#autumn scenario

[blackryan53]

千葉真一   Sonny Chiba

秋のシナリオ  Autumn Scenario  1987

[sainz100]

💙💙💡✨

[animezinglife]

Imagine Elain absolutely annihilating Eris at whatever kind of card game is most popular in Autumn—one he’s excellent at himself—and him being both impressed and increasingly frustrated by it.

Lucien is sitting with them trying not to burst out laughing.

[mazeinthemiroh]

keeping warm.

genre: drabble; fluff

warnings: none

requested?: yes

synopsis: you and mingi go on a walk in the forest 🍁

please like and reblog if you enjoy <3

"Are you warm enough?"

He had asked you this multiple times, his fingerless-gloved hand holding your bare ones. Both your arms swayed slightly as you walked further into the forest, and your fingers stayed connected.

"Yes, Mingi," you giggled at his repetitive question. He was being very sweet today. Making sure you were all warm, wrapped up cosy with a big scarf on. He offered you his gloves but you said you were finally. You would settle for holding his hand instead, which sat warmly in yours.

"Mingi..." you started, a quizzical look on your face as you looked at the two paths ahead of you.

You were both faced with signs that you hadn't seen before. Signs which pointed different ways, telling you different locations. But where were you going...

"As we lost?" You questioned, releasing his hand and walking up to the wooden sign to have a closer look at the directions.

"No," Mingi automatically said, his stubbornness spiking free before he could even take in his new surroundings.

But his new surroundings weren't really 'new.' Everywhere in this damn forest looked the same. No landmarks, no fields, no benches. Nothing but mud and trees and leaves scattered all around.

"No, we're not lost," Mingi decided again, walking up to the sign that you were staring at, "we're exploring."

You snorted at his statement, "Okay, Dora the Explorer."

Despite your humour, you were a bit unsettled by the fact that you and your boyfriend were stuck, in the middle of nowhere, both of you hopeless with directions.

"Come on, this way," he grabbed your hand again in his, tugging you along with him down a path which led to who knows where.

You found yourself following him instead of protesting. It was easier that way.

Besides, it felt nice to have his warm hands back in yours.

ateez taglist: @a-wandering-stay, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[hannamoon143]

Silver springs- Fleetwood Mac

Bang Chan with "Silver springs" from Fleetwood Mac for the fall series

Genre: Angst, Hurt/no comfort?

Warnings: metion of crying, none rlly ig

Word count: 1k

Fall series masterlist

a/n: hii, this is based on this req from @asherthehimbo. I didn't know the song before and actually idk if it turned out good or not,help. Well get ur blanket and hot cocoa and have a cozy fall <33

Was it worth everything? To you, oh yes, it was. But chan? No, it wasn’t.

Chan, the man that always worked, always giving his attention to his laptop. You always kind of understood him. You knew how much his job meant to him, because it was the same for your own. And of course you were understanding when he couldn’t come home early somedays, or when he wouldn’t talk to you when he had to finish something. But when this „somedays“ got „always“ you weren’t so understanding anymore.

You weren’t able to count the times you tried to make him see clear. You tried to tell him that of course he could work and do everything he needed to, but maybe at least a bit attention would be nice. At least one time in what, two months? And you knew he understood what you meant. After one night where he came home late and you told him that everything, he was promising to do better, that he would only need to work so much till the comeback, and then he would be fully yours.

The worst thing was, he knew that it was a lie from that moment on. As you were a singer yourself, you probably knew that this was a lie, but you didn’t want to believe it.

It wasn’t that chan was trying to hurt you on purpose. Actually it was the opposite. He didn’t know what to tell you, that wouldn’t make you leaving. So telling a lie that made everything a bit more justified, seemed to be a good solution for the moment. And you wanted to believe him. You stayed quiet when he worked through the nights, sometimes not even coming home, but when he was home, ignoring you entirely.

And then? Well then the comeback was there. All the said work was done, and you were hopefull now everything would go back to… well what you could call normal. But you thought wrong. After that he made up more excuses. Sometimes the boys needed him, sometimes he would have meetings, sometimes he just needed to finish that one track.

And slowly you were growing more and more tired of it. You knew chan was not a bad guy. That was the only reason you didn’t already leave. He was kind, and the people and things he loved mattered more than anything to him. And maybe exactly that was the problem. You never judged him because of that, but from time to time you had to realize that his work more important to him than you. You had wished to at least be just the same important to him as them.

So one night, where you had decided to take things in your own hands with telling him how you felt at a date, he agreed to come and talkt hings out. But what a wonder, he forgot it.

That night you cried yourself to sleep. All the expressed words and feelings in you were simply to overwhelming. But as you did that, you decided that it was the last time, you were doing this because of him. This last night you would be hurting because of him. But tomorrow? That was a new day.

You left. You didn’t say much to him, since he wasn’t really listening to you anyways. But you weren’t a person to break up with someone over text so you just grabbed all your stuff, your key to your shared apartment, and drove to his studio. You went in, laid the key at the table and said you were leaving. The ironical thing was chan didn‘t even look up. He mumbled something of you having to calm down a bit then you two could talk. He was thinking you were just mad at him for working late again and being dramatic. But oh, the fool should have listened to you for once.

Because you, you kept your promise. You didn’t cry again because of him. You were concentrating on your work. You were hearing from stray kids‘ succes since you were in the same branche but that was it already.

And slowly, but firm, you worked your way up. You became more famous, you newest album hitting the charts. You gained lots of fans, succes and more than you could have dreamed off. So basically your name was everywhere now.

But chan, wished it wasn’t. When he finally began to realize that you had left he tried to gain you back for a while but gave up. He tried to tell himself it was alright, when for him it wasn’t. He knew it was his own fault, with the constant lies and excuses, but he wished it ended different. He listened to the records you once made together for fun, every night. And then suddenly you dropped another album, and you gained so much more attention. Chan couldn’t stand it. Your face was haunting him everywhere, on the streets, on social media, and in his dreams. If he would have made time for you, would things have ended different?

