

But if anyone annoys or displeases you — a coworker, a student, a random, rude stranger at the grocery store — and you let it slip… Would he hurt them? Would he even hesitate?

“Please say something.” His voice is suddenly small and scared, and you react on instinct, arms reaching around to hug him closer. He relaxes into you, large hands warm on your back. “It’s all out of love. You can see that, can’t you? I love you.”

You think about how you didn't go to your ex’s funeral, and how at your father’s, you didn't shed a single tear. Both of their deaths had brought grief — but also a relief so profound, you avoided talking about it, ashamed of your response to their tragic ends.

You think about your perfect husband. The way he handles you with such care, the love in his eyes, the thoughtful gestures, the way he’s always seemed to know you so well. I suppose now I know how…

And you think about the two positive pregnancy tests you placed in the bathroom drawer, having decided to wait to tell him until he came home from his trip.

He’s a monster. He is. But you love him. You’re not sure if fear can coexist with such tender feelings. Time will tell. The alternative, however, rejecting him in this moment, knowing what you know… I can’t do that.

“I know you do,” you whisper. “I love you, too.”

#ghost-party’s drabble advent calendar 🎄 #attack on titan #aot #zeke jaeger #zeke x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager #zeke yeager x reader #tw abuse #tw death #tw parental death #tw alcoholism #tw stalking #tw pregnancy