#Soup Symphony

[spacetrashpile]

god i love when ttrpg campaigns haunt a song every time you ever hear it

[bicokun]

[bellyhasabellyache]

my favorite albums in no particular order (all no skips for me)

american heartbreak - zach bryan

pure heroine - lorde

five seconds flat - lizzy mcalpine

punisher - phoebe bridgers

s&m 2 - metallica + san francisco symphony

live from fenway park - noah kahan

fuzzybrain - dayglow

a hangover you don’t deserve - bowling for soup

the good witch - maisie peters

[misotofu]

yk i was a mahler hater before tn (too long and too difficult to play for a fledgling orchestra (that ones rly on my conductor but i beefed w mahler too iwas just angry in general) ) but i am CONVERTED i see the light. mahler i get it now. thank u for writing your things <3

[perrybearwaks]

Everyone bopping in sync to A Ghost's Pumpkin Soup is my favorite

[silvermittt]

Chinese Coconut Pork Soup

[hotvintagepoll]

LAST POLL OF ROUND 5

Harpo Marx (Night at the Opera, Night in Casablanca, Duck Soup)—While Groucho is better-known, Harpo's physical comedy is SECOND-TO-NONE. The man is a strange mime trapped in the paradigm of early 20th century movies. Every move is a symphony and simultaneously a colony of rats in a human skin suit. LISTEN. You MUST see this man in motion. Every still photo of him looks like a combination of a sad clown and a different, sadder clown, but it's only because he put so much joy in every motion.

Peter Falk (The Great Race, It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World)—JUST A SILLY MAN!! Sabotages four different cars (including his own, oopsie daisy) in the film The Great Race. Not film but TV, however, he is also known as the lovably silly little man Detective Columbo. Nobody knows what he's doing or where he's going at any time (even him).

This is round 5 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Harpo Marx:

64.media.tumblr.com

He's like if a clown was a hobo was also somehow a classically trained harpist, his face is always in some kind of contorted silly shape, feral curly haired ninnymuggins always doing weird things to people

64.media.tumblr.com

Harpo is mute in all of the Marx Bros movies and so his body language and facial expressions are SO over the top but he's also got fewer braincells than a goldfish while often being the emotional heart of the Marx Bros and he's just A Guy!!

Every scene with Harpo Marx is a treat! Just like watching a seagull steal a stranger's hotdog at the beach, it is a joy to watch him frustrate the hell out of all the other films' characters! Harpo Marx is the zenith of unhinged in all of his appearances, making any other funny man a straight man by comparison. (A fantastic feat considering he starred in films with his brothers Grouch and Harpo, who sported a shoe polish mustache and questionable Italian accent, respectively). The scrungliness of the little guys he plays come from his guileless, wide-eyed expression, curly blond wig, and the extreme ability to annoy others, despite never saying a word. Is he malicious? Most definitely, but hard to tell because he has a dopey grin on his face most of the time. Communicating through other sounds like honking horns and whistling, he is a force of chaos in every Marx brothers film! Also an accomplished harp player, the beautiful calm moments where Harpo plays juxtapose the zany, making him all the more scrungly. His visual style of comedy is timeless; Duck Soup had me rolling with laughter as a six year old and is still just as funny today.

In my opinion Harpo is the funniest of the Marx brothers because he is so good at slapstick comedy. Since he never speaks in his film appearances his performances are very physical, which contributes a lot to his scrungliness. He was fully committed to being wacky at all times. All of his hilarity is based on him being weird.

He's just a weird little guy who causes chaos everywhere he goes, and then sits down and plays a beautiful harp solo! He steals the show from his very chatty brothers without saying a word, and was surprisingly ripped under that old raincoat

All of the Marx Brothers are Scrungly to a degree, but Harpo is the scrungliest! His outfits are so big he gets lost in them, his pockets are full of everything, and because he never speaks, he always uses physical comedy. Also he's an incredible musician.

Peter Falk:

He's a man who looks unshaven even when he's shaven. His soul is unshaven. The perpetual squint, the way his eyes don't always go in the same direction due to one being glass, the disheveled hair... I can only hope to look as scrungly as him someday.

Just look at him. Seriously. Just look at him. He's the scrungliest little guy. He out-scrungles them all.

[bamfkeeper]

Blue Helpers.

RQ: 'Can I request reader (established relationship with night crawler) where reader is sick and the barmfs get so worried and try to take care of her, along side hurt' - @lillycore

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader | warnings: Sick/illness themes

a/n: Doing quick little requests because I've been busy, I'm sorry 💔 I hope you enjoy this little drabble. Unedited. ;; wc: 1.0k

You coughed violently, your body shaking with each forceful expulsion of air.

As the fit subsided, you sank back into your bed, pulling the comforter tightly around you in a desperate attempt to find comfort. The pressure in your sinuses was relentless, a constant ache that seemed to radiate through your entire skull. It had been years since you'd fallen ill like this, and the sudden onset of sickness a few days ago had caught you completely off guard. You thought it was maybe food poisoning, but there was no way food caused you to be this sick.

Since then, you'd been confined to your bed, your body too weak to do much more than sleep fitfully and endure the various symptoms plaguing you. The combination of fever, congestion, and overall malaise left you feeling utterly gross, as if your own body had betrayed you.

Your persistent coughing didn't go unnoticed. The little blue imps were curious and concerned, cautiously making their way into your bedroom. They climbed onto the bed, their large yellow eyes blinking rapidly as they observed your weakened state. Their usual energy subdued with worry as they saw just how weak you were, radiating illness from your body. They stretched out their tiny arms towards you, but maintained a respectful distance, unsure of how to help or what to do. The bamfs huddled together at the foot of the bed, their gazes never leaving you as they tried to make sense of your condition.

It was clear to them that you were unwell - your pale complexion, the sheen of sweat on your brow, and your labored breathing were obvious signs. In their limited understanding, they couldn't comprehend why this illness had rendered you so completely incapacitated, so unlike your usual vibrant self.

One of the bamfs chirped softly, its tiny feet pattering across the bed as it approached you. It nuzzled against your cheek, its velvety body held a comforting warmth that provided a momentary respite from the discomfort of your fever. The gesture brought a weak smile to your face, despite your illness.

"Ach, kleine Schätze...bitte, give them some space," Kurt gently admonished, his voice a soothing murmur as he entered the room carrying a steaming bowl. He placed the bowl on the nightstand and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress. His golden eyes met yours as he spoke softly, "Liebe...you must be feeling dreadful. Your temperature is quite high."

He reached out, his cool hand brushing against your forehead in a tender gesture. A reassuring smile played on his lips as he continued, "But fear not, I've brought something that should help."

Kurt lifted the bowl, wisps of steam rising from its contents. "I've prepared some Kartoffelsuppe for you," he explained, his voice warm with nostalgia. "It's a special recipe, freshly made and piping hot. My mother used to make this very soup for me whenever I fell ill as a child. It always seemed to work wonders."

You lifted your head weakly, mustering a faint smile despite your exhaustion. "It does smell good..." you murmured, the aroma of the soup tantalizing your senses. With some assistance from Kurt, you managed to sit up a bit more, your body still feeling fragile and unsteady. Kurt adjusted himself to sit closer, carefully holding the spoon out for you, his movements slow and deliberate to ensure your comfort.

As the spoon touched your lips, you savored each small sip. The soup was a symphony of flavors, each taste bud awakening to the rich, comforting blend. The warmth of the liquid spread through your body, contrasting to the chills of your fever. You knew you probably shouldn’t be eating hot soup with a temperature, but the soothing heat of the soup in your belly felt like a balm to your ailing body. You couldn't help but appreciate the deliciousness of the meal, a small pleasure in your current state of discomfort.

"Ugh, it's delicious, Kurt..." You sighed, savoring the food and relieved your stubborn stomach was accepting of the meal instead of instantly making you vomit it all up.

The bamfs huddled around you, their large eyes filled with concern as they observed Kurt feeding you. Their tiny forms pressed close, offering what comfort they could through their presence. Their simple minds grappled with the concept of your weakness as they witnessed Kurt carefully spoon feeding you.

If you were too frail to feed yourself, how could you possibly manage anything else? The sight of you in such a vulnerable state clearly distressed them, their usual playful demeanor gone as they made soft whining sounds against you. Their attachment to you was evident in every worried glance and gentle touch, they had become so needy for you ever since you and Kurt became an item, and they hated seeing you hurt in any way.

After finishing your meal, Kurt excused himself to fetch some medicine, leaving you to rest and recuperate. The bamfs remained gathered around you, their concern evident in their actions. With an eagerness to assist after seeing Kurt giving you food, they took it upon themselves to tend to your needs in his absence.

Their tiny hands struggled but managed to lift the large glass of water, offering it to you for a refreshing sip whenever you tried to reach for it yourself. They replaced the cool, damp cloth on your forehead after the rag had become too warm, splaying it on your forehead perfectly each time. The sweet things even attempted to massage your aching muscles with their small, three-fingered hands.

These loyal little imps refused to leave your side, their presence a constant and unwavering. When Kurt returned, he found you curled up on your side, surrounded by a protective cocoon of blue bamfs. They had nestled themselves against your belly and back, with some even perched atop you. Their warm, sleepy bodies provided a soothing heat, carefully balanced so as not to overheat you in your fragile state.

This living blanket of bamfs offered both physical warmth and emotional comfort, even with the few that had managed to weasel their way under your arm like teddy bears.