Surely he tried to reach out a few times. You weren’t cruel, you always politely declined, or just cut his actions. Because you’d lie if you’d say you didn’t love him. You weren’t sorry for the time spent with him, because at the beginning it made you truly happpy and feel loved. But it just wasn’t right. Maybe things could have been right if both of you tried to change, but you were stubborn. And could you really have changed that much?

Now as time flew by, things were healing for you. You worked to get back the confidence and trust in yourself you lost with chans lies and excuses. You were thinking it was the right decision that you left chan, since you were being more focused on other things, and also having more succes in things you truly loved.

And chan? Well he would move on, after a long time probably. But still, he would never entirely get away from the sound of the woman that loved him.

taglist: @darqlys @lina-linny @0omillo0 @onementally-unstabel-kid

[harvest-selfshipping]

love languages!

your f/o’s take your love languages into account my source is that they came to me in a dream!!

for example, if your love language is physical touch, they will be so affectionate with you!! (even if they’re reserved/not very touchy) they’ll give you hugs from behind, have their hand on your thigh when you sit, and kiss you in public so that everyone knows you are theirs!! going to sleep always ends up with snuggles <3

quality time likers— your f/o has got you covered!! they are already planning fun places for you guys to go and things for you to see. they’ll always make sure that they set aside time for you, and would never cancel any plans. sometimes you guys will go to the most fun amusement park ever and sometimes you’ll spend a cozy night together watching movies. they adore it either way <3

if you need words of affirmation, your f/o knows just how to show you love! they’ll write you love letters, their handwriting so utterly them while they confess their love for you. don’t be afraid to ask for reassurance, either! they will wash away any bit of worry you have. also, expect compliments— whether that be in person, a message, or written onto a sticky note, taped onto the bathroom mirror <3

acts of service is absolutely something your f/o will do for you. they understand that some days, it’s nice to come home to the dishes washed, and the floor sweeped. if you need help with any of your chores, they’ll be more than happy to lighten your load! it can be endearing to make inside jokes while you two fold the laundry, or reminisce about a sweet memory while they cook dinner. they never want you to feel bad when they help you, because you help them just as much <3

if your love language is giving gifts, your f/o definitely will take note of it! (they spoil you, shhh). they notice the item you lingered on just a bit too long in the store. they spend time picking out a gift that feels just right for you. and expect to come home to little trinkets they found/flowers they picked outside, because— “it reminded me of you!” <3

-Mod Autumn 🍂

[violetsiren90]

Under the Hunter's Moon

Pairing: Yoongi x f!Reader (What the Moon Saw universe)

Genre: drabble; non-idol AU; friends to lovers; young love; autumn/harvest vibes, pure unadulterated fluff

Summary: A disappointment turns into something unexpected when Yoongi encounters you outside of your cliffside haven.

Content warnings: PG rating, but ALL my content is off-limits to minors; depictions of underage smoking; allusions to divorce; school bullying; Yoongi being a scaredy cat on rides lol; mentions of eating and food; allusions to a difficult home life; cuties at a carnival 💕; brief feelings of panic; riding in the back if a truck sans safety restraints.

Word Count: ~3200

Author's note: I spent my birthday today at a little pumpkin patch by the sea. I'd been wanting to go since getting the idea for this drabble a few months back. I felt like I got to ring in the next year with them, somehow. I felt them in the salty breeze and I heard them on the crash of the waves. They are so precious to me. ❤️

If no one has told you yet today you are loved and so worthy of it! 🧜‍♀️💜

He had found you sniffling under a sprawling valley oak that had tilted its way over the aged planks and posts of the two-rail fence and stretched out toward the naked expanse of the strawberry field and the last fiery rays of the late-October sun. He and Hoseok had broken away from the pack of boys he hung around with to find a quiet nook for a smoke. When he had seen you look up at him in surprise from where your face had been buried in your drawn-up knees, nose red and cheeks stained with tears, he had shoved a cigarette into Hobi's shirt pocket and sent the freshman packing. Now Yoongi was sitting next to you in silence, his back to the trunk, stealing furtive glances at you between drags. You heaved a sigh and leaned back against the tree, your shoulder brushing his. 

"I'm okay," you murmured, drawing the back of your hand a last time over your eyes, mascara that you rarely wore smudging across your knuckles.

"Yeah?" he asked, his gaze trained over the mulched land that stretched from the tips of his Converse to where the dying light strained out to bathe his soft, porcelain features in a golden sheen. "You here with somebody?"

"I...was...I guess," you muttered despondently. "Don't really know why I ever let myself believe they would want to hang out with me. Should have just stayed home like last year."

You kept your gaze from his, your eyes instead catching the movement of his slender, athletic legs stretching out in front of him and kicking up little clouds of silt that caught here and there as they dissipated over his light-wash skinny jeans.

"What are you doing here, anyway? You hate crowds."

You felt his shoulder shrug against yours.

"It's the Fest," he remarked, "Everybody goes."

Every year on the Friday before Halloween, your high school loaded its coastal-dwelling autumnally-deprived students onto busses for a forty-five minute drive inland and into agricultural territory to attend the massive Fall Fest for which its hosting county was acclaimed. It was the highlight of the semester - more anticipated than the winter formal - and for good reason. Tickets purchased upon entry (and sold in homeroom two weeks in advance) could be traded for carnival rides and games and seasonal attractions, while a little cash could afford attendees delicious treats and festive souvenirs.

You had never really seen what all the fuss was about. But, then again, events of such a nature were infinitely more enjoyable when one had someone with which to share them - a novelty you had never been afforded until a week ago, when Miranda Dallet and another girl from her posse had asked you to sit with them at lunch. When they asked you to attend the Fest with them you had been surprised, a feeling which had given way to one much less pleasantly anticipatory when Miranda had begun asking you about your newly-divorced father's house - the one just a few miles into town from the Fest grounds, and the one he had apparently told Jacqueline Peters' mother had a hot tub and a 50-inch flat screen TV.

