#shes literally hozier himself

[callsignfangs]

I know you have something to say about Farah.

Do it.

You know you want to. 😊😉

You lot know me so well 💔💔

Giggles but actually, I’m sorry for randomly vanishing, long story short ive been dealing w some personal stuff and been hesitant to start posting again bc it might be a bit on n off lol. But most things have chilled out a little bit, so i might dip my head back into writing 😇

Also, bc of my amazing luck, I literally got sick, like, today. Sooo, have my fever-induced Farah rambles 😻 Brought to you by. Idk probably the flu or something 💪

Note: the fact i managed to dump this all out in one session before napping is a lil funny ngl 😇

Double note: I acc had a different plan for this, but the sickness has unfortunately taken me, and I’m just going with the flow atp 😇 prepare for more of my Farah braindumps after i’m mildly more alive 😚

-

Farah & Sick!reader drabble 😚

(Tws: vague sickness, fever 👍)

Lets start this off with the simple fact that- she’s the queen of home remedies. You could pick up some degenerative alien disease from a far off solar system, and she probably has something for it. Mot to mention that she’s pretty good at making said remedies notably more appealing, which definitely doesn’t hurt. Sure, she won’t shy away from medicating you, more than prepared to deal with your slightly high shenanigans, but it’s definitely nice to not be drugged up instantly.

She’s also absolutely attached to you at the hip. It’s like she’s given herself the job of your personal nurse, or something. Of course, she’s doing what’s best for you, but she folds just a little at the sight of your soft, weepy eyes.

Admittedly, she’s not the best cook on the planet. She has more important responsibilities than learning to cook. However, for you? She digs up every family recipe she could find, probably digging up an old scrapbook or two of her grandparent’s meanwhile. She’s determined to shower you in gourmet-level food as much as humanly possible, even if that means constantly ducking out of the kitchen to check on you, cuddled up on the couch.

Speaking of cuddles, she’s an absolute cuddle monster. The second you’ll let her, she’s buried alongside you, her gentle warmth dissolving into tour achy muscles, your pounding head showered in soft little kisses - even a couple on the lips, if she can sneak them, because, no, love, she doesn’t care about getting sick, she’ll live.

And, of course, she’ll insist on a nice bath with you, seeing as she just wants to see you better, sweetheart. Her getting to snuggle up with you in the tub is definitely just a happy coincidence.

Bathing with Farah is absolutely heavenly. She fills up the tub herself, happily murmuring pleasant little anecdotes and warm comforts into your ears as lukewarm water splashes around behind you. Gently helping you out of your pyjamas (well, her pyjamas, that were practically yours at this point), she dips her foot into the water, feeling the coolish liquid cover her feet. She slowly eases you in, a slight guilt pooling in her heart as you whine about just how cold the water felt. She keeps you buried in her arms throughout, kissing your cheeks and praising you sweetly, even letting you tuck your face against her shoulder.

Once you’re actually in, the bath is a near-perfect affair. Farah keeps you against her chest the entire time, happily kneading at your pained muscles, letting the water wash away the sweat staining your skin. She guides you down softly, supporting your neck with a gentle, rough hand as she dips your hair into the water, letting it wash away the tightness behind your eyes as best it could, easily tasking herself with washing your hair. It’s like she turns into your personal masseuse, looping a leg around your hips to keep you safely tucked against her, stroking delicately through the soft strands of your hair, loving hands brushing against their perfect spot on your scalp, leaving your muscles at a similar consistency to the water you were surrounded by.

She takes to washing your hair easily, lathering each product in her hands and warmly rubbing them in, pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead between each one (her face occasionally scrunches as the misplaced product stains her mouth, but it’s worth it to see the little contented smile against your lips).

Thankfully, she doesn’t shy away from care elsewhere, either. She easily lathers each skincare product against your prone form, adjusting you gently against her arms to completely cover every inch of your sweet, delicate skin. Of course, each touch is punctuated with a little massage, hoping to soothe each and every inch of your sickly form, along with her fair share of kisses.

Unsurprisingly, getting out of the tub felt like hell. Sure, the water was mildly cold, but you’d adjusted to it, at this point, lazing easily against Farah’s warmth like a cat in the sun. You definitely felt like a wet cat as she eased you up, shivers immediately picking up the second your skin was exposed to the icy-seeming air. A snug, fluffy towel was wrapped around you almost immediately, with Farah swiftly reaching out to crank the heating up - just enough to keep the temperature difference from making your sickness worse.

Farah was quick to herd you into the bedroom, sitting you down on the bed and exchanging the, now damp, towel for a cosy robe she’d bought a while ago, surprisingly still unused.

And, before you could even consider protesting, she was crouched between your legs, gently towelling down the damp skin. She slowly made her way up, from your feet all the way up to your hair, occasionally popping to and from the bathroom, finishing off your skin and hair care.

By the time she’d finished, you were cuddled up in another - notably lighter - pair of her pyjamas, buried safely on her side of the bed, her honeyed scent filling your senses. Your head was pillowed against her chest, eyes trained vaguely before you as she flicked through her movie catalogue, looking for something peaceful yet entertaining.

Eventually, after her careful deliberation, she decides on some lighthearted romcom. It doesn’t particularly matter at this point, though, seeing as you’d conked out before the opening credits had even begun, your soft, purring snores filling the room and bringing a loving smile to her face. Looking after you so delicately had been amazing, but she was absolutely relieved you were finally getting the sleep your body so desperately needed.

Sighing happily, she lays the two of you down, snuggling beneath the covers and kissing you goodnight, easily falling into slumber in her favourite place - cuddled up beside you.

[hwaightme]

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸��pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too. 

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him. 

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response. 

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་���࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath. 

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt. 

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture. 

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers. 

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home. 

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before. 

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger. 

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries. 

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting. 

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth. 

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story. 

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served. 

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring. 

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in. 

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him. 

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet. 

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore. 

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement. 

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it. 

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

“Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another. 

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin. 

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed. 

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one. 

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought. 

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.” 

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past. 

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within. 

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you. 

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine. 

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own. 

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you. 

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports. 

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

🩸 perma-taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @lightinyreads @ren-junwrld @pyeonghongrie-main @marsstarxhwa @pocketjoong-reads @alyszaen @yeooclock @yeonjunnie @asjkdk @lucky-cat-cafe @northerngalxy

[bonefanatic]

Miguel being overprotective with pregnant reader?

a/n: thanks for the request! i didn't know if you wanted a onseshot or headcanons so i kinda did both. also i used google translate bc i don't speak spanish

Miguel with a Pregnant Reader

NFWMB

Hozier

⇆ㅤ ||◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷||ㅤ ↻

-protective asf

-especially later into the pregnancy

-like one time you were walking around and some lady accidentally elbowed your belly and before she could open her mouth to apologize, this mf GROWLS

-refuses to let you do anything

-cooking? dinner's already done. cleaning? the apartment is spotless

-even reaching for the remote, he's already got the exact show you wanted to watch on the screen and he brought snacks

-he knew somehow before you even took a test

-idk, spider senses or something

-he holds you super close even when you're home

-his body is curled protectively around you in bed, and he stands right behind you when you go out

-scary dog privileges fr

-no one asks any questions except for the doctors, all whom miguel hand picked himself

-always ready to go on midnight runs for whatever thing you're craving

-will rub anywhere on your body that is sore and this mf can massage like no other

-after doctor's appointments he gets so touchy

-like he needs to comfort you even though nothing hurt that much

"Miguel, it's not that important. It can wait 'til the morning", you hold his arm, trying to convince him to just lay back down with you.

His frown deepens as he looks down at it.

"It is important, amor. You said you were hungry."

"Migs, snacks aren't that important. I'd rather you just keep holding me."

He looks conflicted, then sigh. He sets his hands on your round little belly, humming slightly.

"Mm, tu mami está siendo tan mala conmigo, cariño", he whispers to the bump like you won't hear.

"I literally wouldn't let you go get me some snacks because it's almost midnight."

He flicks his eyes up to you, looking far too serious for the situation.

"Fine. At least let me rub your back, mami."

You roll your eyes.

"You're impossible."

[dtmsrpfcringe]

We don't hate women. We hate women who are abusive towards their partners.

Michael and David both deserve better and just because you want to buy into what PR and social media tells you, you don't have to attack other people for being upset over actors they care about possibly not being happy.

David wouldn't leave Georgia, they are married and have children, so he feels responsible. He always puts other people before himself. And Anna played it well with the babies, as harsh as it sounds. Michael would feel terrible leaving the girls. People staying in relationships doesn't prove you right, sadly. It's no sign of anything other than commitment and commitment doesn't always come from a place of love.

By saying that Michael and David shippers want to see them unhappy in their relationship, you show that you're missing the point. The whole point of shipping them is wanting them to be happy. You just want to be hateful towards people who don't suppprt your narrative, it seems.

GOD I WISH TUMBLR WOULD LET ME ADD TEXTS BEFORE ASKS SO I COULD SAY “Warning: you’re about to hear one of the most moronic takes I have ever heard” *insert gif of amanojaku from ghost stories here* okay let’s…we have to break this down it’s too much for me to just laugh at and go “wow this is dumb as hell”

“We don’t hate women, we just make up stuff so we can justify hating them”- you. where’s…where’s any shred of proof that either women are even a little bit abusive? I mean don’t you think we would have seen some of that by now? And no, enty lawyer doesn’t count as proof and neither does random screenshots of a bit of text with zero context. Also neither do jokes online with your partner when they’re okay with it (and make the same jokes quite literally all the time) and nobody sees a problem with it except the people that conveniently hate these women.