Thanks for reading <3

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight | Photos on Pinterest, Bamfs from Nightcrawler 2014

[bookwormjust]

Imagine: An Accident at Dinner with the Inner Circle

Dinner with the Inner Circle was always an event to look forward to—filled with laughter, shared stories, and the warmth of being surrounded by those who had become family. Tonight was no different. The grand dining room of the House of Wind was bathed in the golden glow of candlelight, the long table adorned with an array of dishes that would make any chef proud.

Azriel sat beside you, as he always did, his presence a steady, comforting anchor amidst the lively chatter. His hand rested on your knee under the table, a quiet but constant reminder of the bond you shared. You were mid-conversation with Mor, who was animatedly recounting a tale of her latest shopping spree, complete with exaggerated gestures and laughter.

Across the table, Feyre and Rhysand were locked in a mock argument about who had won their latest training session, while Cassian was trying to convince Amren to try a new dessert. It was a scene of perfect, chaotic harmony—each voice, each laugh, blending into a symphony of camaraderie.

Feyre stood up with a smile, reaching for a large, steaming pot of soup from the center of the table. “Alright, who’s ready for seconds?” she asked, lifting the pot with one hand while balancing her plate in the other. But in her enthusiasm, she misjudged the angle, and the pot slipped from her grasp.

Everything seemed to slow down in that moment. You watched as the pot wobbled, tipping dangerously, and then—before anyone could react—it tumbled forward, the steaming contents splashing across the table. Hot soup splattered everywhere, cascading over plates, cutlery, and worst of all—over you.

The shock of the searing liquid against your skin made you gasp, instinctively jerking back in your chair. The heat was overwhelming, a burning sensation spreading from your lap down to your legs. You could hear the sharp intake of breath from everyone around the table, and Feyre’s horrified gasp as she realized what had happened.

“Y/N!” Feyre’s voice was filled with panic and regret as she reached out, but Azriel was already moving.

Before you could fully register the pain, Azriel was there, his shadows swirling in a frenzy around him. He pulled you to your feet, his eyes wide with a mix of panic and fear that you had rarely seen in him. His hands, those scarred hands that had seen so much pain, moved quickly as he tried to brush the hot soup off your clothes, his touch gentle but hurried.

“Az—” you started, trying to calm him, but his expression stopped you short. There was something deeper there, a shadow of past trauma that flickered in his gaze as he took in the redness spreading across your skin.

His grip tightened slightly, and you felt the tension in his muscles as he fought to control his emotions. You could see the anger simmering beneath the surface—not at you, not even really at Feyre, but at the situation, at the memories it stirred. Azriel’s own burns, the scars that marked his hands, were a constant reminder of pain he had endured alone, and seeing you hurt, even in this small way, pulled those memories to the forefront.

“Feyre, get some cold water!” Rhysand’s voice cut through the tension, his tone commanding but calm. Feyre nodded quickly, rushing to grab a pitcher of cold water from the side table, her face pale with worry.

Azriel guided you away from the table, his movements swift but careful. “We need to cool it down,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, as he took the pitcher from Feyre’s trembling hands and gently poured the water over your lap, trying to soothe the burn.

You winced at the initial contact but nodded, placing your hand over Azriel’s to steady him. “I’m okay,” you said softly, trying to reassure him, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his expression a storm of guilt and fury.

“You shouldn’t have to be hurt,” he whispered, his voice low and tight. “Not like this.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the tension in his grip, the way his shadows seemed to pulse erratically around him. “Az, it’s okay,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, trying to pull him back to the present, to remind him that you were here, with him. “I’m okay.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might lose control—the shadows around him darkening, twisting in response to his turmoil. But he took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly as he leaned into your touch. Slowly, the storm in his gaze began to subside, the frantic edge fading as he focused on you.

The rest of the Inner Circle hovered nearby, concern etched on their faces. Cassian stepped forward, his voice gentle as he said, “Feyre didn’t mean it, Az. It was an accident.”

Feyre, standing a few steps away, looked on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to—”

You offered her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Feyre. Really. Just a little hot soup.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand finally loosened, his posture relaxing as he took another deep breath. He glanced at Feyre, his expression softening as he nodded. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice still a little rough around the edges but calmer. “I know it wasn’t on purpose.”

Mor appeared at your side with a cool cloth, gently pressing it to the reddened area on your leg. “Here, this should help,” she said softly, her eyes flicking between you and Azriel with a worried frown.

“Thanks, Mor,” you said, grateful for the cool relief against your skin. You looked up at Azriel, who was still watching you with an intensity that made your heart ache. You reached for him again, pulling him closer so that your foreheads touched, a silent promise between you.

“I’m right here,” you whispered. “And I’m fine. We’re fine.”

Azriel’s eyes closed for a moment as he leaned into you, his breath evening out as he steadied himself. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I just… I can’t stand seeing you hurt.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could express. You knew the scars he carried, both seen and unseen, and how fiercely he protected those he loved—how fiercely he protected you.

Rhysand cleared his throat softly, his voice gentle as he broke the quiet. “Let’s take a break, give everyone a moment to breathe.” He glanced at Feyre, who nodded, still looking a bit shaken.

Azriel helped you to a nearby chair, his hand never leaving yours as he sat beside you. His shadows, usually so composed, still swirled restlessly around his feet, betraying the lingering tension in his mind.

You squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “I love you,” you said softly, your voice steady and full of certainty. “And nothing’s going to change that. Not a little soup, not anything.”

Azriel’s expression softened, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smile. “I love you too,” he replied, his voice low but filled with the quiet strength that always made you feel safe. “More than anything.”

As the others began to regroup, offering more apologies and making sure you were comfortable, Azriel stayed by your side, his touch constant and reassuring. And as the evening slowly returned to its usual rhythm, you knew that no matter what happened, you and Azriel would always face it together—scars, shadows, and all.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅺ▬ ⁽ 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒⁾ ¹

part two

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₅˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : slightly edited, talk of past sexual assault ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : i had to split this into two parts! it’s giving very much manhwa vibes!

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎ : your elder half-sister is to be married to the mysterious and supposed tyrannical duke kallisto de ardelean, on word of the emperor. with your sister no longer having her chastity and being scared to lose his daughter, your father, marquis bastian, and your elder half-brother, tommen devise a plan to send you in her stead.

꒰m!vampire₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

 the sound of cutlery grating against one another makes anxiety coil taut within your belly, the emotion mischievously swimming its way upwards to form a burning mordant taste within the base of your throat; bile threatening to ascend and expel from your mouth. your nerves are strung tight like a bow, bending, pulling, hurting- waiting to be disentangled from its stretch; but to no avail. the persistent, uneasy ache pulsing through your veins causes your head to throb and pound uncomfortably - the onset of a migraine looming.

    the clinking of silverware becomes a symphony of discomfort, each scrape, and clatter adding to the cacophony that fills the room. it becomes increasingly difficult to focus on anything else, as the unease consumes your thoughts and senses. the atmosphere feels suffocating, as if the tension in the air is tangible.

  you find yourself longing for a moment of respite, a break from the relentless discomfort. but it eludes you, leaving you trapped in this sea of unease. the storm within you rages on, its intensity growing with each passing second.

      'when will this be over?' you muse sourly, stumbling to hold in a huff of frustration and discomfort; the stinging, scalding gazes of your siblings and attendants are alight with contempt and taunting humor- directed at you. the sensation sends a chill skittering down your backbone, a chill so frigid that goosebumps begin to blanket your skin like a fresh layer of december frost; intricate and icy.

  as you sit there, the weight of their judgment bears down on you, pressing against your chest and making it difficult to breathe. the room seemed to close around you, the walls closing in like a vise, trapping you in a suffocating bubble of scrutiny. the air is heavy with tension, each second ticking by like an eternity, as if time itself had slowed down to magnify your discomfort.

    and you find that removing your eyes from the bowl of lukewarm soup in front of you to meet their disdainful faces, was nigh impossible. unthinkable. so instead you remain fixated on the porcelain dish, undisturbed by the tiny grains of sand scattered at the bottom, swirling lazily in the stew.

 'this again?' you ponder silently, before being startled by the tinkling laughter that fills the room.

     for a fleeting moment, your gaze flickers upward to scan the dining hall at the soft, girlish snickering; finding the venomous eyes of your elder sister staring right back at you. your glossy eyes quickly find solace in the sandy, savory depths of the bowl of soup below you once more. your fingers weaving jointly underneath the table, nails turning pale as the vice grip of your extremities coil, trying to strangle one another. you felt like a rat trapped within a burning bucket with nowhere to go, fated to die-but how badly you wanted to gnaw your way out to freedom.

 "oh my, dear sister, you've hardly touched your food."

  your back molars clench against the tender flesh of your cheek at the attention, your body cowering back into the delicate velvet chair underneath you, praying to be devoured whole. with trembling hands, you nervously rub your dewy palms against the faded blue fabric of your dress, causing it to darken with the touch of moisture. it was as if your very nerves had been set ablaze as you could now feel the disconcerting stare of your father branding the side of your cheek.

your soft but prevalent ebbeton accent cuts through the tense atmosphere like a sharpened blade, the gazes of the room bleeding into your skin.