When your father had agreed to let the lot of you stay over at his after the big bash, the reaction of your new acquaintances had you feeling the tiniest bit proud, even if you knew you were being used...you had never really had girlfriends before. Their squeals of excitement and insistent vows that you were the best had lit a little candle in your heart you hadn't even realized existed. Its flame had grown brighter over the days that followed as you planned outfits and borrowed lip gloss and let the others style your hair. And then, half an hour ago, it had been snuffed out when your father had called to cancel last minute, and the news had seen Miranda call you a liar and a poser, thereby revoking her friendship, her crew, and the white puffer jacket she had insisted you borrow, to leave you crushed and alone beside a candy-apple cart.

Your heart sank at the prospect of recounting your pathetic tale to Yoongi...but, he never asked. He merely finished his cigarette, tossing the butt into the upturned soil, and then standing and brushing off his jeans, shoved one hand in the pocket of his bomber jacket and extended the other down to you. You took it and let him pull you to your feet. As you swiped away the smudges your tears had made of the supposedly waterproof eye makeup, you felt Yoongi's gaze drift over you. You blinked up at him questioningly.

"You look...different," he offered, shoving his other hand into its corresponding jacket pocket.

You wrapped your arms self-consciously around the bare inches of your midriff. A trip to the local mall with Miranda and company after school the previous day had resulted in the purchase of your current attire: a light-pink spaghetti-strap tank that hugged your torso, ruched sides pulling it well above the studded waistband of your snugly fitting lowrider jeans, accompanied by a pair of hoop earrings larger than you had ever worn and which were nearly as shiny as your lip gloss. Temperatures remaining in the low seventies well into the late days of fall allowed teenage girls across your county to continue their relentless pursuit of getting dress-coded in the name of Brittany Spears. At events like these, however, the chaperoning staff were wise enough to let it be, as such efforts would likely result in wasted funds and totally empty busses. You had decided to take the plunge and wear something rather decidedly out of character.

"Well," you huffed, "I couldn't come the way I usually dress..."

Yoongi's brow creased.

"What's wrong with how you dress?"

"Ah...I don't know...I just wanted to look nice, I guess."

He nodded, eyes on his shoes.

"Do I look...bad?" You asked quietly, smoothing your hands down over the denim of your pants.

Yoongi looked a bit surprised when his eyes flicked up to yours again, and then they softened as he answered.

"No...no, of course not."

You smiled gratefully and his dark eyes went wide like a baby's as he tilted his head down, glancing about as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and raised a hand to scratch behind his ear. If you hadn't known better, you would have thought he looked a bit shy. Was he shy? Something inside you preened a bit at the thought. Your bashfulness having dissipated, you moved your hands to clasp behind your back. Yoongi cocked a brow, a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stripped of his jacket and held it out to you.

"Looks a little cold though," he remarked, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

"I'm fine, thank you," you huffed, feeling a bit caught, and crossed your arms in indignation.

He shrugged, still smirking, and tossed the jacket over his shoulder.

"Suit yourself," he remarked, "But it's gonna be a lot chillier when it's dark."

"I'm leaving anyway," you sulked, trudging toward the low fence and clambering over it.

"Why?" Yoongi asked quickly as he followed, nimbly vaulting the wooden structure and coming to land beside you.

"Because I got ditched. I'm not gonna wander around here alone like a loser."

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and watched him physically swallow the joke that had formulated on his tongue about it being too late for you in that regard. Instead he reached up and poked you on the cheek.

"So don't go alone. Come with me."

You blinked at him. You had never once hung out with him outside the ledge. There had been the occasional brief wave of a hand across a parking lot or small affectionate smile when passing in a hall, but never so much as a word between you when at school. It had been an unspoken mutual agreement, keeping the worlds of your lives and the ledge separate. It kept your shared hiding place a haven from the rest of it all - one that you both desperately needed. So, his proposition caught you off guard and feeling a little uncertain. Yoongi must have realized your quandary, because he draped his jacket gently around your shoulders and gave you that little hopeful raise of his brows you'd have moved mountains for, and before you knew it, he was ambling alongside you as you trotted towards the lights and laughter of the rides.

It was strange and new, being with him like this, and you began to realize that even though you could read his face like the pages of a book and stood gatekeeper to many of the secrets of his gentle, burning heart, you'd never seen the sweet little smile that cotton candy caused to bloom on his lips, or how quickly it could vanish at the prospect of riding the slingshot. This being so, you couldn't help but take him in like some lovely unknown creature as you sat beside him on the Ferriss wheel and watched him glance nervously toward the ground growing further and further below.

"You okay?" you asked in amusement, glancing at his whitened knuckles where they clutched the safety bar across his lap.

He hummed in assent, now peering down over the tips of his shoes. You followed his gaze, leaning forward and consequently causing the little bucket seat to rock as it climbed toward the peak of the structure.

"Yah, yah, yah, yah!" Yoongi hollered, eyes wide as saucers as he yanked you back upright and only succeeded in rocking your seat more violently.

You didn't understand what he said next - he had slipped into Korean - but you were laughing too hard at his terrified and exasperated expression and how he clutched your arm to pay any mind to what he had to say.

The Ferris wheel proved to be the sole ride of the evening, as Yoongi flatly refused to endure another, and you made your way into the stretch of grounds that smelled like cinnamon and grilled meats and sounded with booth attendants enticing festivalgoers to try a hand at winning their wares. You stopped to toss a few coins onto dishes, coming infuriatingly close with your third penny to winning a giant Pikachu plushie.

You then proceeded to toss and toss until you had nearly exhausted your change purse without luck - only pausing when Yoongi appeared at your elbow with a two corndogs, slipping one into your hand. You protested at him spending his money on food you knew, though simple, could not have been cheap. He ignored your indignation, however, leading you back into the bustle and sermonizing over the rigged nature of the coin-toss game.

You looked down with a small plaintive smile at the paper boat encasing the deep-fried fare in your hands. Yoongi, though sharp and driven, wasn't a good student. He had a reputation for slacking off on assignments and cutting classes that won no favors with teachers who would never know that he had been working two jobs under the table since he was thirteen. That without his help his family would likely lose their home. That he had bought his mother nearly every single earthly possession she had. That the dinner you were holding meant a hell of a lot more than just a few bucks for some carnival food.

He was still chatting on in an endearing, self-satisfied drone, eyes half-lidded and head tilted back pedantically, when you suddenly slipped your arm under his, squeezing his bicep affectionately.