2. “Michael and David both deserve better” yes I’m sure the rich white middle aged men who are two of the most popular actors in their countries who have girlfriends/wives and kids who love and adore them are surely hurting because some weirdo on tumblr says it.

3. Hate to tell you this but married people with children divorce all the time. It’s not like if they divorce he is going to suddenly vanish in a puff of smoke babe.

4. Even if that’s true, your theory of him only staying out of responsibility is bullshit. Someone who stays for the kids isn’t going to dip their wife into a kiss on the red carpet and look at her like a hozier song sounds. If there’s any event or interview where he can find a way to praise Georgia, he does it. He always talks about her. After events they’ve been seen kissing deeply and walking arm in arm honeymoon style.

5. as for Anna and Michael, (David and Georgia too but they seem more open to pda) they don’t owe you pda. Michael has been more than adamant about defending his girlfriend on twitter and good for him about it.

6. if you guys were genuinely concerned with Michael and David’s impending relationship crashes, why is it always tied to their love for one another? The only people who see This rampant “abuse and unhappiness” is this group of people who believe David and Michael are actually in love and want to elope together. Nobody else. Not even other Sheenant shippers. You guys literally just hate them, I mean Invisibleicewands has been talking shit on Anna since she posted her first photo with Michael back in 2019 and hasn’t stopped.

7. “And Anna played it well with the babies, as harsh as it sounds.” seriously what the absolute crap is this supposed to mean my dude? I’ve gotta be honest….you know how smex works right? Michael could absolutely choose to use protection!!! Why is it on her? Not on him. He’s had kids before I think he knows that a stork doesn’t bring the baby. Holy hell you people make my eyes hurt

8. (finally) funny you should bring up narratives, you know considering you’re part of the group that thinks any affection towards anybody else that isn’t them is PR (thinking of the Joseph Fiennes hug fiasco) that lied about Georgia and Anna being abusive, that has tried time and time again and moved the goalpost, that fabricates evidence and tries to send death threats to people who speak out, and then lie about it, that your group is the one who can’t handle women working together and have to call everything PR. The same group that ignores the fact that Anna and Georgia are friends, to talk grave shit on them. Newsflash sweetheart, we aren’t the ones pushing the narrative here. You only want to see David and Michael happy as long as it aligns with your delusion. Have the day you deserve.

anyways, I think this is going to be my pinned post. Mostly because I want this to be embarrassing if you ever try to come back here and lie on Betty whites internet again, but also because I think this addresses so many tin hat talking points at once. Just because we love aziraphale and crowley doesn't mean we get the right to insert ourselves into their personal lives, you wouldn't want someone else praying for your relationship to fail.

[happilyhertale]

great! so this is kind of like an au but it's still set on the hotd universe. basically, I was wondering if you could do an aemond x fem!reader where their relationship is very similar to that of rhaenyra and harwin's relationship. reader is next in line to throne as she is rhaenyra's daughter. because of this, rhaenyra requests she has a knight for her daughter to watch over her and what not. enter aemond, the one eyed knight and son to alicent hightower.

the two eventually become smitten with eachother and form a secret relationship, with reader eventually falling pregnant with his child. some smut, angst and good ol' fluff. please? (also based on the song work song by hozier)

Sense of duty - Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Minors do not continue reading!

Author’s note: Finally! Thank you, Anon, for this great request! I'm sorry it took so long! Nevertheless, it was fun to write this story. I hope you like it (: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 4.2 k

The long awaited second part

Other stories of mine

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Aemond!" you gasp as he lifts you onto the table that stands behind you. His hand is between your legs, making its way to your already wet folds.

"Aemond! I... I hear footsteps outside!" you try to sound convincing that it is too dangerous to have wild sex in the middle of the library, in the middle of the day.

But only a "Mmmhm..." sounds from him as he leaves hot kisses on your neck. His "Mmmhm..." is backed up by your moans.

"I have given instructions that we are to be left alone... study... No one comes into the library"

"But...", you can't continue, his fingers have reached their destination and they are stroking through your wet arousal. You grab his shoulders and groan. Immediately his lips are on yours to muffle your moans. Firm, circular movements he leaves on your clit. Your hands are on his trousers by now and open them. In no time at all you release him from his pants and let your hand glide over his pulsing length. His hiss from your first touch quickly turns into a deep moan.

You press his cock against your wet folds and let it slide through. He smirks at you, "We're a little impatient today, aren't we?"

You moan into his mouth, "...Because you made me wait too long!"

With one thrust he is inside you and you literally cry out. It's been too long since you felt his full length inside you. That you felt him fill you completely. The stretching is almost unpleasant at first, until it turns into the feeling of pure pleasure. Aemond puts his hand over your mouth to muffle your whimpers as he slides his hot length back and forth.

"Fuuck... you're so incredibly tight," he gasps in your ear.

You can only continue to whimper. Aemond grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer. He reaches another angle, thrusts deeper into you. He holds you tightly and slams your hips down hard on his cock. The library, usually such a quiet place, is filled with your moans and the sound of naked skin slapping against each other.

"A-Aemond... I'm close!" you moan. His lips crash onto yours and he kisses you wildly. He doesn't let up with his thrusts and his hand finds its way between your bodies. His fingers reach your clit again, rubbing it frantically.

You claw at his leather waistcoat for support. The table beneath you squeaks dangerously with each thrust he gives you. The familiar, much loved pressure builds in your lower belly. Your thighs, tight in Aemond's hands, begin to tremble. You moan out, but Aemond can't bring himself to muffle your moan, it spurs him on further to thrust into you. He notices how you keep clenching around his cock. His name keeps leaving your lips, like a soft prayer that fills the halls of the sept. As you come on his cock, Aemond also notices his lower belly tighten. He reaches for a linen cloth lying on the table. As the tug arrives in his balls, he leaves your warm core. His hand grips your thighs firmly, the consequences will still be visible tomorrow. He gasps and moans as he spreads his hot seed into the linen cloth.

You lean your head into the crook of his neck and gasp softly. He caresses your soft hair as you stand there for a while. Only your heavy breathing can be heard in the library. You spread soft kisses on his neck.

But it wasn't always like this between you.

You are y/n Velaryon and the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Your duty is to take the Iron Throne after your mother. The second woman ever to sit on a throne. Your father is Laenor Velaryon and just like your brothers Jace and Luke, you have inherited few traits from your father. But you have at least inherited your father's silver hair and your mother's purple eyes.

You live in King's Landing and want for nothing. Even now you regularly attend council meetings. Like your mother before, you hand out drinks to the councillors and try to learn something from the political discussions. Your grandfather Viserys I is always present and leads the discussions.

At one of these council meetings, your mother had once made the request that she wanted special protection for you. After all, you are the heir to the throne and you should have a personal knight by your side who will always protect you. You just looked at her irritatedly from a distance. She did not return your gaze.

Queen Alicent, who was also present, thought this was an excellent idea. It did not take long before the perfect knight seemed to be found. To be precise, it was at the next council meeting when Alicent announced that she had found someone perfect. Aemond Targaryen. Her son. Your uncle.

In shock, you knocked over a cup and all eyes were on you. Aemond's eyes were suddenly on you too, looking at you emotionlessly and with a hint of contempt. Now it was also clear to you why he was suddenly attending the meeting.

After a brief pause, Alicent continued. Since there are no betrothal offers for Aemond, this seemed an adequate task for him. And what would be a more honourable task than to protect the future queen?

You were not surprised that the betrothal offers for him did not materialise. He was rude, uptight, always in a bad mood and let everyone around him know how little he thought of them. He was just a terrible person. And he should now be responsible for keeping you safe at all times.

You were not convinced at all and went to your mother after the council meeting.

"Mother. This is unacceptable. Have you never realised what an unpleasant person he is?"

She just smiled at you, "Good. Then at least I'm convinced he won't be distracted and his attention will be on protecting you."

You just looked at her in disbelief, but from her look you saw that this matter was already decided for her and there was nothing more to discuss. Angrily you left her chambers. Aemond was also not enthusiastic at first, but let himself be convinced by his mother that it was an honourable task.

So that's how you started spending time together. Unwillingly, you could say. You never spoke much to each other. Only a "good morning" left your lips when he stood in front of your chambers in the morning, which was never answered with more than a slight bow of his head. In the evening it was no different. You wished him a good night and before you could close your door, you briefly saw him bow his head slightly again.

This changed when one morning he could not find you. He stood in front of your chambers, but you did not come out. After repeated warnings, he came to your chambers, but he could not find you. You were not in the anteroom, not in your bed and not in the adjoining bathroom. Panic rose in him and he briefly felt fear that something might have happened to you. Not because he was particularly afraid for you, but because he was afraid of failing in the task that had been imposed on him. At least that's what he told himself.

He immediately rushed out of your chambers and searched the entire keep and its gardens. You had disappeared. You were not to be found in any of the other chambers, the council chamber or any other hall. On the verge of despair, he passed the library. Actually, he wanted to go to the training yard and hoped that you had lost your way there. But as he passed the half-open door to the library, his gaze fell in and he saw you sitting there.

Calmly, you sat there in an armchair and read a book. For a short time his anger was forgotten. The morning sun shone through a window into the library. It shone right on you and made your silver hair almost glow. Even though he didn't want to, he paused for a moment and enjoyed the view. When he regained consciousness, he stormed into the library, "What are you doing here??"

Startled, you looked up, "Mhm, I don't know if this looks familiar, but I'm reading a book at the moment."

He breathed heavily.

"Did you run here?" you asked with raised eyebrows.

Aemond snorted, "I was looking for you! You were not in your chambers where I am to meet you in the morning!"