    "i find myself lacking an appetite this evening," you emit softly, offering a forced smile to your elder sister in an attempt to pacify her. you’re not surprised when aerith’s thin upper lip curls into a snarl, downturned eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing. anything that you did; that defied her orders, usually triggered aerith to taunt and beat you. there was no winning when it came to the girl, you had figured that out when you were just a child.

     not expecting your reply, aerith’s narrow upper lip curls into a vexed snarl, downturned eyes tightening and eyebrows drawing near to each other. 'who the hell does she think she is?' a forced, cruel smile encases aerith’s mouth, golden spirals of silken hair dancing over her shoulders as she slants her head in an opposing manner. the blonde is only aggravated further at your curt, almost blank expression. "it'd be a waste for you to not at least take a bite, don't you think?"

  she leaned in closer, her eyes boring into yours, daring you to defy her. the room seemed to grow colder, the atmosphere heavy with tension. aerith knew that she had the upper hand, that she had the ability to make your already hellish life, worse. and she reveled in it. the power she possessed, the control she exerted over others, was intoxicating. she was not one to be underestimated, and she made sure you knew it.

    the intense thrumming of your fearful heart reverberates throughout your body, anxiety substituting the boiling blood surging through your veins. you swallow the orb of tension that's wedged its way into your throat and dig your almond-shaped nails into your thighs, a flimsy smile painted onto your lips. "i simply do not feel hungry tonight, sister," you reply calmly, though your heart pounds in your ears. "surely that is not a crime."

    your sister's eyes narrow, her fury evident in the furrowed lines on her forehead. you can almost taste the outrage, mingling with the metallic tang of fear on your tongue.

"(y/n)."

    you flinch back into your seat at the boisterous sound of your father's voice, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow, shakily you pick up the rickety spoon, a far cry from the elegant silverware adorning the table. with trembling hands, you cautiously dip the spoon into the soup, the loose pieces of sand giggling at your misery. slowly the spoon ascends to your lips- before three sharp knocks echo throughout the dining hall. every malicious, joyously cruel gaze, flits to the door. your father, never one to be unnerved, dabs at his lips with his napkin and clears his throat. "enter."

    the heavy oak doors are gradually pulled open by two knights who stand guard at opposing ends. the assailant quickly waltzes into the room, his face, pale and drawn, betrays the weight of his duty. beads of sweat trickle down his forehead, glistening like tiny diamonds in the candlelight. his disheveled attire, once pristine and regal, now hangs loosely on his frame, evidence of the tumultuous journey he has endured to reach this moment. settled upon his spindly hand is a slender silver tray, which carries a letter.

“-and what is the cause for you interrupting the household dinner, boy? "

  the man choked back a shuddering breath and with a graceful yet urgent stride, he approaches the grand mahogany table at the center of the room, halting just in front of your father, lowering into a ninety-degree bow and thrusting the salver forward.

     "a letter from the imperial palace..." the boy's tentative voice trails off for a moment, hesitant to declare the rest of the announcement. your father observed the scene with a stoic expression, his piercing gaze fixed upon the man before him, before he rolls his eyes, picking up his utensils once more. "well? out with it then.”

“- it's closed with the emperor's seal, my lord.”

    all respire within the room seemed to come to a standstill, the birds did not dare to chirp and the wind was not brave enough to howl. the silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of your father's labored breaths. as the seconds ticked by, the room seems to hold its breath, waiting for marquis bastian to break the silence. finally, your father gently places his utensils aside and swiftly grasps the letter, his fingers trembling with a mixture of anticipation and unease. clearly, some things could unnerve marquis bastian, you thought, as you surreptitiously returned the spoon to its rightful place upon the table.

     popping the seal, your father glides the letter from the envelope delicately, unfurling the piece of paper to allow his eyes to glaze over the contents. yet, with each passing second his eyelids draw back to showcase the whites of his eyes, his fingers digging into the paper with a mix of shock, disbelief, or perhaps even anger. you can't quite discern his emotions. your father, marquis bastian, was a man known for his unwavering composure and unshakeable resolve. his presence alone commanded respect and admiration, and it was a rare sight indeed to witness him unsettled.

   his usually stoic face contorted with a myriad of emotions, his brows furrowing and his lips trembling ever so slightly. the room seemed to grow colder, as if the air itself was affected by his sudden unease. you watched in silence, your heart pounding in your chest, as your father's grip on the letter tightened, his knuckles turning white. the seconds stretched into minutes, and still, your father remained frozen in his chair, his eyes fixed on the damning words before him. 

   tommen, your eldest brother, swallows thickly at father's silence, the hairs on the back of his neck at attention and his leg bouncing nervously underneath the table. "father, what ails you?" marquis bastian was distraught, so much so in fact, that he ran a wrinkling hand down his face, head falling into his open palm. the patriarch of the house clears his throat and sets the paper back onto the tray.

"a-aerith. your engagement has been decided by the emperor."

    tommen's heart sinks at his father's words. your elder sister, forever the oblivious blonde; and incapable of reading the room, beams happily and clasps her hands together, head tilting to the side with a whimsical, distant gaze in her eyes. "oh! who is it, daddy? a duke? a marquis?—" the girl trails off with a gasp and places a soft, small hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning a rosy pink. "could it be the prince?! oh, daddy, say something! who is it?!"

tommen's eyes follow his father's every movement, his own anxiety growing with each passing second. he watches as his father clears his throat, a sign of his struggle to find the right words. your father, still in dismay, doesn't even attempt to soothe aerith as he breaks the news to her, his gaze empty, like a vast, swarthy sea of water without end.

"duke kallisto de ardelean."

 you watch in confusion as her smile slowly fades, her pretty, sparkling jade eyes seem to dull, the vibrant hue that once adorned her rosy cheeks now fades away, leaving behind a pallid complexion that betrays the absence of her usual vivacity.

   the blonde's daze is shattered in an instant as she forcefully pushes herself away from the table, her hands crashing down on the sturdy oak surface, her nails leaving marks. "no! i won't do it, you cannot make me!" your father's lips are set into a thin line and despite aerith looking to him for answers, for hope that only his words can bring, his expression is unreadable; and for a moment, something dark and enraged unfurls within the blonde's stomach, threatening to consume her.

"daddy? say something!"

tommen, always the mediator, attempts to smooth over the situation. "aerith, sit, let father think for a moment— hm?" your eldest brother can't help but add an encouraging whirr at the end of his demand after seeing his sister's frightened gaze; a sight that tugs at his heart agonizingly. aerith reluctantly tumbles into her chair, reddened cheeks cushioned by clammy palms; her nails digging into her scalp worriedly.  "brother, do something."

tommen's jaw ticked in annoyance- frustration. there was no way aerith would survive at duke ardelean's home, particularly because of her licentious behavior and absence of subordination. with aerith's lack of chastity, she was nothing but used, damaged goods— not even a puppet to be utilized. ( she would've been better off marrying a count, someone she could manipulate and break faith with. ) sending her off to kallisto would do nothing but insult the ardelean household and bring disgrace to their family for generations to come. 

    tommen's love for his sister was undeniable, and he couldn't bear to see her endure humiliation or worse. he refused to stand idly by and witness the downfall of his family, the destruction of everything they had worked so hard to build.

   slight motion from his peripheral causes tommen's head to turn slightly in its direction, catching sight of your dingy garments and absence of etiquette. ‘ah, the bastard.' he thought to himself. watching as your back straightens immediately when his viridian-colored gaze flits to your slouched figure. there is a bottomless sea of revulsion whirling like a hurricane within its depths and you grip your right arm tightly, nails digging into your flesh; scarring it with crescent moons, a desperate attempt to maintain composure, to keep yourself afloat in the face of his disdain.

    but despite your best efforts- you seemed to drown. the contempt in tommen's eyes remained unwavering. his judgment was etched into his features, a constant reminder of the vast chasm that separated you. in that moment, you were acutely aware of your place in his world, forever relegated to the outskirts, forever branded as the outsider.

"father, if I may?"

   marquis bastian looks toward his son, lips thinned and face weary. he was without a doubt, lost on what to do the thought of losing his little girl to such a man, made his stomach churn and ache.

tommen drags his gaze away from you and locks eyes with marquis bastian; he's tentative, uncertain if the solution that he's come to would assuage his father. but, he takes a deep breath and explains.

   "aerith has been out of high society for years now, after the incident with count aslan's daughter, and there were only a few witnesses at the happening.” tommen begins gradually, making sure that his father is mindful of every little detail. "truly-she's not even talked about within social circles anymore."

   your father grunts in agreement, shooting a scalding gaze at his immature (but loveable) daughter at the reminder of the mishap. the blonde's pout deepens and she crosses her arms over her chest in childish defiance.

   “duke kallisto has never gone to any social gatherings before and he's been away at the northern border for about the same period, perhaps even longer, with his eldest son joining him only a couple of months ago. he would have no idea who aerith is." marquis bastian's eyebrows furrow deeply, producing wrinkles in-between his thick, graying brows.

    tommen watches as the cogs turns in his father's head. “'it's official only on paper and since duke kallisto has never come to any social setting and no one knows what he looks like, i doubt there will be a public wedding, especially since he's currently at the northern border leading the knights."

marquis bastian's eyes widen and he finds his son's viridian gaze. “are you saying—” tommen nods quickly, leaning back in his seat. “if we send the bastard, they'd be none the wiser."

all eyes narrow on you, calculating and cold, it raises goosebumps on your skin, hinders your breath, and makes you break out in a cold sweat. 

    a small voice inside you yearned to protest, to expose the sheer madness of their 'scheme', warning that it would only lead to the gruesome demise of the entire family for treason. but, what right did you have to speak? you were nothing but a bastard, a child conceived out of unwilling sex, brought into this world by a maid who was promptly cast aside the moment you took your first breath.

   you were raised in the shadows, hidden away from the prying eyes of society, forced to serve the family that had abandoned you. your existence was a constant reminder of their shame, a living testament to their sins. and yet, despite the cruelty and neglect you endured, a flicker of defiance burned within you. but fear held you back. fear of retribution, of being cast out into the cold, unforgiving world. fear of the unknown, of what lay beyond the walls of the only home you had ever known.

you were a mere puppet, a marionette manipulated by the hands of those who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end. your existence was reduced to a tool, easily discarded when it no longer served its purpose. it was a fitting fate, since commoner blood surged through your veins. you were forever destined to be overlooked and discarded.

     lips thinning you watch as your fathers face flushes with the color he lost while reading the letter, no longer tense as he nods his head in agreement with tommen. he lets out a deep hum before locking eyes with his son. “that might just work.” marquis bastian absently strokes his beard before giving a decisive nod. “we’ll have to start the process quickly. with how she is now…” he trails off prompting you to hastily blink back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. 