"What?" he looked down at you, interrupting his own stream of thought.

You shook your head as you took a bite of your corndog and grinned up at him through full cheeks. He let out a chuckle, taking a bite of his own.

"Were you listening to anything I said?" he grumbled in lighthearted accusation over his own mouthful. 

"Of course not," you hummed, bumping his hip, and causing him to stumble beside you.

He grunted, the corner of his mouth pulling up just ever so slightly. 

"Fright walk!" you crooned, pointing at a structure decked out in campy cobwebs with a lopsided grim reaper standing wobbly attendance at the door.

"Nope," Yoongi shook his head, tugging you suddenly in the opposite direction.

"Chicken!" You whined.

"Korean. Fried." He deadpanned with a straight-lipped smile and you nearly choked on the last of your corndog as you snorted with laughter.

Yoongi grinned down at you. There it was on your pretty lips again, that smile that lit up his world like a beacon in the night. If someone had asked him if it was more important for the sun to rise in the east each day or for that smile to reach your eyes, he would have plunged the very earth into darkness every time, deny it as he might.

"Come on," Yoongi murmured.

Weaving through the booths, stray leaves crunching underfoot, he led you to a long line of festival goers queuing up to pile into the beds of big trucks loaded down snuggly with bales of hay.

You had only been in line a few minutes when you heard their voices behind you. You recognized Miranda's snicker and your stomach twisted into a knot. The brisk breeze suddenly tripping over you from behind carried with it their mirthless laughter, and you froze in place as your body and mind waged a war of priority over delaying your tears and moving your feet.

A victor was never decided.

Your swimming eyes blinked and saw him, his little smile and soft, determined eyes, as he moved in front of you, pulling up the collar of his jacket on either side of your face. He held it there, steady hands, the fabric brushing your hot ears as his eyes locked yours and silently told you to breathe, wordlessly promised it would all be alright. The sights and sounds of the festival faded and all you could hear was the soothing, rhythmic crash of the sea.

"Want to get out of here?" Yoongi asked lowly, after a long moment, gaze still holding your own.

You nodded and he took your hand.

Yoongi borrowed your cell phone to make a call and walked with you down the dirt road that opened into a rural highway from the mouth of the festival grounds. As you walked you told him about the girls. About your father's broken promise. About the not being needed, and not so not being wanted. He let you pour out and sift through your anger and hurt in the company of his gentle and receptive silence.

Half a mile's trek brought you to a tiny gas station, its aged, yellowing sign flickering to life as the sun finally yielded the dim glow of its last strains to the darkness beyond the strawberry fields.

Yoongi bought two cans of cola from a buzzing old vending machine, handing one to you as he sat beside you on the iron bench chained to the side of the building. The stars began to peep out and speckle the sky as the full moon tipped over the eastern horizon to find you, much to its surprise, quite far from your little ledge, though still side by side. It watched you curiously until its flaxen beams were joined by a pair of bobbing headlights as a truck rumbled up off the road.

"Thanks, hyung," Yoongi clapped the driver, a handsome older boy who glanced between the two of you with a sly smile, on the shoulder before gripping the edge of the bed and bracing a foot against the tire to hop into the back of the truck. He turned and held a hand out for you.

"We're riding back there?" You asked skeptically, glancing over the dusty plastic ridges of the bed.

"We never got that hayride," Yoongi said with a shrug, and your heart squeezed in your chest as you grabbed his hand and let him pull you in.

You scootched against the back of the cab, pulling your knees up to your chest. The warmth was quickly dispelling in the darkness, and cool air whipping around your body as it dipped through the bed made you shiver. Your eyes flicked to Yoongi's bare arms.

"Here, thanks for the loan..." you murmured, shrugging the jacket off and holding it toward him.

Before he could refuse to take it, your ride jostled on the unpaved road, tossing you across his lap. His arms caught you, and after a moment's hesitation, pulled you to his chest and over his right leg, fanning the jacket out over your bodies. Your back to his chest and his arms around your waist, he held you, as he had a dozen times before. A dozen times and your heart still fluttered - fluttered and then settled into safety as you settled into him.

An hour or so later, Yoongi reached up to lift you down onto the sidewalk. You didn't notice as your eyes caught his - sweeter and rounder - how his hands lingered a moment too long at your waist. The driver asked if Yoongi wanted a ride back to his place and he declined, thanking him again. The older boy said Yoongi owed him a fishing trip and Yoongi chuckled, waving him off as the truck rolled down the street.

Your house was dark, and Yoongi walked you to the front door, hands stuffed in his pockets. You turned the key in the lock, and then you turned to him.
You took him in as he looked down at you, his pretty, soft features concealing none of his affection. He swallowed, shifting on his feet.

"What?" he asked.

"Thank you," you murmured earnestly.

"For what...?" and he began to scoff gently, but your answer came too quickly and sincerely for him to protest.

"For tonight. For every night," you sighed a little breath full of aching gratitude. "For being my friend."

His lovely dark eyes widened and his lips parted and suddenly you found yourself raising up on your tip toes to press your mouth to his cheek.

You did it before you could stop yourself and you turned before you could look at him, and you slipped into the quiet house, closing the door behind you just a bit too quickly - so that he wouldn't see, so that your eyes wouldn't give you away.

In doing so, you had missed it.

But the yellow hunter's moon gazing fondly down through the dark, wispy clouds had seen.

It had watched you kiss the boy's cheek. It had watched you hurriedly take your leave. And while you sighed wistfully on the other side of the door, it had watched the boy raise his hand to touch his face, walk back down to the street, and quietly lose the battle he had been fighting all night - every night, in fact, since that first on the cliffside. 

It had watched him fall in love with you.

-Fin-

[toxic-gin]

Fellow self shippers who enjoy fall like I do imagine you and your f/o getting a warm drink be it pumpkin spice,cider whatever you like and then going for a walk on the first cool days of the year looking for the changing leaves maybe getting cozy under a tree and reading a spooky book together or cuddling. Imagine them wearing a cute cozy sweater hehe so sweet.