You had to smile, "Pardon me..."

But he interrupted you, "You can't just disappear unannounced!"

Your smile disappeared, "I left you a note. On my table. It said exactly where I was. But now that I know that it does not even look familiar to you when someone is reading, I should send a servant to you next time to give you my message verbally."

"There was no note," he hissed.

"'Right… So if we go to my chambers now and check... Then there wouldn't be a note?"

Aemond did not answer immediately. He hadn't looked on your table. Panic had gripped him and he had no longer been able to think rationally.

"What are you doing here early in the morning anyway?" he asked instead.

Normally you would tease him further. But you had such a relaxed morning, you didn't want to mess it up.

"I couldn't sleep and so I came here early in the morning"

Aemond frowned, "You come here when you can't sleep?"

You simply nodded, "It is quiet here and I can give myself over to my thoughts. Read something... It's peaceful here."

"I've never noticed that before... That you like to read," he said almost softly. His anger of a moment ago was almost forgotten.

You looked down at your book again, "Perhaps you weren't attentive enough...? Or perhaps you have simply overlooked it... like the note on my table"

Now Aemond had to smile slightly.

From that point on, you talked more. You began to enjoy the time together, it felt almost unforced.

You even had to admit to yourself that perhaps he wasn't such an unpleasant person after all. That underneath his hard, unpleasant shell, there was perhaps a pleasant core.

But still, the one thing you didn't tell each other was that you enjoyed each other's presence. You enjoyed the warmth that emanated from him. When he just sat next to you and you read. Likewise, you enjoyed watching him when he read. The way he would frown slightly from time to time. Or how he would gently move his thumb over his fingertips when he had read an interesting passage. It's the little things that made you curious about how his lips would feel on yours. If there would be a tingling sensation on your skin when he touches you with his long fingers.

But you would never tell him that.

Aemond was no different. Countless times he had only noticed after some time that he was staring at you. That he had lost himself in the way you kept running your fingers through your long hair while you devoured a book. How you clicked your tongue slightly when you didn't quite understand a passage and had to read it again. He wanted to hold you, touch you, even kiss you... but he would never confess it to you.

After a few moons had passed, a ball was on the agenda. There was a big secret about why this ball was taking place. You and Aemond were both not keen on the idea and had toyed with the idea of simply retreating to the library.

Aemond came to fetch you from your chambers that evening. When he stood at your door and you stepped out, he was momentarily speechless. He thought you were pretty, no question. But that evening you left him speechless. He just smiled at you slightly. You had returned his smile.

Together you went to the hall.

While the lords and ladies present danced, you enjoyed the food and drank.

You were in deep discussion with Aemond when a lord joined you at the table, "Prince Aemond. Princess y/n," he had bowed his head slightly.

You smiled at him, "Lord...?"

He smiled as well, "Lord Cregan Stark"

Aemond felt a slight twinge in his chest. He didn't like the way you smiled at each other at all. But he liked even less how that fact bothered him.

"I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Princess. I have longed for this day for a long time."

His direct manner did not make your smile disappear, "Oh? Is that so? I hope you are not disappointed"

"Certainly not. If all goes well, I will leave the capital and have found a betrothed"

He smiled briefly at you and bowed his head slightly as he moved away from the table again. You didn't quite understand what Lord Cregan meant by that until you noticed your mother watching you from across the table.

You stood up from the table. Aemond's gaze followed you.

You walked towards your mother. She smiled sweetly at you as you sat down beside her.

"Mother... would you like to tell me why this ball is being held? And why Lord Cregan is approaching me? Talking about finding a betrothed?"

Rhaenyra sighed, "You will have to marry eventually. You will have to father children. You will need an heir. For succession to the throne."

"And then you sell me to the North???" you were horrified.

"Don't be silly. I'm not selling you to the North. Lord Cregan would move here"

You just snorted.

"Lord Cregan isn't bad looking after all. You could do worse. And from the looks of it, you did get on well," she took your hand gently in hers.

"Mother. I'm not going to marry him," was the only thing you said in reply.

She looked into the celebrating crowd, your hand still in hers, "The betrothal is as good as decided. You should spend some time with him tonight. Get to know him a little."

You looked at her, aghast. But then a couple of lords joined you at the table to talk to your mother.

You left the hall in a huff.

Aemond hadn't taken his eyes off you the whole time and had sensed immediately that something was wrong. He got up from the table and followed you.

He called after you in the corridor, but you did not stop. When you were in your chambers, you leaned against the door from inside. Aemond stood on the other side of the door and knocked.

"Y/n... Please let me in. Talk to me…", he almost begs you.

You exhaled heavily and wiped away a tear that left your eye.

Slowly you opened the door.

He came in immediately and closed the door behind him. Seeing that tears were in your eyes, all he wanted to do was hold you, but he pulled himself together.

Instead he whispered to you, "What happened?"

"My mother... She wants to betroth me to Cregan Stark... She wants me to produce heirs..." you whispered.

Aemond stiffened. After a moment's silence, he spoke softly on, "...You shall go to the north...?"

You shook your head slightly, "No... he would come here"

He just nodded. But his chest ached. He knew this day would come, but still he had not expected it.

When all of a sudden you stepped towards him, "I don't want to marry him Aemond... I don't want to!"

You looked at the floor and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. It broke his heart to see you like that. But he also knew the importance of doing his duty.

"I know... But you will have no choice," he whispers.

How he hated himself for that sentence.

When all of a sudden you looked up, "Yes... I will."

You stood on your tiptoes and hesitantly, yet determinedly, let your lips slide onto his. Your hands rested on his firm chest.

He did not expect that. At first he had not returned the kiss, but finally he could not help himself. His arms wrapped around your body and he pressed you against him.

"Aemond... claim me... Make me yours..." you whispered when you briefly interrupted the kiss.

He looked irritated, "Y/n... what?"

You took his face in your hands, "I want you Aemond. Not a lord from the north…"

Aemond couldn't believe his ears. He hesitated for a moment but let his lips slide back to yours.

That night he claimed you, and there have been many more times since.

You are still in the library. Aemond has pulled you to him on the sofa, he caresses your back gently.

"I should take you to your chambers," he whispers in your ear.

You gently stroke his chest and nod, "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He smiles, "If my princess commands me to."

You kiss him and murmur against his lips, "She does... she hasn't had enough of you yet"

He chuckles briefly.

Slowly he stands up and pulls you with him. You go to your chambers.

Once in your chambers, Aemond closes the door behind you after making sure no one is in the corridor. You are already walking towards your bed. Slowly you open your dress and let it slide to your feet. You step out of the dress and sit down on the bed. You sit with your knees bent and lean back a little, supporting yourself on your arms. You watch as Aemond walks towards you, slowly opening his waistcoat. You smile at him. A smile also curls his lips as he takes off his waistcoat. Arriving at the bed, he pulls you to the edge of the bed by the underside of your knees. You can't help but chuckle. He stands between your legs as he leans down to you, his hand resting on your cheek and he kisses you passionately. More kisses follow as he guides you onto your back. He hovers above you and you pull your leg over his hip. He still has his trousers on and the feel of the firm fabric on your bare skin makes you shiver. He presses his already great arousal against your wet folds. Your hands slide down his defined abdomen and you try to undo his trousers, but his fingers, which have now reached your wet folds, distract you. You gasp as his middle finger slides through your wetness.

"Fuck," he groans, "you're so wet... how did I get so lucky?" You just whimper as his fingers continue to rub into your arousal.

Finally, you manage to open the trousers and do not hesitate to reach in. You embrace his full length and he hisses at the touch. You let your hand slide up and down, he moves his hips to accommodate your movements. You pull his trousers down further, he helps you. Your naked skin lies on top of each other. His cock is coated with your moisture. Slowly he lets it slide through your folds, you whimper again.

"Mmhmm... you are really impatient today," he whispers to you.

"If you would do your duty better, I wouldn't be."

He just chuckles.

With one thrust he is inside you all at once. You gasp, his length filling you completely again.

He thrusts forward into you and your moans sound in unison. But you need more.

"Aemond... I... I..."

"Tell me what you need," he gasps.

"... Need you deeper... Closer!"

He doesn't hesitate long and moves your ankle over his shoulder, stretching you out and deepening the angle even more. You moan loudly and are joined by his deep grunts. You can't bring yourself to suppress your moan. The pleasure you feel is too great right now. You reach for his arms. Aemond thrusts into you with full intensity, you are almost sure that he will split you in two. The obscene sounds of your bodies fill your chambers. You are completely dazed and cannot think clearly as you grab his neck and pull him down to you. You kiss wildly, his thrusts do not let up. You are panting into each other's mouths.

"Thank you.. for fucking me, Aemond... I need... I need you so badly Aemond...", you murmur against his lips. You feel him grin slightly, "Anything for my princess..."

Aemond increases the speed of his thrusts. His balls keep slapping against your ass, and by now they are soaked with your arousal. The sweat of your bodies mixes. It smells of pure sex.

You feel yourself about to come, "Fuck... Aem...", but by then you are already clenching hard around his cock and taking him over the edge with you. You come together. Aemond is overwhelmed by his sudden climax and can't pull his cock out of you in time. His mind is blank, he just keeps thrusting into you and savoring his climax. You are both breathing heavily as his thrusts subside. Carefully, he takes your leg off his shoulder and drops onto the bed next to you. With great effort, you turn to him and gently kiss his lips. He holds you tightly in his arms.

"I have your seed inside me...," you whisper, still breathing heavily.

He nods slowly, "Apologies... I was overwhelmed," he pants, "I'll get you some moon tea tomorrow at noon."