 “hajorld, send a letter to madame kilsby.” 

  all eyes fix upon aerith as she emits a disbelieving whimper. “daddy! that’s not fair, you promised that madame kilsby would teach me! you swore,”  her voice, sharp and grating, causes marquis bastian’s face to pinch into one of anger. “had you not spread your legs like some common whore, aerith, i would not be forced to take this action."

  aerith's heart sank at her father's accusing words. she had been looking forward to learning from madame kilsby for months, only to have her hopes dashed in an instant. the disappointment was palpable in the air as she struggled to hold back tears, her rose-tinted lips pressing together as she slumps back in her seat. your father sighs deeply and picks back up his cutlery. “may the gods have mercy on us."

"chin up!"

    you wince softly at the abrupt pain that blooms bitterly across your calf, the skin puckering and swollen from the harsh, periodic whipping of madame kilsby. stiffly your chin lifts upwards. the heavy books that make a home on the top of your head for the time being, quiver- as if they are walking bare within the frigid december air; waiting to topple. 

     her aging hand presses deftly into your lower back, fixing your posture once more with a soft hum, assessing, watching. she observes as you prance forward, wobbly within your heels but nonetheless ideal, given the time frame in which your lessons had begun.

"to me."

   as gracefully as you can, you turn to face madame kilsby in all her beautiful glory and for the second time this lesson, your breath catches briefly in your throat. you gaze at her shamelessly, taking in her red tresses, which like a dancing flame, curl atop her head; her green eyes, the color of luscious green forests, are deep, enchanting, and dangerous.

    the smell of her perfume is sweet (but not too much so) and floral, with just a whiff of spice she is a woman to behold, and you do so often. with a barely-there breath, you walk back towards her, feet aching within the shoes given to you. if your form is off, it doesn't show on her face. you come to a stop in front of madame kilsby and she locks gazes with you, the corners of her mouth curl up, she's pleased— it makes her all the more inviting.

"good y/n, i'm impressed."

  an apprehensive smile caresses your lips, brightening your typical apathetic beauty, and madame kilsby, finds you charming even more so. the older woman clears her throat softly and gently removes the hefty books from the top of your head, setting them onto the table next to her with a thump.etiquette and most other teachings usually are taught to children at a young age; that way it evolves almost into a second nature for them. since you were born out of wedlock and worst of all to a maid, a woman of no noble origin- you had been cast aside, as there was no need for a bastard to learn anything.

     madame kilsby had been reluctant to teach you, the first couple of days you could perceive her ridicule, her apprehension. yet, just as quickly as it came, it went, the hostility, the backhanded compliments, every scornful thing she had done while teaching you the first three days, seemed irrelevant. 

  you, she concluded, are her most promising student. you heed her words, obey, and watch diligently. you emulate, take, and evolve her teachings to fit your technique. your unwavering, confident blank gaze and features add to the feminine, mysterious ambiance that seems to encompass you. seeing you take shape had been breathtaking for madame kilsby. 

     she had never seen such rapid progress in a student before, especially one who had been deemed unworthy of her teachings. your determination and quick wit impressed her, and she found herself looking forward to each lesson with you.

   "there is nothing left for me to teach you now. as you've soaked up every bit of knowledge that i could provide. and beautifully so." the curvature of your lips pull downward, and madame kilsby watches as your features return back to their typical apathetic look.

'i have two days left before being shipped off to duke ardelean's home.’ you think sourly,briefly escaping your anxious musings to offer a distracted smile towards madame kilsby. "thank you, truly."

     the woman inclines her head and gently rests a hand upon your cheek. "let me know if there's anything i can do for you, child, if it's within my power to do so, it will be done."

   'would it be wrong to ask her to stab me with a knife? probably.' and just like that, in two days, you would be shipped off to your death.

two days later

  the ride to the ardelean estate is hell on wheels, you believe. your body is sore from your unduly tense posture, and your bum aches continually at every hobble and wobble of the carriage, it doesn't help that the corset that you had been forced into (and not delicately either) makes it all the harder to draw breath. 

  the carriage had been riding all day to get to the estate on time, a staggering eleven-hour ride- where you most definitely couldn't get any rest even if you had tried. it feels like an eternity before the carriage pulls to a stop. 

"my lady, we're here." 

    your nerves are scorched, set ablaze with fear and unease and it engulfs your body in a flame so searing that you find yourself airing your face. the door opens slowly and you swallow down the squeal of dread that tries to claw its way out of your throat, you place your hands comfortably on your lap, back straightening despite the sting of pain it brings and face blanking.

    a large palm facing upwards comes into your peripheral and you place your own gloved hand into it, stepping out of the carriage door, on a stepping stool, and finally onto the gravel. your eyes adjust to the brightness of outside before the estate comes into focus, and it's enormous, your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it. the structure is beautiful in its own haunted way.

   "welcome to the ardelean estate, lady fureio." 

    the monotonous chorus of voices surprises you, your body jolting softly, it leaves your heart to thump laboriously in your chest; eyes finally narrowing in on the attendants of the estate, the head maid and butler stand front and center, eyes cordial and seemingly all-knowing. 

   your smile is small, reluctant— yet warm nonetheless, you tip your head downwards in greeting, swallowing thickly, palms beginning to moisten and skin warming at your nervousness. "thank you." 

  a smile brightens the head maids face, her plump but sagging cheeks flushing a soft, lovely hue of red. "my name is esmerelda, i will escort you inside my lady, to get you settled in." she watches with rapt attention as you exhale shakily, nodding, "that would be great esmerelda, thank you."

   her countenance swiftly adopts a stern expression as she directs her attention to the two knights positioned behind her. if they have a problem with carrying your luggage, it remains imperceptible upon their visage. without hesitation, they proceed to retrieve your possessions from the rear of the carriage and carefully carry them into the grand estate ahead, their armor clanking softly with each step.

   you don't own many thing, only a few dresses (which weren't much to look at) a singular pair of worn shoes, and a couple of hairpieces that were fraying at their ends. while marquis bastian had paid for your etiquette lessons and other teachings— he was adamant about not spending much else after that. which was quite foolish of him now that you thought back to it.

    the woman watches them intently, her eyes sharp. as the knights disappear into the castle, the woman turns back to you with a slight nod of approval. "they will ensure your belongings are safely stored in your chambers," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. 

   you offer a gentle smile and a slight nod, gracefully aligning yourself with her stride as she beckons you to accompany her into the estate. she trails in front of you slightly, as you two walk past the maids stationed outside for your welcoming. 

 "where is the little lord?"

 "i couldn't find him this morning."

 "young master calix skipped sword training as well."

 esmerelda's stern gaze quickly has them hushed, their chins tucking against their chests pitifully, your lips purse softly as you comb through your head for lost details on the ardelean household, following slowly behind esmerelda.

    kallisto de ardelean is a father to three boys, the eldest son: azur, who recently turned seventeen, joined kallisto a couple of months back at the frontier to help with the north's demon subjugation. he, along with kallisto, wouldn't be home for a while.

   atreyu, kallisto's fifteen-year-old middle child is learning at the academy and finishing up his second year. and because winter is coming, atreyu's company would be expected in a couple of weeks from now.

    you pause momentarily in your thoughts. not much is known about kallosto's last son, as he is too young to participate in any social gatherings, and too young for the academy, not even his name is known, well, you supposed now that you knew it. 

calix de ardelean.

 "it's been a long ride has it not? shall i have a bath drawn for you?"

    you were exhausted, eyes laden, and breath slightly shallow from the ill-fitting corset that adorned your figure. you wanted to sleep, needed it even; yet the prospect of a warm bath followed by donning a comfortable nightgown seemed even more appealing.

   “that’d be perfect esmerelda, thank you.” you can hear the smile in her voice as she responds back to you. “of course, my lady.” 

     the two of you make your way through a corridor after a long trek up a flight of stairs, it’s adorned with paintings. they're eerie yet exquisite; gloomy and desolate. the paintings seem to come alive as you walk past them, their eyes following your every move. the brushstrokes are so vivid and lifelike that you can almost feel the emotions emanating from the canvas. it's as if the artists poured their souls into each piece, leaving a lingering presence that sends shivers down your spine. the colors are so vibrant and the details so intricate that it's hard to believe they were created by mere human hands. 

   however, one catches your gaze, steals your breath away even—  as if time stands still as you lock eyes with the portrait.

“who is he?” 

   your mouth opens before you can dissuade yourself and esmerelda turns to face you, watching as you shamelessly gaze deeply at the painting, lips parted and almost breathless. you're not sure how the painter is able to capture the aura that surrounds the man perfectly— but they do and it's monarchial... terrifying. 

    his tresses are long and ebony; framing his face delicately, his lips are ruby in color- inviting; and his skin is pale as porcelain. the man's eyes are the color of freshly spilled blood, they gleam with an all-knowingness that warms your skin and strips you bare. you find it almost impossible to drag your gaze away from the painting, he's quite literally the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

  "that is duke kallisto, my lady." 

   you whip around to face her, eyebrows furrowing and heart thumping desperately within your chest, nearly pounding out of your ribcage, your ebbeton accent thickens as you speak, a look of clear disbelief in your eyes. "truly?" when she nods in confirmation you step forward and touch the portraits golden frame, trailing your fingers lower to trace over the cursive letters of duke kallisto's name. realizing how peculiar you must look, you quickly pull your hand to your chest; face warming in embarrassment.