Enjoy yourselves you deserve it ya cuties~♡

[softkiseu]

⸙ ‧ ₊ ˚ 🥨

🧦 ‧ ₊ ˚ ⸙

@i08wony. 🍁

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 3 - A finite deal

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

third chapter synopsis: After being bitten by a warg, after almost dying, something changed. Something evolved. Things can't stay the same forever. You just didn't imagine they would change so fast. Or that Thranduil was as bad with goodbyes as you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. a lot of blood.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Mithrandir: Grey Pilgrim┆Fovren: Fool┆Maenwë: Clever girl┆Pedig edhellen: Do you speak elvish?┆Dôl gîn lost: Your head is empty┆Qenta Eldalien: History of the Elves┆Novaer: Farewell┆Mellon: Friend

Blood seeped into the wooden flooring. It ran down the table legs, dripped from its corners, and gave a new color to the brown floor. The healer’s hands, crushing seeds and heating saps for the ointment, stained everything with a scarlet mark.

In the corner of the room, frozen in time, Thranduil found himself impotent. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch. And so he did.

He saw when the healer ripped the arm of your blood-soaked dress. The Elvenking saw your shoulder ligaments. The chewed meat of your arms. The damaged veins. The unconscious tremors. Thranduil saw your lifeless face, your colorless lips, your paralyzed body.

He took you to a healer, but how difficult it is to differentiate it from a slaughterhouse.

Luthien took the warm fabric off your shoulder. She left them aside, holding the bowl with ointment, and poured it onto the bite.

A convulsion gripped your body. The tremors would have knock you off the table if Luthien had not caught you. A pained moan scratched your throat, but your mouth was still closed. Your eyes moved under closed lids. Your fingers writhing in agony did nothing but bruise the skin of your own palm.

“What are you doing to her?” The Elvenking demanded. He seemed to double in size.

She took the needle, dipped it in what was left of the ointment, and sewed it to your skin. With each movement the more you squirmed. “I am saving her, fovren.”

If the Elvenking sought her out, then he must be smart enough not to take offense. Luthien held you in place, sewed you up, cleaned you. When she was done, Luthien wrapped your shoulder in clean bandages.

“When will she wake up?” Thranduil stepped closer. His fingers ghosted over your closed fist, but he could not dare to touch you. He looked at Luthien.

The lack of an answer shivered him.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Two days are nothing in the life of an elve. Still, such a short amount of time seemed endless for Thranduil. Hours stretched, the next one never approaching. Thranduil remained patient.

Lady Aerin, however, could not afford to be patient. Not anymore. 

She always knew you would wake up. Aerin never doubted that. She knows you are stronger than you look. Not only that: Aerin knows how stubborn you can be. You will die on your own terms. She is certain of that.

What she cannot do is ignore that the Elvenking is still there. Is to lie to herself that in the next hour he will finally get bored and travel back home. Is to pretend not to understand that Thranduil cares.

So Aerin wrote for Gandalf.

She wrote about the Elvenking stay at the inn. About that blasted dam. About that look on his face, how his eyes followed you since the moment he first saw you. Aerin wrote about the attack. About your condition. Your unconsciousness. And when she finally had courage to do so, Aerin wrote about the warg.

Aerin knew where to address the letter. In her office, preparing the bird to carry her message, if only she knew what was happening on the other side of the inn Aerin would have added a few lines to the letter. But she was not there, and the letter flying towards Gandalf missed substantial information: you had finally awakened.

Scared, aching, somehow still tired: but awake. Your eyes took a while to work, to show you the ceiling of your room. You remembered running down an embankment, wheat leaves tickling your arms, a howl. The warg. You understood why you felt a pressure on your shoulder. And why you smelled like blood.

And despite all those hurtful memories, all the pain you were feeling, a smile still made a way into your face. You survived a warg. How many people can say that? You survived. Somehow you always do that. 

The peace of your realization ended when your bedroom door opened.

“Master Elrond will surely be grateful, your grace. He already is,” Gildor whispered. “But this is not your realm. You do not have any obligation with us. Why take the risk?”

Silence took place after his words. When you thought maybe you were alone again, a velvet voice made a way into your ears. “I am becoming kind.”

“Annihilating that nest was kind enough, your grace,” said Gildor.

“It was not,” Thranduil’s tone went lower. His voice was still sharp, a mere choice away from a disguised offense, but it sounded like he was talking to himself more than anything else. “It was about pride. This is about being noble.”

Before you could understand what that conversation was about, Gildor’s surprised gasp shut Thranduil.

“Maenwë,” Thranduil whispered. It felt just like velvet.

“Still do not know that one”, your own voice surprised you. It was tiring, rough, hoarse. So different from your usual playful, light tone.

“Clever.” Thranduil walked across the room, never taking his eyes off yours. Gildor was no more there. The discussion no longer existed. The world could have burned to ashes and the ashes scattered by the wind and he would not have noticed. “It means clever.”

You laughed. Or you tried, since the pain it caused made you cough. What just hurt you more. “Of course it means,” you murmured. “I still have an arm, right?”

“You... You do, maenwë. You do not feel it?” Thranduil somehow remembered that Gildor was there. “Find Luthien.”

You looked at your shoulder again, forcing your other arm to pull the blanket off your torso. Nothing was missing. “Just to be sure,” you responded. You leaned on the bed, trying to sit up.

Thranduil understood your intentions. He touched your arm, cold fingers raising goosebumps on your skin. “Stay,” Thranduil whispered. You had no energy to disagree. “How does it feel?”

“I have been through worse,” you smirked. As your words faded away, the truth escaped. “I thought I was dying.”

“You slept for two days.” You imagined it was his way to say: ‘So did I ’. 

Thranduil’s hands found something on your bedside table. You heard water splashing. His hands returned to your field of vision with a glass of water. “I cannot hold it.”

Thranduil set the glass on the bedside table and moved closer. You could feel his heat. The ghost of his touch still linger on your arm. “Can I?”

Without really understanding what he meant, you nodded.

Thranduil lowered the blanket to your waist. You felt his hand slide across the mattress and fit behind your back. His palm heated your sore skin. You lifted your head when he tried to place his other hand beneath it. Calmly, very carefully, Thranduil helped you to sit down.