You just nod slightly. He gently caresses your skin as you lay your head on his chest. Your eyes are closed and you just listen to his meanwhile soft breathing.

As Aemond slowly tries to sit up, you push him back onto the bed, "Stay... Stay tonight..." you whisper.

Aemond feels twinges in his chest area. Pleasant twinges...

He wraps his arms around you tighter, "Anything my princess commands me to do...", he whispers.

The next morning Aemond has persuaded you to go for a walk in the garden. You have done this often since the ball a few weeks ago. You strolled through the garden and kissed each other, hidden behind trees and hedges. You and Aemond have not spoken further of your betrothal to Lord Cregan. You do not know how Aemond feels about it. But it is clear to you how this story will end. You will not marry Lord Cregan. Every time your mother mentions your betrothal in a conversation, you end the conversation. You assure her that you will marry, but your mother is not aware that you want to marry Aemond. And since he has taken your maidenhood, she will have no choice but to agree.  

Suddenly a servant approaches you and automatically you take a step away from Aemond. Your mother wants to speak to you and you are expected in the council chamber.

Together with Aemond you go there.

As you enter the council chamber, you see your mother and Alicent standing there. They are talking to each other but stop immediately as you enter.

"Mother? You sent for me?"

Aemond is standing right next to you.

Your mother smiles at you, "My girl..." she sighs, "The maidens have informed me that you have not bled for a little more than a moon."

Your breath catches and is accompanied by a nausea that overcomes you. You notice how Aemond stiffens beside you.

You are at a loss for words.

"Mother...", you stammer.

She interrupts you, "Have you lost your maidenhood?"

You look startled. From the look on your mother's face, you cannot tell how she will react. You look back and forth between Alicent and your mother. They both look at you questioningly.

Somehow you hope that Aemond will say something, that he will stand by it. There is an oppressive silence in the air.

You swallow hard and watch your hands as you nervously play with your fingers, "I... Mother...," you look up, "…yes."

Her eyes grow wide and Alicent holds her breath, looking like she's about to faint.

As your mother takes a step towards you, "Who took your maidenhood?? What were you thinking?! What about your betrothal?!"

Your throat tightens and aches, your eyes burn, from the tears that well up in your eyes... You don't know what to say. You have not thought this scenario through that far.

When Alicent has regained her composure, she suddenly intervenes, "Aemond! Why didn't you do something?? You were supposed to be watching her!"

Again, this oppressive silence spreads.

Tears come to your eyes again and you look down at your fingers again, but now you hear Aemond.

"Mother... I did.. I did something," he stammers.

Alicent just looks at him with wide eyes questioningly. You hear him breathing heavily.

But now he sounds more confident, "I took her maidenhood, mother. It's my child"

Startled, you look to the side, but Aemond does not return your gaze.

He takes your hand and now looks at your mother, "And I will marry her"

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Tag list

@aemonds-wifey @hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemond-targaryenx @blue2023

@targaryen-dynasty

[leclerced]

max would have an absolute field day if he found out his girlfriend was a virgin. i can’t tell if the man has a corruption or praise kink but he would go crazy with innocent!reader either way

- 🌙

hi moonie. i spent half an hr to an hr rambling about this last night and tumblr wouldn’t post it. i wanted to cry. at work redoing it nowww

thinking ab them dating and seeing each other as often as possible, ending their nights making out until they pass out. then one day he tries to take her top off or something and she admits she’s a virgin, and that she wants to have sex w him, she’s ready! max is shocked by the revelation but tells her its no big deal if she wants to wait and they should take it slow. he’s so sweet and soft with her, not want to rush into things even though she wants to get it over with.

like imagine they were trying to watch a movie and instead are making out and dry humping on the couch, and she tells him to take her virginity right then and there. he’s rearranging them so they’re spooning and saying like, “no, not fucking you tonight. sorry baby, gonna romance you like you deserve! just go back to watching the movie.” the entire time he’s wondering how much experience she has, how many guys she’s kissed, what she knows about sex. if she’s touched herself, how often does she? can she make herself cum? has she had an orgasm? does she have sex toys or does the thought make her nervous? literally the entire movie he’s thinking about her, and forming a plan on how to corrupt/train her to be his perfect little cockwhore. he hasn’t even touched her, no one has, and she’s ready to beg for him, half the work is already done bc girlie is so touch starved and needs him sb.

he would want to take things slow and savor it, he’d praise her constantly and be so sweet but internally his mind is pure filth of all the things he wants to do to her. when he’s fingering her for the first time and she’s begging him to fuck her, he has to hold himself back from flipping her onto her stomach and filling her with his cock. he has to keep reminding himself that she’s a virgin, despite her begging for it, he knows she couldn’t handle it if he fucked her the way he wanted.

literally the entire song talk by hozier being ab having depraved fantasies ab someone while having a normal conversation with them, trying not to let them in on the fact you’re imagining them naked. its max w his innocent gf having all these dirty fantasies ab her that he has to ease her into.

[thisismeracing]

Twisted Love | MS47

― Pairing: Dark Angel!Mick x fem!reader ― Word count: 3.3k ― Warnings: +18; suggestive content and a quick description of sex (p in v); mentions of a fallen angel, assault, and stalker behavior; description of horror situations and death (but not too graphic). ― Summary: The rule is clear for all celestial beings: to love the Almighty beyond everything. They can’t share the feeling. It is perpetually prohibited for angels to get fond of humans, especially the protector angels. They are the ones who will follow their human on earth and protect each one. Those Angels and the humans are the same pairing throughout time. Mick watched Yn die and come to life in different forms each period, and he fell. In love and from Heaven. Years after searching for Yn, he found her again, and he’s ready to get what’s his.

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“I slithered here from Eden, just to sit outside your door.” — Hozier, From Eden

He knew the rules. He had friends who disobeyed it and had to pay the price: to leave Heaven. And nobody wants to leave the Heavens. Mick never judged them, but he always questioned himself as to why would someone freely give up their position, their friends, their home, and their God, for something that could only be classified as temporary when put side by side with the world known by the celestial beings.

Up until he met you.

Up until he watched you die and come back to life.

Up until he protected you in every lifetime.

Up until he couldn’t resist but visit your dreams.

Up until he finally realized he was in love.

With a human.

Mick Schumacher was in love with you.

A guardian angel was in love with his human.

He was cast out of Heaven by the Almighty who did it with so much mourn and pain, that the other celestial beings almost tried to change His mind. But nobody questions the Almighty's orders. Rules were made by Him and they were meant to be followed. It doesn’t matter if it was one of His favorite angels.

Mick still remembers what he said to him before judgment day.

“Son, you can still regret your sin. You can still change your mind, and the Heavens will forgive you,” the powerful voice echoed around, and Mick kept his head low.

He could only think of you. And how your skin felt against his. How beautiful you looked sleeping. And how angelical your laughter was.

“Father, you always talk about love, so why don’t you let your beings love?” he asks, and though if the question came from any other Celestial the Almighty could read it as some kind of disrespect, it came from Mick, so he only sighed.

“You can love me, I’m your creator, your ruler. I made you the way you are Mick.”

“Then why are you punishing me for following my instincts and feelings? If you created me the way I am, then it’s your fault I’m choosing this path!” he retorted, finally lifting his eyes to the sky. The most beautiful sky to ever exist. The kind of thing that no human eyes would support.

“Enough!” the Almighty’s voice reverberated around the void and clouds. “You’re being cast out of Heaven, son. And your human? She just died. You’re gonna have to find her again. Good luck, Mick.”

And so he walked around the earth, he flew around the sea, he looked at each corner until he could finally find where you were reborn. Where you had reincarnated.

And when he finally did he followed you like a shadow. Just like he did when he was your guardian angel.

And Oh- you were so beautiful, so perfect. Mick loved staying by your side while you worked, spooking a male coworker here and there. He would walk home with you, just observing as you smiled widely to everyone who passed by, how you were so full of life, how you were still the woman he fell in love with. The one he fell for. Quite literally.

–

It was a Friday night, it was a happy hour from work at a bar three streets from your building. You weren’t in the mood to party, but your friends insisted, and your boss was always so adamant about having everyone together, you did not know how to say no to the invitation.

That’s how you found yourself sitting at a barstool, your lips a bit numb from a shot of something you didn’t know. Your body was lighter and the tipsy feeling made you giggle at everything three of your coworkers would say.

Mick was watching from the shadows, a mask of invisibility around him while he assessed the dangers around the place. And his blood boiled when he saw the guy who was eyeing you from the beginning buying you a drink from across the bar, tipping something on your cup before asking for the barman to give it to you.

He transported himself to a dark hallway and walked to you just when the drink was put on the wood counter, the contents of whatever the man had added settling at the bottom of the cup. Mick took advantage of the place where you were sitting and pretended to sit by your side, accidentally knocking your cup.

“Oh- oh my, I’m so clumsy, I’m really sorry,” he used his best mask to pretend it wasn’t his intention. To draw your attention to him.

You turned ready to complain, but the second your eyes met his big blue orbs your voice died down, trapped in your throat along with your heart from how fast it started to beat. He was so beautiful, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander from his angelic face to his white button down, some of the top buttons opened showing just a hint of blonde chest hair. You gulped. He was wearing blue jeans too, and a pair of Converse shoes. What a marvelous view, you thought.

“I can buy you another drink to make up for it,” he suggested after some seconds of silence, and you gulped, before giving him a nod with your head. “I’m Mick, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

He extended one of his big hands and you shared a glance with your coworkers behind you, one of them giving a thumbs up as if approving the way Mick looked. You giggled, and turned your body fully in his direction, taking his hand in yours and feeling the chills run down your body.