 “shall we get going?”

ardelean estate

        the next day

calix de ardelean was a curious child. 

 his transgressions usually got him into trouble with his father more times than headmaid esmerelda had been able to count on both hands— though, that never truthfully seemed to stop calix, not for long anyway, especially since kallisto is reminded often of his late wife whenever he sees that playful glint within calix's ruby-red eyes, and folds almost immediately.     

     sometimes calix's childlike antics were simply disregarded by kallisto because the boy was just a child. a child who had never gotten to meet his mother, a child who lacked the maternal love that his elder siblings grew up with. kallisto could not be irate with his baby boy, no matter what he did.

   so it’s not surprising that calix is currently skipping sword practice. not that he despised it in any way, truly it was his favorite thing as it helped past time as he waited for his father to come back from the northern borders. 

  he hadn't been told about the marriage, only deduced it after catching wind of the rumors from the maids. he was curious, perhaps even a bit scared, he didn't like change. he would chase her out no matter what, before his father could come home. 

  now, to search for the woman who infiltrated his h- 

"ahem, young master calix- enough of these childish games."

     the boy jumps, startled by sir. fjord's deep timbre. without a word, calix quickly takes off down the hallway with a bellowing, tinkering laugh. his cheeks are flushed the cutest shade of red and his obsidian hair is ruffled at the top of his head. 

     glancing over his shoulder to look for the man, calix rounds a corner and immediately bumps into a soft, thick fabric, that sends him crashing butt-first to the carpeted flooring, hands burning. the boy whines softly and pouts, gazing up and up until he locks eyes with a woman. 

pretty. 

   with a worried frown, the woman lowers down in front of him, she smells of honey sickle and sugared lavender and it has warmth unfurling languidly within his tummy, turning him to mush underneath her soft, amused gaze.      

     "you must be calix." he nods slowly, unable to look away from her observant- filled eyes, she smiles brightly, it's welcoming and genuine. "my name is aerith fureio." 

    her fuller lips pull downward as she notices the redness that envelopes calix's hand, she reaches forward to grasp his wrist softly, angling it so that his palm faces upwards to her gaze, a nervous gasp expels from calix's lips, he's surprised to feel that ‘aerith's’ hands are slightly calloused. though from azur's teachings, a woman of noble birth never does domestic work, that's what maids are for. 

    it was difficult for women to comprehend how to wield a sword and so they weren't taught to do so. instead, they lived a life where they needn't lift a pinky. 

  so why were such warm and delicate hands, bruised as if she'd been working? 

    "you'll need some ointment for your palms." aerith glances over her shoulder to a maid who stands nearby with widened eyes. "lily, could you please?" 

    calix glances at the maid whom he hadn't noticed, too caught up in the woman in front of him. he glared at her viciously, watching as she scampered away with a small squeal. "yes, my lady!" 

   calix quickly snatches his hand from the woman and clutches it to his chest, round eyes scowling at her. 'aerith' chuckles soft and low, resting her elbow against her thigh and laying her cheek on her palm— gazing at the boy. he shuffles backwards away from her.

     "you're that lady that moved in yesterday, huh?" his gaze is sharp and unwelcoming but the woman in front of him seems to brighten at the sound of his sweet voice. she inclines her head in affirmation, it's surprisingly elegant in calix's eyes. "i am."

   it's a simple answer, not one he's expecting but it makes his heart beat fiercely. 

  the boy finds that the ire he once held for this unknown woman slowly starts to fade away, no matter how hard he wills it to remain. her eyes are like pools of warmth that beckon him to swim within them and her smile is small, but genuine- and calix swears that it's the first one that he's seen outside of his family.

    he opens his mouth to say something but there is nothing. 'aerith', seeing him struggle, cocks her head to the right and lets out a soft hum. 

  “say, i've had a hard time figuring out these halls, i just keep getting lost no matter what i do." she trails off in faux hesitancy and watches as his face lights up slowly but surely. the boy clears his throat and toots his nose up in a haughty manner, a smug smirk hugging his lips, calix finds that though her accent is unfamiliar and slightly heavy, it's not unpleasant to hear.

    "i suppose i'll give you a tour, no need to beg." calix scrambles to his feet, fixing his clothing. “i'll visit you early tomorrow morning, be ready!" before she can say anything else, the boy is off, running through the halls once more. 

"my lady? where has the little lord gone?" 

  smiling, you stand from your crouched position and turn to face your personal maid. "it seems he's run off. have the balm sent to his quarters when you have the chance."    

     lily nods and follows dutifully after you. "shall i show you around tomorrow then my lady?" you place a hand over your mouth to stifle your small laughter. "worry not lily, it seems i've reserved a guide." 

[miwsolovely]

— AN OLD SYMPHONY

𝜗𝜚 — in which, John gets sick after a mission in Siberia, never been one for the cold, that one. Good thing he has a sweetheart for a lover.

JOHN PRICE x NIKOLAI wtv the frerreeak his last name is angst — but if you blink, its gone — w comfort. john trying to be stubborn, nik being an idiot in love. 2.4k. — loved this ( my first cxc fic !!! ) — requested

“John, you’re burnin’ up,” Nik muttered, one hand on John’s forehead and the other firmly planted on his hip.

“‘M fine,” John croaked, his voice betraying him with every syllable. He was wrapped in their old, oversized knit blanket, slouched on the couch like a grumpy bear hibernating in the wrong season. His nose was red, his cheeks flushed from the fever, and his thick brows furrowed in irritation.

Nik sighed. “You’ve said that three times now. You weren’t fine when you tried to argue with me about takin’ your clothes off, and you’re not fine now.”

John grumbled something unintelligible and sank deeper into the cushions.

Shaking his head, Nik left the living room and headed to their kitchen. It wasn’t the first time that John had pushed himself too hard, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last which made his partner’s gut twist up in worry.

But Nik knew exactly how to handle him—grumpy disposition and all.

The familiar sound of chopping vegetables and the soft clatter of pots filled the house. Nik moved with practiced ease, humming to himself as he worked. John pretended not to care, but the smell of onions, garlic, and herbs slowly lured him out of his sulk.

By the time Nik returned with a steaming bowl of soup, his liver was sitting up, though still looking like he’d lost a fight with his fever.

“‘Ere,” Nik said, handing him the bowl with a knowing smirk. “Eat.”

John stared at the soup, then up at Nik, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a line. “You didn’t have to go through all tha’ trouble.”

Nik raised a knowing brow and crossed his arms. “I didn’t marry you just to let you starve when you’re sick, lyubov.”

Grumbling under his breath, John picked up the spoon and took a hesitant sip. The warmth spread through him immediately, the savory broth and tender vegetables soothing his sore throat. He hated how good it was—mostly because it meant Nik was right.

“You’re makin’ it impossible to stay mad at you.” He mumbled between bites.

Nik leaned down, brushing a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “Good. Now finish that and drink some water, or I’ll make you take medicine next.”

John scowled, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. He didn’t mind being taken care of—not when it was Nik.

“You’re too stubborn for your own damn good.”

That earns a chuckle from John, he raises his hand and wipes the sweat from his brow.

After waiting next to the couch for an hour just to make sure John was lucid enough, Nik made John waddle up stairs—which took at least five minutes— and lay down in their shared bed.

“Put ya hand down ya idiot,” His husband says. Wringing a cold compress into a bowl on their nightstand, and placing it on John’s forehead.

Partner, lover, husband.

John never thought he’d find himself thinking, saying, those words. Before, the words had felt foreign on his tongue, icy like the snow topped mountains in Siberia.

“You were right.” John croaks out. The bed dips where Nik sits down with a hand on John’s thigh.

“About what? M’right about a lotta things, gotta be more specific.” He says with a smile.

John opens his mouth to answer but his words escape him as a cough instead. He turns his head away from Nik as he does. When he turns back, he sighs and his eyes are blown, unfocused. “Tha’ Siberia woulda gotten me sick.”

Nik huffs at that, patting the hard, soft flesh of his lovers hand sitting at his thigh. “You need to listen to me more. Might learn a few things.”

John lets out a weak laugh, his voice still hoarse from the strain of his cough. “Listening to you, Nik, is what got me up in those mountains in the first place.”

Nik smirks, leaning back slightly, though his hand remains firm on John’s thigh, grounding him. “Ah, but if you didn’t, you’d be bored out of your damn mind, wouldn’t you?”

John tilts his head, eyes narrowing as if to challenge the statement, but the corners of his lips twitch upward despite himself. “Maybe,” He concedes, his tone light and teasing. “Still, I don’t recall you warning me about how bloody cold it’d be.”

Nik laughs at that—a full, deep sound that seems to warm the room more than any blanket could. “I warned you, stubborn bastard. You just refused to listen, like always.”

The banter feels easy, familiar, like the rhythm of an old song. Nik adjusts the compress on John’s forehead, his expression softening. “Rest now, John,” He says, his voice quieter, more insistent. “I’ve got you.”

John’s eyelids grow heavier as the warmth of Nik’s presence lulls him into something close to peace. “Yeah,” He murmurs, his voice barely audible as he slips into sleep. “I know you do.”

For a while, the room is silent save for John’s steady breathing. Nik sits there, watching over him, his own thoughts far away but anchored by the sight of his husband at rest.