“Your skin is so warm,” the Elvenking murmured. He touched your forehead, his contact lasted for a few seconds. “But not feverish.”

You sighed. Everything aches. Every single part of your body. But when Thranduil touched you… It felt a little bit better. Just a little bit.

Then he grabbed the glass and brought it close to your face. You could feel your body heating. Be helped to drink a glass of water. There was something so sweet about it. To help someone conclude such a simple, mundane task. And to do it simply because you are close enough to.

The world is a horrible place. So ill-formulated, uneven, indifferent. It is a place filled with horrible creatures, corrupted humans, malevolent diseases. It is a place where an inevitable darkness hides in the light, where evil deceives the good, where innocent lives perish simply because the world moves on.

But the world is also the only place where you can smell the rain. Where you can eat sweet strawberries. Where you can feel leaves tickling your skin. Where you can dance. Where you can quench the thirst of those who need help.

You leaned in, extinguishing the distance, silently allowing him to help you. Allowing a king to serve you.

“Thank you, your grace” you whispered.

“You should not thank me,” Thranduil’s words made you blink. “I hope one day you can forgive me, maenwë. You gave me your trust, and I was not able to defend you.”

You chuckle. It burned your throat, but you were getting used to the pain. “I am pretty sure you killed a warg.”

“Not before it could bite you.”

Thranduil blamed himself. He blames himself for not being able to protect you, someone he knew for a few days. Not even a week has passed since you both first met. ‘You slept for two days.’ Did he really thought you would die?

A king is apologizing to you. Thranduil killed a warg, found someone to heal you, but for him it was still not enough. You wonder if  you would feel the same in his place.

 “Teach me elvish,” you said.

“What?”

“Teach me elvish and I shall forgive you.” With a lot of effort, you were able to move your good arm and reach out to him. You heard steps from the hallway, people were coming to see you. “And a new dress. I have a personal preference for violet.”

Thranduil stared at your hand. He heard no anger in your voice. Not an ounce of regret or hate.

He held your hand. “Deal.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Your routine for the next few days was simple. Someone brings you food when it is time to, Aerin helps you with your bath, Luthien examines you every morning.

You knew Luthien before, but never really stopped to talk to her. Now, without further choice, you discovered that she is a great healer and the best at gossip.

And for the rest of the day you do nothing on your bed. You cannot read, as your head throbs still. And since walking requires a gigantic effort, looking out for someone to talk to is not a option.

Except for the nights.

“Pedig,” repeated Thranduil. This time he slowed down. “Edhellen .”

Sitting in an armchair in front of your bed, Thranduil had two books in his hand. Reading from one of them, his velvet voice never was so treacherous. It is harder to understand his accent than from the elves of Rivendell.

You took a deep breath. “Pedi edellen.”

“One more time,” the Elvenking encouraged you. “Pedig edhellen.”

Your face was already burning. It was so embarrassing to barely learn a language in front of someone. A few people have tried to teach you elvish, but you never stood still for long enough. “Pedig… edhellen.”

“I knew you had it in you,” Thranduil’s words were sweet, but you saw his smile turn into a smirk. Thranduil was amused by your difficulty.

“Do not mock me. What does it mean?”

“‘Do you speak Elvish?’” Thranduil could not contain his playful smile.

Those teaching sessions were already routine. Thranduil comes after dinner, and stays until one of you wants to sleep. He usually is the one to say goodbye. There is a sense of freedom that comes at night that no one wants to let go. So, even when you are tired, you try not to show it. Just so it can last a little longer.

“Very funny,” you rolled your eyes. “Teach me how to swear.” 

Thranduil closed the book, the dry thud embarrassed you. “Maenwë,” there it was. The strong accent. It fades when he speaks in common, but it shines again whenever he gets back into his native language. “What will people think?”

You straightened the pillows behind you and clasped your hands in your lap. “Indulge me.”

“As you wish,” Thranduil sighed, but you knew he was entertained. “Dôl gîn lost.”

“Dôl gîn lost”, you repeated.

Thranduil stands up and moves towards your bed. “At the first try,” that made you smirk. “What does that say about you, maenwë?”

You pouted. “That I have a natural talent for linguistics?”

Thranduil held one of the books out to you. “There is a chance.”

It was heavy, old, you could smell the aged pages. Leafing through it, you saw elvish in golden handwriting. But you also saw your own language on it. On every couple of pages there was different engraving, all so beautiful. You sniffed it.

 “Try reading this once a day,” he told you. “It is a collection of myths.”

You slid your finger across one of the drawings that caught your eye. Even on dry pages the blond hair is still so alive. “Qenta Eldalien.”

That surprised Thranduil. History of the elves. A natural talent perhaps.

“You forgot to tell me,” you shouted when you noticed that he was leaving. Thranduil held the doorknob and turned to you. “What does that mean? Dôl gîn lost?”

“Your head is empty,” Thranduil smirked. You sighed. “Sleep well, maenwë.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Warm water trickled down your body. Aerin dipped the sponge in the water before running it over your skin. She ran that soft sponge over your back.

Things were not normal. The bite scar on your shoulder would never go away. The pain when stretching your arm would last forever. The time spent in bed would never be recovered. You are not back to normal, but it is a good thing.

Fear that nothing will survive. Fear that something will. Change is terror, change is craving. Part of you wish nothing bad had ever happened to you. The other smiles when waking up every morning. You survived. Nothing will change that.

Watching the golden leaves falling through the cracked window, you had a new experience. Without realizing, you open your mouth and a melody comes out.

Back in your room, wrapped in a warm towel, you noticed something new. A fabric stretched over it. Violet. So thin it felt like holding flour. So soft. You almost felt bad for touching it, for being unable to keep it pure as it is now.

When you asked for a dress, you thought Thranduil would get you something like the one damaged by the warg. Neutral, of resistant fabric, for those who need to walk and to work. The kind of dress that the wearer does not care if it gets dirty.

This is not a dress for someone that works with horses. For someone that gets muddy. For someone that runs, that likes the feeling of almost falling, that often passes through trees and animals. This is not a dress made for someone like you.