“You seem familiar,” you muttered.

“I’ve read somewhere that blonde guys are starting to catch up with the brunettes on statistic numbers,” he joked, lifting just the corner of his lips while his eyes attentively scanned you.

You let out a chuckle, finally touching his hand with yours and stopping for a beat. His skin felt warm, and it was like her whole body was lit up by a simple touch, “I’m Yn.”

“Sorry for your drink again, Yn. Though I think I may have saved you, it looked awful from what I saw,” he pointed to the glass that only had a small sip, the liquid a strange green shade.

You made a face at the contents, “What are you having?”

And Mick grinned internally. You were being forward. You wanted his company. He knew you didn’t usually try to make conversation like this. He knows you prefer your silence most of the time. Knows you like the back of his hand.

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Well, I had a few glasses of gin and cola, but I can totally follow you with beer if you want.” Oh, you were so sweet. And so thoughtful.

Mick smiled and shook his head, “I don’t like beer,” because you don’t like beer, Yn. And I’m the perfect guy for you, “I’ll have gin and cola too, sounds tasty.”

Your eyes lit up, and a small smile graced your lips.

And so he kept you company for hours. Drinking and talking. You were so carefree, laughing at all of his jokes, and cracking a few too, to which he would throw his head back and present you with the perfect view of his milky neck. You so wanted to kiss and lick it.

From his peripheral vision, he saw the guy who tried to drug you walk to the bathroom. Mick excused himself and followed him. His wings were twitching on his back, begging to be set free so he could fly to the highest spot and drop that little shit from there.

When he opened the door, the guy was washing his hands and turned to him, instantly recognizing Mick as the man who stole his victim of the night.

“Your motherfucker, I was-”

Mick furrowed his brows and stared deep into his eyes.

There are things that the human eyes aren’t ready to process yet. And that’s exactly the form that he showed the guy. The form that shut his mouth, making him gasp with utter terror. Mick smiled, closing his eyes and coming back to his blonde skin, eyes now completely dark, inviting the man to jump into the unknown darkness. Something that would certainly kill him.

“Please,” he tried to plead, but nobody messes with you and lives to tell a story. Mick was still your angel. It was still his duty to protect you.

He felt satisfied when the guy dropped at his feet, mind haunted by the worst demons earth could house, and body a few seconds from death.

Mick brushed invisible dust from his shoulders, before walking back to the bar. An enchanting smile on his lips when your eyes found him in the crowd.

“That was quick,” you jabbed and Mick chuckled, fitting his body right beside yours instead of sitting at the barstool.

“I missed you, had to make it quick, or else my heart wouldn’t take it.”

You giggled, turning to him. One of your elbows at the wooden counter. Mick turned too, fitting between your legs that parted just right for him.

Looking up at him it was like you were the angel. His angel. His goodness.

He loved you. He worshiped you. And it felt heavenly when your hands reached for his shoulders, bringing his face down to yours and crashing your lips in a tentative kiss. You flicked your tongue shyly, and Mick almost moaned, holding your jaw and your waist, and opening his mouth for you to deepen the kiss.

The material of his shirt was soft against your palms, and so was the skin of his neck when you moved your hands there and threaded your fingers between his blonde strands.

Mick tasted like alcohol with a hint of something sweet and fresh, and you almost moaned when he sucked your bottom lips into his mouth, grinning into the kiss.

You stayed like this for a bit, kissing here and there, talking, and sipping your drinks. Your coworkers were long gone. And when you got ready to leave, Mick offered to walk you home which for some reason you accepted.

His hand laced yours while you walked down the dark streets, and you never felt so protected in your life the way you felt at that moment.

You had just met him. You had no justification to trust him. To show him where you lived. To ask if he wanted to enter your apartment. But he had such inviting eyes. Such a way of holding you. Of you speaking.

He looked like an angel.

And that angel waited right at the threshold waiting for whatever you would say after you got inside.

Mick wanted to do it right.

He had entered her house so many times, but now it would be different. You would invite him. You would house him. He remembers one of the verses of the Book of Life where the Almighty says that he’s at your door, and he’ll only get inside if you ask him to.

Well, he’s ready to be your everything, but he wants you to invite him to do so first.

You turn around, a hazy smile on your lips, “C’mon, Micky, don’t be shy about me now. Get inside,” you finally verbalize. “This is my house, I don’t share it with anybody, no roommates, I promise. You’re welcome to get in.”

You’re welcome to get in.

I don’t share it with anybody.

He grinned. You share it with him now.

Mick walked inside.

He took his shoes off and walked to your kitchen watching you try to heat some frozen pizza.

That night Mick fed you, bathed you, and laid with you in bed, making sure to leave just before you wake up and pretend he slept on the couch.

That morning he made you breakfast, adding an extra strong black coffee to help you with your headache. He also asked you on a date and kissed you when leaving – which he didn’t do, because he was always there. He wasn’t from Heaven anymore, but he was still your angel, he would always be your angel.

That month he asked you to be his girlfriend. You discovered his surname, and that you had more things in common than you thought that night. You discovered that he was a biker and that he spoke several foreign languages. He had gone to the military, but never into war – his skin was too flawless for someone who had, no scars, except for two on his back, which he explained were from a car accident.

Life with Mick was perfect. It was like he could read your mind. He knew what you needed at the right time, he would order you food when he wasn’t around, and cook for you when he was. He would show up to pick you up at work with flowers. And he would whisper the dirtiest things in your ear while maintaining the purest face.

Just like he was doing now.

“Tell me who you belong to, Yn,” his order was smooth, just like the skin of his stomach that was gliding over yours while he thrusts into you at a slow and deep pace.

You whimper, hands going to his back, fingers finding his scars, and gripping his body closer to yours, “I- I’m yours, Mick. All yours. Only yours.”

He paused with his lips in front of yours, breathing you in right before tasting you. It wasn’t long until you both dissolved into pleasure. His fingers trace your curves, while you lay your head on his chest.

He was so good at aftercare.

He was good at convincing you.

He was good at everything.

You never thought he was good at murder too.

It was a Saturday night and you were walking home from the same bar you met Mick. You had just met with some coworkers and decided to walk home. And you would have texted your boyfriend for him to pick you up, but your phone died, and you didn’t want to bother Mick, he was probably fixing the new bike he got last week.

What you weren’t expecting was a guy to come out of nowhere in front of you. He was huge, and he smelled like alcohol. You don’t even understand whatever he slurred. When panic finally kicks in, and you’re ready to scream, but his hand finds your mouth, while the other one grips your neck.

You remember your mother telling you that you must have a strong guardian angel, remember her telling you about the day you were born, and how they almost lost you. And so you pray for him. Pray for whatever bigger force could hear you.

And he shows up.

Mick shows up.

You called for him. Granted, you had no idea he was a fallen angel, an angel nonetheless.

Your angel.

And you were so innocent, so vulnerable, you needed Mick, that’s what he would tell himself, mainly because he was already following you. He always was.

You reminded him of his portrait in a mirror years ago, back when he was innocent too. Just an angel. One of the Almighty’s favorites.

But he wasn’t innocent anymore. He had fallen. And fallen angels don’t mind killing people that get in their way. So that’s what Mick did. He gripped the guy’s neck and held his face in front of his making sure his own back was turned to you. Mick showed him what the worst things on earth could look like, and how they looked in hell. The guy tried to look away, tried to close his eyes, but he had glanced at Mick’s black orbs, it was too late. Before his heart would stop, before his mind would get too hazy to understand everything, Mick twisted his neck and threw his body to the ground.

When your boyfriend turned to you, your eyes bulged still trying to grasp what just happened. You pointed to the guy on the ground, and Mick just nodded making you even more scared. How could your Mick kill someone? The sweet and kind Mick. The attentive, and soft-spoken blonde guy had just made whatever magic and killed someone.

“Love,” he called, and you shook your head trying to make your legs work. “Don’t be afraid,” he tried to reason, but your mind finally caught up with your body and you started running unsure of where you were heading since he had the keys to your place. Hell, he basically lived there!

“Yn, don’t run from me,” it was one of his soft orders, but this time they didn’t bring butterflies to your stomach but rather made your body prickle with fear because the second you turned your head Mick was flying in your direction.

He had big black wings with some golden feathers. It was beautiful, but scary somehow, just as everything new is.

You ran as fast as you could but it was nothing compared to how fast he could fly, and when Mick reached you he laced his hands around your body and flew up. You watched the gleam on his blue eyes, the way his milky skin seemed lightning, his dark wings enveloping you. He was still beautiful. Still, the whole moment felt like too much and your mind shut on you.

–

Waking up to Mick watching you wasn’t new, but this time it felt different especially because he still had his wings. They had retreated somehow, looking a bit smaller than earlier, but they were still here, and your breath hitched when you realized that it wasn’t a nightmare.

“I- What are you?”

“I’m an angel,” he stated, and your brows furrowed. “A fallen one. I was your guardian… still your guardian somehow,” his simple and direct explanation made you sit up and dig your hands into the bed cushion feeling dizzy all over again.

“An angel?!”

Mick nodded.

“You killed a man…” you shuddered.

He huffed, fingers going through the golden strands of his hair, “He’s not the first.” Mick’s confession makes you scramble to get up, “In my defense, they all tried to do you harm, and I would never let someone harm what's mine.”

He was so calm about it you wanted to laugh in disbelief.

“And you learned it at what… the third book of the Bible? No wonder you’ve fallen.”

His features twist.

“I was cast out of Heaven because I chose you instead of the Almighty.”

You tremble, head shaking in denial.