He stays where he is, his hand lingering on John, his thumb idly brushing over the fabric of the blanket. The quiet of the room settles over him like a heavy quilt, but he doesn’t move—not yet. He knows better than to leave, even for a moment. John’s restless sleep has a habit of pulling him back into old battles, his body tensing, his breaths coming shallow and quick as if he’s still out there in the cold, fighting ghosts.

It’s not long before John stirs, his brow furrowing as a low, involuntary sound escapes him. Nik leans forward, his voice gentle. “Easy, lyubov’ moya,” He murmurs, the Russian slipping from his tongue effortlessly. “You’re safe.”

John’s breathing evens out again at the sound of Nik’s voice, and Nik exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It’s always like this—an unspoken battle fought in the quiet moments, one where Nik’s only weapon is his steady presence. He wonders if John knows how much he gives away in these unguarded moments, how much of his strength is tied to trust.

Nik shifts slightly, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. He tilts it toward John, pressing the rim lightly against his lips. “Drink,” he coaxes softly. “You’ll feel better.”

John groans but doesn’t resist, taking a few sips before sinking back into the pillows. His eyes crack open, barely focused, but there’s something there—a flicker of gratitude, of recognition. “Nik . . .”

“Shh,” Nik interrupts, placing the glass back on the nightstand. “Don’t talk. Just rest.”

But John’s lips twitch in that stubborn way they always do. “Didn’t think I’d . . . need you like this,” He admits, his voice raspy. “Thought I was the strong one.”

Nik snorts, shaking his head. “You’re strong, John,” He says, his voice firm but kind. “But even the strongest men need someone to hold them up. ‘S what I’m here for.”

John doesn’t respond right away, his eyes slipping closed again. For a moment, Nik thinks he’s drifted off, but then a quiet, almost imperceptible whisper reaches his ears: “Love you.”

Nik’s throat tightens, and he doesn’t bother hiding the soft smile that spreads across his face. “I know,” He whispers back, his hand returning to rest gently on John’s. “I love you too.”

And as the night deepens, Nik stays right there, a sentinel by John’s side, ensuring that the past remains where it belongs—far away, outside the walls of their shared sanctuary.

The hours stretch long, but Nik doesn’t mind. His body is accustomed to waiting, to watching, to guarding something—or someone—he holds dear. The dim light of the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across the room, illuminating the lines of John’s face, softened now by sleep. His breathing is slow and even, a far cry from the earlier ragged coughs that had racked his chest.

Hours pass, Nik shifted from his seated place an hour or two ago to lay beside his sickly husband, not caring if he’d catch his fever.

He shifts slightly, careful not to disturb his partner sleeping soundly beside him, and lets his mind wander. The weight of their shared history sits with him, not heavy, but present—like an old friend who’s overstayed their welcome. Siberia, Afghanistan, countless other places that have carved lines into their skin and etched stories into their souls.

He glances at John again. There’s something grounding about seeing him like this—vulnerable, unguarded, human. It’s a stark contrast to the commanding figure Nik first met all those years ago, barking orders with a cigar hanging lazily from his lips. Back then, John Price had seemed untouchable, invincible.

But here, now, he’s just John.

Nik’s lips twitch at the memory. He reaches for the blanket and pulls it up higher over John’s chest. “You’ve always been a pain in my ass, you know that?” He mutters quietly, not expecting an answer.

But a low, gravelly voice responds, startling him. “You love it.”

Nik jerks back slightly, leaning back on his elbow to see John’s face. “Thought you were asleep.”

John cracks one eye open, a smirk pulling at his lips despite the pallor in his face. “Hard to sleep with you muttering to yourself over there.”

Nik huffs, leaning back into the bed. “Go back to sleep, idiot. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

John’s smirk softens into something more genuine, his gaze holding Nik’s for a moment longer than usual. “I mean it, love,” He says, his voice quieter now, serious. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Nik swallows hard, the words settling into a place he doesn’t often let himself acknowledge. “Good thing you don’t have to find out,” He replies, his tone gruff but warm.

John hums in agreement, his eyelids already growing heavy again. “Stay,” He murmurs, the single word holding more weight than it has any right to.

“Always,” Nik says softly, watching as John drifts back into sleep.

The night stretches on, but Nik stays where he is, unwavering. Whatever battles John fights in his dreams, whatever demons haunt him, Nik will be there—his silent promise, unbroken.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[otomehonyaku]

DIABOLIK LOVERS More,Blood Character Popularity Poll Short Story ☽ Shuu ver.

Original title: 人気投票ショートストーリー、シュウ編 English translation by @otomehonyaku Requested by @aoi-hitomi-50 (happy early birthday to you and Shuu!) Original text can be found here.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SUMMARY | In this short story, Yui (not mentioned by name) has been with Shuu for a while—a bittersweet feat, since the vampire is not very vocal about his feelings. One morning, Yui accidentally drops her spoon at Shuu's feet while she's having her belated dinner. Spicy events ensue, and Yui cannot help but beg for answers. Will Shuu finally tell her how he truly feels towards her?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

—Just like that, I became your captive. Even though I could no longer go back, I…

In the small hours of the morning, I was belatedly having dinner by myself when Shuu appeared next to me out of thin air.

“Shuu? It’s unusual for you to still be up this early…” I was so surprised that the hand that was carrying my spoon to my mouth unconsciously paused in mid-air, still laden with soup..

“Yeah, well…” Shuu said curtly while he sat down across from me. 

Was I only imagining it, or did he seem in really good spirits today? I thought I even heard him humming.

“...Um?”

“What?”

“Did something… happen?” I asked him gingerly.

Shuu rested his elbows on the table, still humming, and stared at me intently with a gloomy look on his face.

“Uh…?”

“...Shut up. This is Mahler’s Symphony No. 4 in G major, fourth movement. Look up the title yourself.”

I inclined my head in confusion at his profound answer. My knowledge about classical music was, unfortunately, limited. My mind drifted to the hymns we used to sing in church, and when I moved my spoon again, Shuu suddenly spoke.

“Hey… didn’t you say that I’m the one you love most in this world?

“What?!” I accidentally dropped my spoon because of his off-kilter remark. The shrill sound of the metal hitting the floor reverberated through the dining room. 

“Guess I was right,” Shuu said coolly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He eyed me curiously as I tried to regain my composure.

“W-why, all of a sudden…”

I clumsily stood up to retrieve the spoon from under the table. When I lifted the tablecloth, I saw that it had rolled over to Shuu’s feet. It was actually quite convenient that I dropped the spoon—it gave me a way out of the conversation so that I didn’t have to see eye-to-eye with Shuu.

“Ah, there it…”

Just as I slid under the table to pick up the spoon, I heard Shuu’s voice from above me. “What are you doing?”

“Huh? Um, well… I just wanted to grab the spoon…” I said, flustered. I reached for the spoon, and then, suddenly—

“Ah?!”

“Hahaha…”

Of all the things he could have done, Shuu brought down his foot on my hand. I looked up at him with a start. Our eyes met—he held up the tablecloth on his end and leered down at me kneeling before his legs, which were spread wide.

“We’re not done talking yet. Who said you could pick it up?”

“It h-hurts…”

“Of course. That’s because I’m making it hurt.”

I’d thought he was in a good mood at first, but I was at a loss at his behaviour now. I bit my lip. 

“If you want me to let go of your hand, come closer,” Shuu continued.

“Huh?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you to come closer… and put your face between my legs.”

“...B-but…” I would die of embarrassment if I were to position my body between Shuu’s legs. Just when I wanted to tell him that, he pressed down on my hand harder.

“Are you saying you’re disobeying me… because you actually like it when I hurt you like this? I guess it’s only to be expected from a hardcore pervert like you.”

“That’s… not…!”

“Not true? Well, how about you hurry up and do as I say, then?”

I’d lost count of how many times I’d yielded to his will when he cornered me like this. It was frustrating, but… I knew it was pointless to go against him. No matter how much I protested, he always made sure he got his way in the end. 

“Ah…”

Feeling defeated, I did as I was told and braced my hands on Shuu’s thighs so I could poke out my head from under the tablecloth. Then, I stuck my face between his legs, careful so as to not bump my head. 

“Hahaha… You look awful.”

“You’re the one who told me to do it…!”

“Well, that’s true, but aren’t you the one who actually decided to follow my orders?” Shuu ventured, his lips curving upward in a suggestive smile. “You’re a stubborn little thing, you know. You’re so in love with me you just can’t help yourself. At least, that’s what I heard… I figured you like this kind of stuff.”

“Who told you…” My voice wavered unintentionally, my heartbeat out of control.

“You’re so red. Bullseye. It’s obviously true, so  it doesn’t even matter where I heard it. Now, come closer.”

Shuu’s unusual talkativeness and assertive behaviour overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t help but obey him. No matter the things he did to me, no matter the cruel words he said to me… I was madly in love with him, just like he said. 

It was not a matter of not being able to go against him. I just…  wouldn’t.

“Come, hurry up… I’d rather you be grateful that I’m giving you this much attention…”

“Ah…”

“That’s it. Come closer. Actually, how about you sit on my lap?”

As if he’d seen right through me, Shuu’s voice was suddenly sickly-sweet, his gaze unrelenting in his efforts to persuade me. Despite my slight hesitation, I was internally overjoyed to hear this side of him. I simply did as I was told.

Our bodies were flush. I wriggled against him to get out of the tight space. It was incredibly embarrassing, but in the end, I managed to lower myself into Shuu’s lap. I braced my hands on his shoulders, facing him directly.

“Hehe… Look at you. I knew you could do it. Complain all you want, but I know you actually love doing naughty things like this.”

“Oh…”

“You aren’t really in the position to say otherwise, you know. Well… I’ll make you do much naughtier things. You love me more than anyone else in the world, right? I like the sound of that. As your reward… I’ll let you kiss me.”