You wore it without thinking twice.

“You were singing”, Aerin sat on your bed.

You admired yourself in the mirror. “Was I?” You caressed the fabric. So soft.

“I never heard you singing before.” Aerin stared at all the fine fabrics together over your body. “And I know you for almost a year.”

“Fourteen months,” you corrected her. You never did something like that before.

“Oh.”

You said nothing while getting dressed. You have never done anything like this before. To correct her. Never. When you turned towards Aerin, choosing between pretending that nothing happened or apologizing, you realized she had left you alone.

You were unsure of what to do. You went through the inn, walking without purpose. Feeling suddenly alone, you walked out of the inn to see the horses again.

You just did not imagined that everyone wanted to do the same. All the elves who came from Mirkwood were out there with their mounts. Within seconds, your surprise turned into realization. They wore their armor. This was no coincidence. They were leaving.

You ran to the stable, trying not to be trampled by horses, searching for him. There you saw the gigantic elk. And you saw Thranduil mounting it.

“You are leaving?” Your breath was a mess. “You did not even said goodbye.”

Thranduil hoped you were still sleeping. Or that you were busy not to noticed the noisy from outside the inn. How he hoped he would never see you again.

He did not wished for a last memory. For a goodbye. Thranduil feared the sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to go remembering you swearing in a language you do not really understand. Thranduil wanted to spend his days imagining if you liked the dress, not to see you in it. To see your braided hair.

Now how will he forget this?

Thranduil cannot stay. Thranduil should have went back to Greenwood a week ago. Thranduil has responsibilities, lifes to care about, a realm to rule. He should not be here. Thranduil may not know a lot, but he knows when it is time to go. “It is good to see you well, maenwë.” 

You blinked. That is all he had to say? You tucked your hair behind your ear. “You did not say goodbye,” you repeat yourself.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he lied. Guiding his elk, Thranduil passed through you. He looked away first. “Goodbye, maenwë. Farewell.”

That is all he had to say. Goodbye. Farewell. You watched him, so aware of how you must look. A pretty braid, a fancy dress, a cruel deception. That is how a fool is supposed to look? And all he had to say was goodbye.

You walked. Ran. Outside the stable, you saw him organizing the small army. You walked up to him, not caring if he was speaking. If he wants to pretend that is enough, if for him it is enough, then Thranduil can live with that. But it is not enough for you. 

If he is going to leave, if you will never see each other again, let it be done correctly. “Novaer,” you licked your lips. Farewell. You hesitated, searching for the right word. “Mellon.” Friend.

Embarrassed, you turned back to the inn. You walked towards it, aware he would see if you runned. By the time you locked yourself in your room tears streamed down your face. Hidden behind the curtains, you watched him go.

Thranduil did not looked back. Or else he would not be able to go forward. That night, you slept hugging your new book. That night, Thranduil slept thinking about how you could not say mellon correctly even if your life depended on it.

[Forth Chapter]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[honorarypines]

Autumn sillies + text posts

[revasserium]

twst boys as seasons

malleus x autumn

so many people might call him winter, but the first time you meet him, all you can think of is the sound of falling leaves, of singing wind and dancing chimes, and the soft hush hush of the shifting greens — summer bleeding into something that is not quite summer anymore. “death becomes me,” so he might say, but you’d shake your head, cast your eyes up at the branches leafed in gold, swaying above your heads in the bursting autumn afternoon, “no… life becomes you too,” you tell him. because how else can you make him understand that there is room for both in one single body, that he is hail and harvest both, that abundance drips from him like ambrosia from the tongues of gods. “and… there’s halloween…” he says, the shadow of a grin playing at the edges of his lips, even though nothing in his voice gives him away — you know by now, yes, you know him well enough by now to know when he’s teasing.

and he does so love to tease. “what, you think you’re scary?” “aren’t i?” “not to me.” “hm… was i ever?” and you consider him, taking in the height of him, the oil-dark of his horns, the milk pale of his skin, the quicksilver glint behind his slitted eyes. he leans in, almost as if to bear down upon you, but you laugh, reaching up to press a finger to his lips, making him blink as he pauses. “no,” you shake your head, “never.” he leans back, contemplative, “hn. then perhaps i haven’t been trying hard enough.” but you don’t miss the now no-longer shadow of a grin on lips as he turns his eyes back to the courtyard, back to the falling leaves dipped in every color of the sunset sky, back to the wind-kissed branches and the laughter of the students as they chase each other around the grasses in the last fell dregs of dying daylight. “in order to grow,” you say, your eyes far away too, when he turns to look at you, “things have to die. and that, i think, is beautiful too.” and at this, malleus smiles, allows himself this one, sweet, unabashed thing, “yes… beautiful.” and you don’t turn, but if you had, you’d have noticed that his eyes as he said those words were fixed very solidly on you.

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Halloween/Autumn Prompt List

Hi!!! Welcome to my mish mash of a writing prompt list!! 

NONE OF THESE PROMPTS ARE MINE!!! I took my favorites from other lists and compiled them all together. 

Feel free to request for whoever and feel free to add a plot or just send a name and a prompt!! Happy fall yall!! 

dialogue!! 

“You have a leaf in your hair.”

“You’re shivering.”

“Why don’t you take off that mask? I’d like to see your face.”

“You’re scared of that, really?”

“That’s your favorite candy? You have shit taste.”

“Promise not to laugh at me if I scream.”

“My friend abandoned me at this Halloween party and I don’t know anyone. But you look as miserable as I feel.”

“It says take one, love.”

“Well…you grabbed my hand first.”

“Oh, I see. Is someone a little scared?”

“I spent so long in the darkness I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.”

“Nice try. You’ll have to work harder to scare me.”

“I know you’re trying to be scary, but you’re just way too cute.”

“I couldn’t find a costume, so I just decided to go as your [partner/bf/gf].”

“You’re a scaredy cat.” / “I am not!”

“Boo!” / “You were scarier with the mask off.”

“What are you supposed to be?” / “It isn’t obvious?”

“Ew candy corn?” / “What? This candy is hated for no reason. It’s good!”