“Not possible. That’s sick…”

“I love you.”

“You don’t love me! What kind of twisted love is that where you kill people for me?”

He grins, “The best kind. You said so yourself you love me back, you also said you’re mine. You welcomed me here into your life, and I won’t leave.”

You gulped. “Mick, please. No.”

His eyes softened for a second, and you felt for yourself because he somehow looked like your Mick. The one you loved. And if he asked you something you would do it.

“You want me to prey on you?” he smirked. “You know you can’t run from me.”

Your love castle came crumbling down in the blink of an eye and along came your tears rushing down your face.

“Please,” such a mournful sound. Mick shook his head. “You’re a monster!”

“I’m your monster, love. You can’t deny it.”

With his wings fully retreated Mick appeared in front of you. When his lips find yours you try to push his shoulders and bite his lips, but he moans into your mouth, and the feeling of his muscular form and soft lips makes your brain shortcut. You’re open for him like his favorite meal on a silver plate.

“I waited too long for this. You’re mine, and I’ll hunt you down if you ever try to leave me, Yn.”

And your mom was right. You had a strong guardian angel, however, nobody accounted for the fact that he would be obsessed with you. Looking for love you ended up stumbling into something close to there, but also close to hell.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you liked the piece! This is the last one from the spooky pieces I tried writing hehe hopefully this is as good as the previous ones. I wanted to add a huge shout-out to Coffee (my coffee emoji anon here on Tumblr) for proofreading this <3.  Let me know your thoughts on this and make sure to reblog and leave a comment because Tumblr is being a btch and not delivering my stuff properly :( *mwah*.  

Ps. You'll notice that I make a lot of references throughout this piece, but none of them are intended to hurt beliefs or represent my vision of things. This is purely a work of fiction, and I tried my best to avoid using specific elements, choosing to go with "Almighty" in some moments and be a tad vague. I hope this doesn't come across as some kind of disrespect or anything. *virtual hug*

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[celaenaeiln]

been listening to a good amount of hozier lately and i’m just fixated on these lines from “Almost (Sweet Music)”

I'm almost me again. She's almost you

AND

I got some colour back, she thinks so, too

I laugh like me again, she laughs like you

and i can’t help but associate it with robin!dick and batman. what do you think. i can’t stop thinking.

oh my god.

THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!!

Also this part! -

"I came in from the outside Burned out from a joy ride She likes to roll here in my Ashes anyway"

This is literally Batman!! Coming back from breaking down after 3 years of fighting crime only to come face to face with Dick Grayson who grins brightly at him, tells him everything is okay, and cheers him up as if he wasn't covered in the blood of his enemies and hatred of himself. Bruce could be in the worst state ever and Dick would still love him for who he is because Dick's love for him is unconditional.

"I wouldn't know where to start Sweet music playing in the dark Be still, my foolish heart Don't ruin this on me"

Bruce fighting with himself that this isn't just a passing thing but he can't resist the happiness but he's also scared and loves Dick. It's about him opening up his windows and slowly breaking down his defenses in the face of Dick's continued persistence and pure positivity and warmth.

"Let's get lost and let the good times roll Let smoke rings from this paper doll Blow sweet and thick 'til every thought of it Don't mean a thing"

THIS IS CLASSIC GOLDEN AGE BRUCE AND DICK. During Golden Age, Bruce and Robin Dick literally were just living life for the thrill of it. They fought dinosaurs, met Leonardo Divinci, gasped at famous actresses, played pirates with Blackbeard - it was The Golden Age. The first line of the stanza is a callback to that. Of Bruce simply enjoying himself. Out with the bad, in with the good was their motto. Even the second line - "Let smoke rings from this paper doll" - could be Bruce reminscing about that time because bruce used to smoke cigars. Which he contemplates those times about through "Blow sweet and thick 'til every thought of it". It's all enjoyment - none of the bad that happened means anything. All forgotten.

"The very thought of you, and am I blue? A love supreme, seems far removed I get along without you very well Some other nights

Lord, the radio newsreader chimes Reporting Russian lullabies She'll turn to me, awake and ask "Is everything alright?" And, Lord"

"She'll turn to me, awake and ask 'Is everything alright?'" THIS IS CANON. IM SOBBING WHY DOES THIS FIT SO WELL. NOT TO MENTION THAT DICK ALSO DOES SPEAK RUSSIAN SO THEM LISTENING TO RUSSIAN LULLABIES IN THE 1950S ON RADIOS WHILE THEY READ THE NEWSPAPER?!! THIS IS!!

Batman (1940) Issue #1

IS THIS NOT WHAT THIS SONG IS ABOUT?!

[nuwanda24]

Take Me to Church - Merlin

Just realised how perfect Hozier's Take Me to Church fits Merlin:

"A fresh poison each week" - it's meant metaphorically, but we all know how literal that is in the context of Merlin. There's not a single week that goes by without some magical threat or someone trying to poison/otherwise assassinate Arthur

"We were born sick, you heard them say it" - Merlin was born with magic, he's magic incarnate; Arthur on the other hand only got conceived through magic, so they were both "born sick" from Uther's of view

"If I'm a pagan of the good times" - Merlin basically is a God of the Old Religion, a pagan belief that symbolises the "good time" in which magic was free

"My lover's the sunlight" - Arthur is, as is well established in the fandom, extremely sun-coded, not only visualy with his golden hair. He is the crown prince, later king, everybody looks up to him while noone dares to come too close (despite Merlin). He burns with an incredible brightness for his people, for Camelot, but in the end, he burns out, just as every sun will do eventually. Merlin, on the other hand, is the night or moon to Arthur's sun. He keeps in Arthur's shadow, never seeking attention or retribution for all that he has done. He has to work in the dark in order to ensure that Arthur and by extend Camelot can be safe. He hates it (remember his rant in S3E11 "I hate it, to be the most powerful person I know and to have to act like a shadow, to be special and to have to play the fool"), but he willingly and glady sacrifices his own light so that Arthur's can burn brighter.

"To keep the goddess on my side" - I don't remember if this is canon or just something that most of the fanfics I've read agreed on, but the Triple Goddess is presumably responsible for the whole prophecy regarding Emrys and the Once and Future King, and Merlin needs to keep her on his side, in order to fulfill his destiny.

"She demands a sacrifice" - this could either be the Cailleach in S4E1-2 The Darkest Hour who demands a life as sacrifice to close the veil between the world of the living and the dead; or it is about Arthur, who needs to die in order to be able to rise again in Albion's greatest time of need.

The Bridge is: "No masters or kings when the ritual begins / There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin / In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene / Only then, I am human, only then, I am clean". - that part is less concret, but it still reminds me of Arthur's death scene - only Arthur and Merlin are left to witness it, there are no knights, no Gwen, no Camelot, no titles or rank, nothing but the two of them and their love for each other, the bond they share. And I think that in many instances Arthur was the one who kept Merlin in touch with his humanity. Yes, he was also the reason why Merlin crossed boundary after boundary, making him hate himself more and more and making him believe himself to be a monster, but I don't think he's ever felt as human (and as powerless) as the moment he felt Arthur die in his arms.

And then there's the chorus: "I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies" - Merlin worships Arthur, there's nothing he wouldn't do for that man, no matter how much he insults him or how hypocritical his actions might be. Arthur can break any promise, tell any lie (not that he does that very often), Merlin will still be there. And in the end, like Odysseus' dog Argus, he waited and waited on the shores of Avalon for the day that Arthur might finally come back to him.

"I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife" - I mean, that's literally what happens. Merlin tells Arthur about his powers, and you can't tell me that he wouldn't have allowed him (after he'd have forced him to get healed and ensured that Arthur would live) to put any punishment upon him, even death, that he wouldn't have preferred to die by Arthur's knife than to have to live without him.

"Offer me that deathless death, oh, good God, let me give you my life" - how often does Merlin offer his own life for Arthur's? From the very episode on, he throws himself between his prince and everything and everyone trying to harm him, from knives over curses, to drinking poison and Dorochas. And there were so many instances where he should have died but didn't, suffering (or surviving) a deathless death.

The song just perfectly depicts Merlin's (unhealthy) devotion to his king, and how that feeds on his soul.

[3d-wifey]

Hi!!! Awhile back I sent something about how star reminded me of “Work song” by Hozier and I was thinking about how Finnick reminds me of “From Eden” (also this is long I’m very sorry)

—

Babe

There's something tragic about you

So I kinda view this as when Finnick first met Star he kinda realized what could happen to her. The Greek concept of tragedy is different from ours, it’s watching something, knowing how it’s going to end and being powerless to stop it. Thats the tragedy, the inevitably of what is going to happen and for Finnick that’s how he sees star when they first meet.

—-

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

I also think this applys to when they first meet because, correct me if I’m wrong, Finnick was kinda interested in star the moment they met and the fact that she can draw him in like that is odd, it’s new, it’s something he’s never experience before.

—

Babe

There's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

When Finnick first met her she was alone, even when she’s around people she isn’t really like them. All her fellow victors from her district are much older, she isn’t like the people in the Capitol…she is alone a lot. I also think Finnick views her in…not an innocent light but wholesome in how much she cares. And Finnick literally is close to her a LOT.

—

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

I think there’s a big part of Finnick that views himself in star, at least at the start. There’s the same fear, same need to protect their families. For him it’s like looking in a mirror, one he’d rather not look at.

—

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know

Eluding to the games, for Finnick he was apart of a career district he had a certain idea of the games that died as soon as he got there. I think the idea of “innocence died screaming” is referring to how they both had their innocence taken by both the games and the capitol.