“What…?”

“I’m too tired… so kiss me already. Come here…” 

Shuu narrowed his eyes at me impatiently. 

“Mm… ah, this isn’t bad after all. Your scent… the taste of you… Mmh…”

He had me completely at his mercy. Shuu’s lips found mine over and over again, deepening the kiss, from various angles… From an outsider’s perspective, it must have looked like we were sharing an intimate moment, but I was simply unable to resist his seduction. No, rather… this was…

I actually wanted this.

“Shuu…”

“What?”

“...Does this make you happy? Or… am I just a bother?” I asked him outright in between kisses. I’d been wondering about it for a while now. 

Shuu brusquely lifted me off of his lap and sat me down on top of the table. “You’re putting words in my mouth now? Shut up.”

“I… I figured you’d say that…” 

Maybe, in my heart, I wanted to hear such a predictable answer. Was it because I actually liked his harsh manner of speaking? My thoughts were still racing, but Shuu started stroking my hair and placed kisses on my ears.

“It’s not worth worrying about whether or not I like you… that’s not what I’m interested in. However… if anything, I’m interested in your blood. I crave you… do you understand what I’m saying? You can draw your own conclusions.”

Shuu’s sadistic voice sent incessant chills down my spine. That was all I needed to hear.

“Shuu, I love you…” The words just tumbled over my lips before I could catch myself. 

Shuu chuckled. “Heh… I know. You’re such a lewd woman. I know what you want… and you think I’ll give it to you, don’t you? I’m in a good mood today, so I’ll humour you until you’re satisfied.”

I could feel Shuu open his mouth wide. I waited for his fangs to pierce my skin with bated breath. The sharp tips of his canine teeth slowly hovered over my skin. He seemed to be holding back at first, but his demeanour quickly changed—in a flash, his fangs were buried in my neck.

“Mh…”

To this day, I still didn’t know how to describe this feeling. It hurt, of course, but at the same time, there was no way to put into words the absolute assault on my senses, the numbness that spread through me.

“Ha… Mmh… What a great expression… Agh…”

“Ah…” I came dangerously close to crying out while he drank from me. I desperately pressed my lips together. 

Shuu let out a low laugh. Surely, he thought I was only writhing in agony, but I didn’t mind—that wasn’t exactly wrong, either. 

“You’re greedy for such a meek girl, but… this is a reward, so… I’ll let it slide this time.”

“Mmh…”

A reward… the fact that he used such a word for it was proof that Shuu knew exactly how he was making me feel, and enjoyed it. It made my heart swell with joy. It had probably been a bit tactless to beg him to confess his feelings outright. I was already more than happy that, slowly, piece by piece, he revealed himself to me. 

“Let’s go over here now...”

Shuu’s hands impatiently groped at my chest. A feeling of endearment surged within me at the sight of him behaving like this.

I was completely head over heels for this man. I was far beyond saving, but at least I had some self-awareness. 

My mind wandered as my fingers became entwined in Shuu’s hair, my hands stroking his head. I wanted to shout my love for him from the rooftops, but an indirect approach was more befitting of this musically inclined man. 

Then, suddenly, Shuu lifted his face from where it had been buried in my chest, and told me flat-out, “I love you. Or, rather, I love you, the girl who is completely smitten with me. Got that?”

“Ah…!”

Now I really felt like I would go mad. Unable to contain my happiness, I instinctively covered my face with my hands. My cheeks were red-hot. Shuu saying the words I’d wanted to hear for so long was, without a doubt, the best reward. 

It seemed that, somehow, this languid, young nobleman of the shadows had laid his claim on both my body and soul. There was no going back anymore. And yet…

—I found myself smiling, thinking that might not be so bad after all.

[ohcorny]

Mr Taylor can you share your hb Playlist links please

thank you for asking ❤️ yes

DO NOT click through and listen to these if you have not read the book. these playlists are meant to convey the characters' full arcs throughout the story and could spoil the experience of it. yes, you can in fact be spoiled by a vibe. and also the album art. the album art is very spoilers.

We Could Have Been Happy Anywhere

“Red Hook Stoop” by Tin Hat Trio “the first step” by jung jaeil “Searching” by Miguel d’Oliveira “Rich (feat. Andrea Vargas)” by Cosmo Sheldrake “Dirty Imbecile” by The Happy Fits “Foolishly Wrong” by Autoheart “Evelyn Evelyn” by Evelyn Evelyn “Done For The Night” by Theodore Shapiro (from Severance) “Shango” by The Stargazer’s Assistant “As The World Falls Down” by David Bowie (from Labyrinth) “Never Love an Anchor” by The Crane Wives “Fortuna Impromptu” by Chelsea Norman “La Revacholiere” by Sea Power (from Disco Elysium) “Lover // I’m Waiting” by Kriti B. “Last Train Home” by Pat Metheny Group

You Won't Get That Anywhere Else

“Fisherman’s Friend” by Útidúr “Hip To Be Square” by Huey Lewis & The News “Birdhouse in Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants “Come Sail Away” by Styx “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by The Beach Boys “I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing” by Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox, Sara Niemietz “Sh-Boom” by The Chords “Love Me” by Dudley Moore, Dudley Moore Trio (from Bedazzled) “Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads “Mi Capitán” by Kiltro “Stalker’s Tango” by Autoheart “Blood and Sword” by jung jaeil (from Parasite) “The Longest Night” by Tin Hat Trio “Hearts A Mess” by Gotye “Beneath the Brine” by The Family Crest

I'm Not A Dog

“Main Title” by Dudley Moore Trio (from Bedazzled) “A Good Song Never Dies” by Saint Motel “Supermassive Black Hole” by Muse “Rats” by Daniel Kahn & The Painted Bird “The Man Who Sold the World (2015 Remaster)” by David Bowie “A Street That Rhymes at 6am” by Norma Tanega “Is It Poison, Nanny?” by Hans Zimmer (from Sherlock Holmes) “Macguffin” by Atticus Ross, Leopold Ross & Claudia Sarne “Goodbye Sun” by I Monster “I Am a Rock” by Simon & Garfunkel “Creep” by Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox, Haley Reinhart “Vampire on My Fridge” by Low Roar “Want To Be Free” by Sea Power “Wrong Black Mare” by Brown Bird “Adore” by Savages

A Perfect Spiral of Consumption

“Capitalism (1988 Boingo Alive Version)” by Oingo Boingo “Smiling Faces Sometimes” by The Undisputed Truth “Sympathy For The Devil” by The Rolling Stones “Puttin’ On The Ritz” by Bing Crosby “Toxic Love” by Tim Curry (from FernGully) “Soup is Good Food” by Dead Kennedys “Gallows Pole” by Led Zeppelin “Parasites” by Daniel Kahn & The Painted Bird “Paint It Black” by London Symphony Orchestra “Volk” by Thom Yorke “Waltz to the Death” by Danny Elfman (from Batman) “Sighs” by Goblin (from Suspiria) “Note To Self” by Theodore Shapiro (from Severance) “Empire” by David Byrne “The Hell Of It” by Paul Williams (from Phantom of the Paradise)

[perfectlyoongi]

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who has your city in the weather app on his phone. as soon as Namjoon started talking to you and felt a little flower blooming inside his heart, he was quick to add your city to his app. seeing it every day, Namjoon made sure to always remind you to wear a scarf or take your umbrella with you. whatever the weather in your city, Namjoon was always ready with little pieces of advice and reminders to make your day better. “it’s going to be quite hot there today.do you have your water bottle with you? carry a fan in your backpack and stop for some ice cream before you get home. you deserve this treat.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who swears the only music that warms his soul is the sound of your voice. Namjoon was in love with you. in a way, your presence in his life had made the world a worthy place to live. you were like a ray of light in the grayest of days. with your laughs and stories, you could warm Namjoon’s heart even if you were miles away. and it was in your voice that Namjoon knew the true comfort of existence. being an eternity away from you, it was in your voice that Namjoon found true love. and there was no music or symphony that could compare with the melody of your voice. “talk to me. tell me about your day. describe the sky to me. say whatever you want, but speak. i need the calm that your voice brings me.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who offers you a set of cards titled ‘open when…’. the world was cruel and challenging, that was a truth known to everyone; as such, Namjoon tried to make your distance less painful by writing a set of letters for you to open at specific times. from a drawing of two arms for when you need a hug, or a recipe for soup when you want comfort, an extensive array of letters were delivered to you on a blustery winter morning — and you swore the sun came out the moment you saw that set of cards. “i think i planned every possible scenario. but if you need a card and don’t find one in this set, send a text. i leave everything to write you a digital letter, just ask.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who says he already missed you before he met you. when he met you, Namjoon felt at peace. for some reason, since the day he met you, Namjoon stopped being so heavy. it was as if you had brought with you the garden of eden that Namjoon delighted in from the moment he met you. in a way, Namjoon’s heart stopped bleeding when the two of you formed a friendship. and oh, when his flower expanded into bushes and trees, Namjoon could feel, for the first time in years, what true happiness was. “meeting you was like coming home after a long day of work. meeting you was a comfort i already knew but had never experienced. meeting you was meeting me for the first time. and i missed you and your soul so much.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who writes a song about you and the distance that separates you. it was more than obvious that Namjoon would express his feelings in a song — it was the only way he knew to alleviate some of the pain he felt. but unlike all the other songs, that one was just made for you. from lyrics to melody, the song was made from scratch, always with you in mind, wanting to show you how much he loved you and how unfair fate was for having put you so far away. “i wrote this song to ease the weight of my heart. it’s a simple poem about my feelings, but i want you to know that my entire soul is forever engraved here. and only for you.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who reads to you every night. fairy tales never sounded so innocent when uttered by Namjoon’s tender lips. telling you various adventures and love stories, Namjoon read to you every night before you went to sleep, hoping that his voice would be enough to bring you some comfort even though he was on the other side of the phone. with delicate words and graceful pronunciations, Namjoon lulled you into a deep sleep at the end of an extremely exhausting day — a reminder that he would always be just a call away from you. “today i want to do something different. when i went to the cafe, i heard a conversation between two strangers and i would like to repeat it to you. it’s about a flower’s love for water.”