“That kind of scared me.” / “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Kill me now and put me out of my sugar-fueled misery.” / “I told you to slow down.”

“Come on, it’s just a haunted house! It’ll be like a walk in the park.” / “More like a walk through hell.”

“There’s literally one candle flickering mysteriously. In what universe would I go over there?” / “Is that…a no, then?”

“Oh no. You are not wearing the same costume as me! You can’t!” / “Well I did.”

“Ooh very scary!” / “That’s not part of the costume, dumbass.”

“You could have been a prince(ss).” / “Well, I wanted to be a(n) [insert costume] instead.”

“Who you gonna call?” / “Ghostbusters?”

“You look so stupid.” / “Well, that was the idea since I dressed as you.”

“What happened? Let me help you!” / “Relax, the blood is fake.”

“Carving pumpkins is a lot harder than it looks.” 

“The Frankenstein movie is an absolute insult to Mary Shelley’s novel! I can’t believe you would suggest we watch it!”

“I spent over an hour raking up all those leaves. If you jump in that pile, you’re dead to me.”

“You’re gonna have to work a lot harder if you want to come up with a Halloween prank that will actually scare me.”

“You haven’t really lived if you’ve never camped out in a graveyard on Halloween night.”

“It’s alright. It’s just another power outage.”

“Wait, you seriously don’t like pumpkin pie?”

“I love moments like this. Just curled up by the fire, listening to the rain.”

“The only thing I plan on doing this season is reading through the complete collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s works.”

"what do you mean you've never gone trick-or-treating?!"

"i really appreciate that you're getting into the halloween spirit, but it's ten in the morning. please turn off the slasher films so i can eat my breakfast in peace."

"ah, you've made the mistake in thinking that just because this is a couples/family costume that you get any kind of say in it. you don't, actually.”

"i love you, i swear i do, but we're not wearing matching costumes."

"you're like the toughest person i know! am i really supposed to believe that a horror film is enough to have you cowering into my lap?"

"come on, if there was ever a time for me to be superstitious it's definitely now."

Scenarios 

Tailgating at football game

Baking a pumpkin pie

Visiting an apple orchard

Visiting a pumpkin patch

Carving a pumpkin

Making caramel apples

Bonfire

Corn Maze

Decorating for Halloween

Costume shopping

Buying couple costumes

Baking Halloween cookies

Haunted house

Watching a scary movie

Halloween photoshoot

Setting up a haunted house

Masquerade ball

Going trick-or-treating

Handing out candy

Telling scary stories

Halloween/Murder Mystery Party

comforting the scaredy cat amongst them

laying wide awake at night after watching a horror movie that left them unnerved

Cuddling under a blanket 

Lazy days in 

Flannel shirts 

Cold hands 

Steaming mugs 

Bear hugs 

Pillow forts 

Thunderstorms 

Sharing blankets 

Log cabin 

Mischief Night 

[mazeinthemiroh]

I think watching a scary movie w ateez as ur s/o would be so cute cuz there giants so if get scared u can hide behind them but if they get scared then u would bd trying to calm them down like some big puppy or smth 😭

ateez watching scary movies with their s/o

genre: headcanons; crack, fluff

warnings: cursing

please like and reblog if you enjoy <3

hongjoong

so loud and for what

the only time he asks for cuddles is if he's watching a horror movie

otherwise, he just plays hard to get ahem

halfway through the movie, he starts criticising the acting/directing like why-

his anticipation of something bad happening intertwined is all too much but hongjoong can't help but comment on the cheesy music chosen for this particular scene-

seonghwa

cuddles up close to you

claims it's to comfort you but...

we know he'll need it too

arms around you at all times in some sort of death-grip

shields your eyes aware if there are any really horrible bits

but can't seem to tear his own eyes always and then he's traumatised

yunho

in my opinion, yunho is the safest option here

for one thing, he digs horror movies

he likes to cuddle in general so will totally let you snuggle up to him if you're scared

and he doesn't get particularly scared himself so he chill

will comfort you like the good man he is

just so <3333

yeosang

seems unbothered through most of it

but jolts and jumps out of his skin at the jumpscares

he's not particularly scared tho

doesn't let go of your hand throughout the movie but that's just cos he's comfy like that

it's what yall do!

prefers watching stuff like coraline and nightmare before christmas rather than actual horror movies

san

this poor man's nerves-

comfort him :( pretty please?

he questions his life choices bcs how on earth has he wound up watching a horror movie?

not happy, very sulky

buries his head into the crook of your neck

super clingy but very cute <3

you'll have to comfort him the whole night

mingi

scared and just not ready for this type of intensity

just wants a chill night, he didn't sign up for this

will talk during most of the movie to distract himself from the scary parts

even though he's a big boy, he's clinging onto you when it gets more tense

screams in your ear like a banshee

you'll probably be deaf by the end of the night

wooyoung

shrieks till his heart's content

you guys usually watch movies in his bedroom so every time you scream the members come in and tell you guys to shut tf up

which you don't.

likes making fun of the characters sometimes

and mostly telling them

"don't go in there it's a trap... you idiot??????"

jongho

not afraid of anything

will take the piss out of you if you're scared, laughing in your face because it's so hilarious to him

but also tells you to be quiet if you're yelling too loudly cos he wants to watch the movie

rude >:(

but makes up for it by letting you eat his candy and popcorn :)

[insiderzx]

Autumn leaves

[harvest-selfshipping]

hurt/comfort imagines <3

Imagine your f/o noticing the exact moment something’s the matter. They notice when your face pales, when your eyes water, or when you’re quieter than you were. They’ll take you away from any situation needed— and they won’t hesitate.

Imagine your f/o holding you while you’re sad. They’ll pull you into their chest, gentle enough to comfort you but tight enough that you know they’re not letting go. Maybe they’d ask you to match their breathing, breathe in as their chest rises and out as it falls.

Imagine your f/o talking you through it. Listening to what you have to say and promising that no matter what, it will be okay, and they will not leave your side for anything. They’ll even offer advice— gently, if needed— but if you just need someone to listen, they will absolutely do that, too.

They love you. They don’t think that your problems are dumb, or dramatic. Your feelings and valid and they will always listen to you <3