—

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Idk how to say this but Finnick is fucking WIPPED. He just wants a single glance at star, just anything.

—

Babe

There's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin?

You can view this as the start of their relationship, something they have to hide, how they can’t truly belong to each other but there’s this innocent precious love they share.

_

Babe

There's something broken about this

But I might be hoping about this

Oh, what a sin

Again their love is kinda a tragic one but something they have a lot of hope in, despite it being against Capitol rules.

—

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me

A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

I mean…how many times has Finnick probably thought about killing snow for what he does to star?

—

Anyway I’m really sorry this is so long! I’m just obsessed!

You literally broke down my exact thought process when I added this song to the playlist

And don't apologize, I love when you guys rant in my inbox!!!

Here's a Lil sneak peak of chapter 15:

[kneelingshadowsalome]

totally not self-indulgent könig x loser engel (actually simply just autistic lmao) who literally struggles so badly with making friends and often ends up getting hurt by people she does let close so he's just like.

hm what if i am not even being delusional anymore (he is) what if it IS better if she just stays alone with me forever (it ISN'T) what if i'm the only person who's any good for her (engel is shitting bricks in the corner of the room after having to witness könig and a grocery store manager having a yelling competition for the 3rd time that week)

I love autistic Engel so much 😭 All autistic people should be held gently & protected at all costs 🩷

I’m pretty sure König is autistic too but because it’s a wide spectrum, his autism manifests a bit differently. He used to make himself smaller when he was a kid but then he got more self-aware and started to take up space and took it a little bit too far, and uh, König doesn’t bother himself with masking… Says whatever is on his mind at any given time, is a crazy perfectionist with his knives, infodumps on people about random niche interests, hits his head every other day, breathes loudly, interrupts people, will never move out of the way unless he’s about to bump into the elderly…

Whereas Engel’s autism is oftentimes confused for general shyness and sensitivity (because she's a girl and women are underdiagnosed), she’s also better at masking but look, she’s the most lovable awkward autistic animal there is! Worries too much about being misunderstood, feels like she doesn’t belong or fit in anywhere, she just wants to be held and loved… but not all the time because it’s too much! Like don’t stare at me! Leave me alone >:( Except König, König can stare at her as much as he wants and give her hug attacks whenever he feels like it ^^ (which is all the time)

So yeah they’re same same but different, Engel is more of a quiet type whereas König yells at fresh recruits, yells at the manager at the store and is an overall menace with a piercing stare. Engel avoids eye contact and is brushed off as this odd girl and when she does say something, people look at her weird, all except König. König just laughs and crushes her in a bear hug and squeezes her so tight that she lets out a tiny annoyed whimper.

He adores his awkward little Engel so much, König loves a girl who giggles at a funeral (Hozier - Take Me to Church is their anthem) and he wants to be the only one for her. If she fails at other relationships, well, it’s not that big of a deal because she has him, right? He will never abandon her. In fact, it’s only a good thing that she doesn’t spend time with those ignorant jerks anyway (lol König wants her all to himself)

[opiopal]

songs I listen to and the character I imagine them to,

Too sweet- Hozier

for a while I thought of Dia to this one, but then it was like- both my mc and Dia are too sweet to each other, and they really don’t mind it at all lmao the one I imagine currently is mephisto, cause omg, it’s so dramatic, and I can’t help myself with characters who are (not so)secretly really sweet with slight tsundere tendencies👉👈 throughout the song I just imagine him taking note of how kind and also kinda pretty Mc is, and is so baffled and flustered about how sweet they are to him and it’s just a huge beautifully sung crisis

Rule #34 - Fish in a Birdcage

luci, satan, and a little bit of Solomon 😳 I don’t think I need to explain myself much with this one, literally just listen to the song and you CANNOT tell me you don’t imagine at least one of these three,

Stupid for you-waterparks

mams, 100%, he’s just such a cutie patootie, and I can’t help but think abt him and my mc whenever I listen to this song, there’s no plot for this little daydream it’s just purely cute random stuff lol,

Computer talk-austenyo

I have been imagining Levi to this, this little day dream DOES have a little story to it, I can imagine mc either being an online friend he made from the human realm or they’re literally in the computer like a giffany or just Monika situation, but with either or it’s just a cute little love thing with Levi just being head over heels for this person he met and plays games with❤️(they totally have their beds next to each other in Minecraft😳)

Sunburn -the living tombstone

I like to imagine my Mc and Thirteen to this! Thought idk much about thirteen I know she’s high energy and smart, and my Mc would LOOOVEE that- I like to imagine them both being just chaotic, mostly my Mc going along with it to hang out with her,(typically I imagine my Mc and her old gf, but ofc this is abt OM not my own lore</3)

ALICE-PEGGY

Mc!!! Sometimes I totally imagine stuff that’s like “oOOoOO it was AAALLLL a DREAAAM!!!”, this is kinda like that, but it’s more just like an Alice in wonderland au lol,

Bigmouth Strikes Again-2011 remaster- The Smiths

luci, Sometimes I imagine this as like, him experiencing guilt for treating mc so cruelly once he experiences them passing away and seeing his brother hold them much like how he held their sister when they all fell.(bc NO ONE. Can convince me that Mams holding Mc wasn’t a parallel to luci holding his sister.)

The Horror and the Wild-The Amazing Devil

Dia and Mc singing to each other, I imagine this to be SOOOO serious, Mc is in love but just can’t come to terms with it the same with Dia,

Anthropology-the living tombstone remix- Awkward Marina, The living Tombstone

Lilith and an Angel Mc!! It’s obvious for lilith, but for the Angel Mc I could imagine that in the celestial realm, after the fall, Most angels weren’t allowed to interact with humans unless they have permission from big man himself, but mc just can’t help but be curious!

[literaila]

I was re reading ATF and I saw you said listen to be acoustic version-hozier (ur so real for that) and I was wondering what hozier songs you would give to the characters in ATF?

yay! my powers finally come into play! i love hozier and i loooove musical comparisons so fab, lit, etc. you better listen to all of these and completely take them in before moving on. this is a threat.

reader and satoru are obviously damage gets done.

see: literally anything they’ve ever done. the two of them struggle so much (and mostly due to outside circumstances) but when they’re all grown, they’ll look back fondly and wish they could do it all again. because, as mentioned, if the world offers so much pain just to bring them to each other, it’s all worth it in the end.

the tank was always filled up only enough for their getting there btw

(honorable mention: wasteland baby and moments silence (common tongue) shhh)

satoru’s song is from eden

satoru is always positive, always the strongest, but he would flee eden—a garden of all paradise—for anyone he loves. he would give up his mantle, give up his life for all of these kids, and more importantly—for you. he’s made all of these plans and they may never come to fathom, but at least he tried.

and he continues to try, to crawl to his family and protect them with all he’s got. he’s not afraid of abandoning paradise, as long as there’s something waiting there for him.

satoru might not be human, but he’ll damn well try to be.

and there is something so precious about this, babe. and something so broken about this too.

reader is it will come back and no plan

maybe it’s because of her childhood, maybe its always been apart of her, but if satoru can’t see himself as human, reader can’t see herself as worth it. her parents brushed her—and her monster, her curse—aside, and from that point forward, she was alone and content with being so. she doesn’t want to contaminate anything else, doesn’t want to scare anyone away.

it’s a kindness you can’t afford, she might whisper to satoru, but he’s obviously not listening. and just as she comes to depend on him, and their family, they begin to depend on her as well.

and why would you make out of words a cage for your own birds?

why should she see her talents, her techniques, her stubbornness as something to fear? her own mind was a prison for so long—but she’s going to crawl out, day by day. and when that finally happens—everyone will be waiting for her, smiles on their faces.

the harder the rain, the sweeter the sun, after all.

tsumiki is first light

tsumiki sees everything very clearly. her life is a simple thing, something to be grateful for, even if there’s sadness, even if she’s got those blank spaces in her heart (the ones reader taught her about), she understands that it’s simply fate. nothing to be too concerned about.

she is sweet because she wants to be, laughs because she wants to. she finds a home wherever she goes.

and sure, darkness finds you either way, but the sun always comes up. and the light will feel brand new—but it’ll be there all the same.

megumi is hard to choose, but ultimately i think he’s abstract (psychopomp)

he’s said it himself: he’s not a hero, he’s not dictated by normal morals, but he is human. he always has been. he makes stupid decisions and he knows it. and he can’t see the positivity his father, mother, or sister do.

and still, for whatever reason he still watches the world shine. he can see the memories of all of you, and he can’t turn away from that happiness, no matter how dark it gets. love and terror go hand and hand, after all, and megumi is overwhelmed with both.

but, that’s fine, though. it’s not like he can choose who he loves, anyway.

for a little bonus: megumi and satoru are both arsonists lullaby

they’ve both got responsibilities to their bloodlines, to the people around them, and their own legacy’s to fulfill.

jujutsu is simple. don’t tame your demons, just keep them on a leash.

[shellsinadune]

Harvey x Farmer playlist

I'm right because I said so. you may notice that a lot of these have sky themes, I love my not-pilot so much.

Things That Look Like Mistakes (Bears in Trees) - this is the song that led me to make this post. I imagine that Harvey has one of those 'always on' brains that just keep going, and the farmer can calm that down a bit. it's about not worrying for a second, despite the passage of time and getting closer to death.

Fly Me to the Moon (Frank Sinatra) - I'm so surprised people don't talk about this more. to me, this is The Harvey Song. it's jazz, it's about flying, it's a sweet love song. he likes this song, it's all but canon. there are probably more apt jazz songs for him, but I'm not that into jazz so if you have any recs...