LONG-DISTANCE!NAMJOON who left everything behind just to be able to hug you. Namjoon was at a stage in his life where only you mattered. yes, he loved his friends. yes, he loved his family. yes, he loved his job. but, oh, how he loved you. the world only made sense because Namjoon knew you existed; all light came from you, all happiness came from you, all life came from you. you were the world to Namjoon and he didn’t mind leaving all his other loves behind if it meant having you in his arms for the first time. “my heart was begging to come home. i really needed to see you. we spent a lot of time apart. now i’m here. now i’m home. me and my heart are at home.”

[yourstrulysylus]

Midnight kitchen

The foyer of his house smelled appetizing the familiar sounds of frying pans and the soup boiling made his mouth water after a long day of business affairs he clearly anticipated of what’s being made. Sylus sees her standing in the kitchen eyes completely focused as she chops some green onions using her favorite wooden chopping board he secretly smiled to himself as it gave him pleasure that she uses one of his gifts.

One of the favorite things about this pretty little chef of his is that she cleans as she goes he appreciated the fact that the area she worked at not a mess was in sight and the sink was almost dish-free. He adored the way she was organized without burning a single meal and how she’s meticulously careful with sharp objects.

He made his presence known by clearing his throat as she was now stirring the pot on the stove.

She looked up at his gaze and welcomed him with a smile. His heart swelled at the sight before him he closed the distance between them, standing by her side. He leaned against the counter watching her work the aroma of the food getting stronger.

“So what are we having for tonight?” he asked

“I’m making you a traditional korean dish called kimchi jjigae and dakgangjeong for dinner,” she responded with a smile “here taste this.”

He took a spoonful of the dish savoring the flavors across his palate the spicy and fermented kimchi added a rich and flavorful kick while the soft yet pungent kimchi provided a comforting warmth - back then his former chefs would prepare Sylus a medium rare steak, a veal or an italian pasta with meatballs on it to add some red meat for his diet however this one tasted like home.

“Mmm… this is delicious in fact let me try some more.” She gave him another clean spoon she liked the fact that he came back for seconds.

“I’m starving shall we go eat?” He usually doesn’t ask his chefs to accompany him for dinner and it’s the first time he saw she was holding back. “Oh, well it’s almost done sir I’ll serve it once you settle at the table.” Given her professional response he nodded but wasn’t satisfied with her answer.

He went to the dining area where he sees the table completely set for one. He frowned a little as if it’s almost reminding him how alone he was. Candle lights, table napkins, clean utensils and a clean plate all waiting for him. He went back to the kitchen immediately realizing that he should be with her eating beside him instead. He sat down at the kitchen island where she promptly prepared basic place mats.

He smiled at her once again giving her the impression that this is where he decided to dine she quickly understood as if they were of one mind. He watches as she sets the food down on the counter the bowl of kimchi jjigae and the plate of dakgangjeong looked tempting.

“Looks good, chef.” She nodded pleased with his approval.

“Dig in.”

He didn’t need to be told twice he began taking a spoonful of the kimchi jjigae first the flavors were just as delicious as the first couple of bites the spice was well balanced out with other seasonings providing the dish with a perfect symphony of taste.

“This is really good,” he said as he took a small bite of the dakgangjeong appreciating the flavor from the crispy chicken coated with sweet and tangy sauce. “You have really outdone yourself with this one.”

She giggled at his compliment, never before in his entire life felt his heart warmed more in that blissful moment.

“You really enjoy cooking don’t you?” He asked still eating

“I do.”

He nodded appreciating her passion. “It shows in your work,” he complimented. “You put so much effort into the dishes you make its impressive.”

“Thank you, Sylus.” a light blush appeared in her cheeks

Bingo.

“Why don’t you join me? There’s more than enough for one person.” He watched her take off her apron and folded it placing it neatly on the counter his gaze softened as she made her way to his side silently grateful that she didn’t fight it anymore she ate right beside him taking a comfortable silence.

He felt like this is their new beginning and when the time comes that she would let him court her he’d be more than happy to settle down in a heartbeat.

collaborated with @kindalonely-ngl 🫶🏻

[hotvintagepoll]

Dwight Frye (Dracula, Frankenstein)—he's my babygirl please please please please please i want to baby bird feed him flies and spiders and pick him up and make glitter edits of him and give him gross forehead kisses like he's my cat. in dracula he was so incredibly creepy that he was typecast as madmen for the rest of his life and he fucking hated it but by god if he didn't do a fantastic job. he steals the show every time he's up on screen just because he's so fucking deranged. i need him

Harpo Marx (Night at the Opera, Night in Casablanca, Duck Soup)—While Groucho is better-known, Harpo's physical comedy is SECOND-TO-NONE. The man is a strange mime trapped in the paradigm of early 20th century movies. Every move is a symphony and simultaneously a colony of rats in a human skin suit. LISTEN. You MUST see this man in motion. Every still photo of him looks like a combination of a sad clown and a different, sadder clown, but it's only because he put so much joy in every motion.

This is round 4 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Dwight:

He absolutely owns the entirety of Dracula (1931). Compared to the novel, his part is massively expanded and it's clear why. He's magnetically unhinged and his facial expressions are pure scrungle. And in Frankenstein, he begins the archetype of Frankenstein's assistant even if the character's name there is Fritz. He'd still go on to play other scrungly guys in later Frankenstein movies. But he's kinda the archetypal and progenitor of the scrungly lil guy. The scrungliest guy ever to scrungle. He's pretty much the blueprint for every mad scientist's assistant, and he's the best part of every movie he's in. He manages to make you feel sorry for the creepy little dudes, even when he's eating spiders and crawling across the floor. [editor's note: content warning for the "hunchback" stereotype and "madness" in the clips below]the "Rats" soliloquy:

I saw him in Dracula and frankly he has me bewitched. I could watch him do his silly routine forever. The gay tension with Bela Lugosi onscreen was frankly unparalleled. Kirk and Spock levels. I am chewing on the furniture

Played the weirdo little guy in Dracula AND the weirdo little guy in Frankenstein in the same year. Iconic.

The scrungles to end all scrungles! There's a reason why this man codified the manic vampire's familiar and the hunchbacked lab assistant for generations, because by God can this man be feral and scrungly: Whether he's soliloquizing about rats as Renfield, scurrying around Frankenstein's lab like a spider as Fritz, or skulking around dark alleys (and scaring the hell out of little baby me) waiting for a fresh heart to steal as Karl, if you want a scrungly little man for your classic film, Dwight Frye is your man. He has the range to play varying kinds of scrungle, with his wide eyes, his manic smiles, his soft, breathy voice, he is truly an undisputed scrungle master.

I honestly think it would be a crime to ignore Dwight Frye's scrungle factor. He played two of the prototypical creepy little henchman as Dracula's lackey Renfield and Dr. Frankenstein's hunchback servant Fritz, and I believe that his excellence in these roles absolutely shaped the future character tropes of the "Igor" type as much as Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff shaped the future understanding of Dracula and Frankenstein's monster. He's got it all from the looks, to the manic energy, to the crazed laugh, I'm telling you right now that I think he could win the entire tournament.

Harpo Marx:

He's like if a clown was a hobo was also somehow a classically trained harpist, his face is always in some kind of contorted silly shape, feral curly haired ninnymuggins always doing weird things to people

Harpo is mute in all of the Marx Bros movies and so his body language and facial expressions are SO over the top but he's also got fewer braincells than a goldfish while often being the emotional heart of the Marx Bros and he's just A Guy!!

Every scene with Harpo Marx is a treat! Just like watching a seagull steal a stranger's hotdog at the beach, it is a joy to watch him frustrate the hell out of all the other films' characters! Harpo Marx is the zenith of unhinged in all of his appearances, making any other funny man a straight man by comparison. (A fantastic feat considering he starred in films with his brothers Grouch and Harpo, who sported a shoe polish mustache and questionable Italian accent, respectively). The scrungliness of the little guys he plays come from his guileless, wide-eyed expression, curly blond wig, and the extreme ability to annoy others, despite never saying a word. Is he malicious? Most definitely, but hard to tell because he has a dopey grin on his face most of the time. Communicating through other sounds like honking horns and whistling, he is a force of chaos in every Marx brothers film! Also an accomplished harp player, the beautiful calm moments where Harpo plays juxtapose the zany, making him all the more scrungly. His visual style of comedy is timeless; Duck Soup had me rolling with laughter as a six year old and is still just as funny today.

In my opinion Harpo is the funniest of the Marx brothers because he is so good at slapstick comedy. Since he never speaks in his film appearances his performances are very physical, which contributes a lot to his scrungliness. He was fully committed to being wacky at all times. All of his hilarity is based on him being weird.

He's just a weird little guy who causes chaos everywhere he goes, and then sits down and plays a beautiful harp solo! He steals the show from his very chatty brothers without saying a word, and was surprisingly ripped under that old raincoat

All of the Marx Brothers are Scrungly to a degree, but Harpo is the scrungliest! His outfits are so big he gets lost in them, his pockets are full of everything, and because he never speaks, he always uses physical comedy. Also he's an incredible musician.