Harvey (Pillow Queens) - I actually found this song through this post by shreddies-scribbles, and she's so correct. no explanation necessary.

Hey Lover (the Daughters of Eve) - Harvey thinks he's boring, and this song is about not caring about that. he's so sweet I'm losing my mind. 'true love and understanding for the rest of my days' is exactly what he'd give the farmer.

All You Get is Confetti (Bears in Trees) - this is actually more about the farmer, either pre-moving to the valley or early on when it's really tight financially. there's this exhaustion with life but the knowledge that they'll one day 'be everything to someone'. also 'I'm gonna die before you, it's the first race that I'll win' something something dying in the mines repeatedly.

Pierre and Natasha / the Great Comet of 1812 (Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812) - Pierre and Natasha reminds me of that Shane cutscene, and the Great Comet of 1812 is just a really beautiful image of someone looking at the sky while happy to be alive. something about the line 'I throw my fur coat on my shoulders, unable to find the sleeves' is so Harvey when it's performed live.

Honey, Honey (ABBA) - had a mental image of Harvey dancing around to ABBA. that's all.

Security (the Young Veins) - very similar to Hey Lover, with an added mention of not needing to have money. Harvey seems like someone who's always trying to prove that he deserves love, but the thing is he already does. he's stable and will love the farmer forever.

Heart of Mine (the Young Veins) - 'you should take this heart of mine, you'll always have that heart of mine'

I'm Just a Sidekick (Joey Richter / Starkid) - a song about saving someone you love's life after encountering something you wouldn't be able to fight yourself. I've already mentioned Harvey's low self esteem but this is literally so him. I mean he is strong and smart and all the things the song says he's not but I don't think he sees himself that way. 'I'm just a sidekick but I love being at your side' is such a malewife line, and we all know Harvey is the king of malewives.

Heaven Sent is a Coffee Cup (Bears in Trees) - something about the first few lines is so him. I can't fully articulate why I put this in here but I know I'm right. finding magic in the little things maybe?

Too Sweet (Hozier) - listen. I know. but I think this is another one of those songs where it's actually the farmer singing it. Harvey really is the sweetest person, and I think he does fit this song, just not in the way everyone says he does. That man is not a whiskey drinker, he's a port guy.

the Milkman of Human Kindness (Billy Bragg) - omg my favourite artist in a playlist I made. groundbreaking. but seriously Harvey just gives and gives to people, he cares so much for his community and the farmer. idk, this song just kind of has vibes of just now coming to a realisation about love.

I've Got a Crush on You (Ella Fitzgerald) - I started listening to jazz just for this playlist. the idea of choosing one specific person (who doesn't consider themself anything special) out of lots of options got to me, okay? the line 'it's not that you're attractive' made me laugh though.

[ask-apostle-ghoul]

ooc// Headcanons about Apostle while I'm waiting for melatonin gummies to kick in. Sorry about the rambling I have so many thoughts about my boy over here!

Apostle definitely has a maine coon cat. Found it outside the abbey as a kitten and Sister Imperator let him keep it to show to the clergy that Apostle can be responsible with other creatures. His name is Biscotti (Apostle's favorite snack). Biscotti is mainly a comfort animal but can help hunt down pesky bugs that eat up the garden plants.

Apostle loves vinyl records. Listens to Abba, David Bowie, The Cure, Deftones, Simon and Garfunkel, etc. Often can be heard humming a song while he works. (The ghoulettes are trying to get him into Hozier, so far it's working.)

Knows a plethora of tea blends to help with anything. Nausea? Lemon and Ginger. Need to wind down? Chamomile or Lavender. Upset Tummy? Peppermint tea. Always has boxes in his office along with a self heating kettle with a couple of mugs. Always go to him if you need something to drink that isn't alcoholic.

Was the one trusted the most with Copia when Sister Imperator was busy. He had never met a newborn before, so he was very confused seeing this little squirmy thing barely the length of his forearm. Treated Copia like a son, so if Copia gets hurt by someone, that person isn't going to be alive for much longer. Had to be told many times you can't scruff a baby like you can a kitten.

With him being such a high member in the church, he was aware of what happened to Primo, Secondo, and Terzo. I would imagine he would have played a part in it as well somehow. Does he ever regret it? Who knows...

Definitely. DEFINITELY slept with Nihil on more than one occasion. Nihil was honestly Apostle's first experience with sex and helped Apostle explore what it could be like (And of course Sister Imperator included herself at times.) It was kind of a polyamorous relationship, unofficial, but it was there (Apostle was basically 'the other woman' for both Nihil and Sister Imperator without realizing, he was just too in love with the both of them to realize.)

He's a hopeless romantic deep down. Doesn't admit it, but he is.

Only time he is outwardly physically affectionate is when he's high as a kite after getting his horns trimmed. Just give him his guitar and he'll even play songs if he knows them (his favorite to do is to play the dance macabre riff)

Scratch him behind the horns, dude just melts at that, but only if you're close enough to him. If he doesn't trust you, he'll probably bite.

In speaking of biting, he has a bit of shark like anatomy. His teeth are constantly jagged and sharp and they do fall out, but new teeth grow right back. Some of the earlier era ghouls made a game out of it by taking some of the spare teeth and making shark tooth jewelry out of it (Apostle could care less what they do to be honest).

HE HAS SPOTS ON HIS BODY THAT GLOW BLUE. Yes, he has bioluminescence, crack his back and he'll be a fucking glowstick /j

Now onto the headcanons that revolve around the movie.

Apostle was unaware that Sister Imperator was dying. She purposely sabotaged important paperwork enough that Apostle couldn't go on the tour like he normally would. He stayed behind at the abbey to complete the paperwork and basically work in Sister Imperator's place while she was busy supporting her son. He would have literally gone feral if he was there at the KIA Forum when she collapsed and paramedics wouldn't have been able to get to her.

Whenever her body does come back for the viewing/funeral, Apostle is inconsolable, but he forces it back just so he can comfort and help Copia. Would he ever take the chance to mourn for himself? No... denial is a powerful thing.

The chamber ghoulettes are a weird dynamic with him. The chamber ghoulettes are Sister Imperator's personal ghoulettes, like assassins or bodyguards during important events, so Apostle obviously would know them. He kind of treats them like daughters sometimes? He'll make sure they're fed, resting well, taking care of themselves, but he wouldn't be a doting father figure (he's real awkward with that.) They remind him too much of his bandmates from the 60s and 70s. Apostle and the Chamber Ghoulettes just kind of acknowledge each other in a mutual respect.

While he wasn't aware Sister Imperator was dying... He was aware that Copia was a twin. I'd imagine Sister Imperator would have only been able to chose one twin to keep, and so she trusted the twin with the Sisters of Sin to raise. Apostle was aware the whole time, somewhat assisted from the sidelines/indirectly but he never interacted with Copia's twin due to the fear of the clergy figuring that out.

[pixeljade]

Dungeon Meshi characters and the music I think they'd listen to:

Laios - No real genre cohesion, but loves anything that he can imagine monsters to. He has extensive mental music videos of monsters doing cool things that he will set to songs which he plays on repeat. Probably has more movie and video game soundtracks than actual mainstream music.

Marcille - Florence and the Machine and Hozier are amongst her favorite artists, and she has a soft spot for ALL dramatic and romantic songs, especially with female vocalists. She guards her tastes very carefully, afraid of what others might think, but will gush to Falin about her interpretations of lyrics, and make her playlists all day long

Chilchuck - dad rock and certain folk punk tracks. He's been found in a puddle of tears listening to mountain goats songs about breakups, but he never mentions that when he lists his favorite artists because he wants you to THINK he's not fucked up over it. Will also listen to classic blues.

Senshi - A jazz lover if I ever saw one. He doesnt really listen to it except in the background while cooking or working, but he likes it because it reminds him of the improvisational side of cooking, and how it keeps him moving while he works.

Falin - I think Falin likes a lot of pop but has a particular soft spot for vocaloid, j-pop, k-pop and chiptune. She's just deeply autistic about the artists she likes, doesnt particularly "stan" anyone because she doesnt approach it like that, but she does try to get Marcille into it all (with mixed success)

Izutsumi - the meow mix jingle (breakcore remix) [10 hours]

Kabru - The widest range listener, because he'll gladly listen to and learn about any of the artists people around him listen to. He specifically keeps up with top 40 entirely so he can have an idea whats in the zeitgeist. If you ask him to put on something and he doesnt know your tastes he'll default to a "safe option" like chillhop beats to study/relax to

Thistle - This one I'm not super sure but Linkin Park for sure is a regular listen for him. Will cry-sing along with it. Probably also delves into other teenage angst music ranging from pop punk to emo. Would write his favorite lyrics in sharpie on his ragged converse

Shuro - All classical. He was raised to have extremely refined tastes and can play several instruments himself, but he doesnt have much interest in music really.

Namari - I dont know why but I feel like she'd have an eclectic mix of classic hip-hop artists like Missy Elliot, riot girl music, and old school heavy metal. Also probably has a soft spot for certain pop songs but refuses to admit it.

Mithrun - I want to say he'd be into Shoegaze but like, obviously does not seek out music, so he literally only listens to whatever those around him put on.

Fleki - Psych rock, psy-trance, trip-hop. Do i even have to explain

Lycion - All Hardcore. Loves the energy and will actively mosh.

Pattadol - An absolute Swiftie.

Cithis - The sort to listen to indie pop and then EVISCERATE you for your opinions on music online. Hates Swifties.

Otta - Loves mainstream hip-hop/pop music. I feel like she'd really love Doja Cat.

I think thats every main character. If you disagree with my thoughts dont be mean! We're all just trying to have fun here