#spoiled!reader lore

[mead-iocre]

Is spoiled!reader more of a Blair Waldorf or Serena Van Der Woodsen???

oooo this is such a fun question, anon!

in my mind-- strictly fashion-wise, style-wise-- spoiled!reader is definitely a little more like Blair. She is very put together, likes her designer labels, and she loves the lace and frills and tulle. Like Blair, she loves to tailor pieces-- making sure that the clothes adjust for her and not the other way around. She loves her accessories-- mini Dior bags, Fendi sunglasses and Prada kitten heels. "Casual" does not exist in spoiled!reader's vocabulary-- "casual" is going skiing in a full Chanel 2004 Limited Edition Hooded Leather Sport Biker Jacket ($16,920) and matching ski pants with suspenders ($2,780).

the reason i say Blair and not Serena is because i think Serena's style is effortlessly chic. And while spoiled!reader does like to give those vibes, people can definitely tell she puts a lot of care and effort into all of her fits. Serena's style is very bohemian-- maxi, flowy floral dresses, a suede biker jacket, studded leather hobo bag etc etc. which isn't spoiled!reader's vibe.

[flos-obsessivus]

what if someone other than us broke the curse? would lillian fall out of love with us?

That's impossible as the curse only breaks if the cursed persons true love kisses them. It doesn't matter if some people consider Lilian as their true love, what only matters is that YOU are his true love. It will always be YOU, nobody in the kingdom or the neighboring kingdom could ever replace you.

[cosmic-cogs]

Y/N could make Megatron listen to their FNAF lore ramblings while he's in a coma

Y/N: -featuring a brown furry suit of a bear as a mascot.

Knockout: Keeping him company, are we?

Y/N: I hope he's hearing this and I hope he's annoyed

Knockout: Ah

Y/N: Henry would usually wear the suit, as they didn't have enough money to hire-

[bleaksqueak]

okay sorry I reread and is the veil a second world? and wards are people from the world that resembles ours?

Hey there! I'll reply here instead of to your first ask (unless you want a reply to both, just lmk) , but yes that is correct! The Veil is a secondary world, full of citizens and creatures both as originating natives of its lands and Wards that have found it, or in a sense "been invited", from the outside. Exactly how and why wards are brought in has not been directly explained yet, but I believe we'll understand why in time. As well, we'll understand how the veil itself exists alongside the outworld (as in, our world). Elias is a good source of information and has been recently fully introduced in the story-- the only issue is, of course, that he's not the most... reliable, socially. Well, he'll have to be, since he agreed to tutor Maia under Gwennebat's request. In your other ask you asked about the dangers of the world, and while they've been teased, I'm afraid to say they'll be More than teased before much longer. Maia's got a lot of her own problems, but she's been largely sheltered from the Veil's wider reaching problems. Most magi that live in protected Spires and follow the cautionary rules are. Granted, she may be sheltered, but that's only physically-- she's fully aware of these dangers, fueling almost all of her anxiety. She's just never really experienced them first hand (unless we count The Shrew incident), so, like with the chapter 2 opening, we only have her imagination to go off of. The Thorncroft boys and the other reaper cast members have more than just their imaginations to rely on for those dangers, though... Maia might soon find herself lucky if she can just continue focusing on her school woes instead.

[kaleidoscope1967eyes]

Dark Prince Luke Thoughts™:

Tagging: @stonegoldsxcrxt, @myevilmouse, @spacesurfing, @laserbrains, @ancient-stardust, @hansonveggieclub, @fandom-gal44, @starobi, @dailydragon08, @lex-the-flex, @rogue-kenobi, @princessxkenobi, @demigoddessqueens, @micheleamidalajedi, @lukefics, @xo-yucky-femcel-bunny-xo, @rogue-kenobi

Buckle up, this one's a long one!

Warnings: suggestive stuff at the end, but nothing descriptive

Your wedding was, to put it simply, extravagant. What else would you expect from the literal Crown Prince of the Galactic Empire?

Luke was initially against making the event of your marriage a spectacle for the entire galaxy to see; he would have preferred a small, private ceremony on Naboo with only your loved ones present.

Palpatine, however, had other plans. Not only would your wedding be a way to demonstrate the immense wealth of the Empire, it would also generate immense sympathy and support from the public.

Luke was without a doubt the galaxy's favorite bachelor--closely followed by the suave but scandalous Prince Han of Corellia--as well as the Empire's golden boy. By marrying a beloved member of the notoriously rebellious Alderaanian nobility, Luke would prove the unity of the galaxy under Imperial rule.

You and Luke were essentially engaged before you even had a chance to get to know each other. Palpatine had ordered for every eligible bachelorette from the galaxy's wealthiest and most powerful families to be presented to the young prince so he may choose a bride. Luke did not have a say in this, but he feared what would happen to the poor girls if he refused to take part, so he reluctantly agreed to it.

Choosing you was actually an act of rebellion. As a member of a lesser Alderaanian noble house, you were accompanying Leia as her aide, and neither of you truly wanted to be there. You weren't meant to be an option. When Luke held his hand out to you--not Leia, not any of the other princesses or heiresses, you--the galaxy stopped. This wasn't supposed to happen, but the look in his eyes told you it could.

Just because your marriage was arranged doesn't mean it was a loveless one--in fact, you were the power couple of the Empire. You were attracted to him the moment you first saw him in person, and you quickly fell for each other over the course of your wedding preparations.

Despite his mysterious exterior, he only ever treated you with kindness and respect--he was nothing like the entitled, spoiled prince you envisioned in your mind. You could tell there was light beneath the dark exterior the Empire forced upon him. He simultaneously respected your space while acknowledging your existence in a way that made you feel like you were more than just a 'lesser noblewoman.' And he was so, so, beautiful.

You were so genuine and real with him in a world where most people weren't. You didn't blindly worship or despise him--you treated him like a person, an equal. Because of this, he felt a strong desire to protect and cherish you, and as plans for the wedding were underway, he made sure you were treated like the beautiful, powerful princess you were meant to be.

You shuddered at the thought of just how much your outfit cost. Your hair was done up in elaborate braids decorated with pastel-colored flowers from your home planet. A tiara of pearls and diamonds encircling a corusca gem adorned the top of your head, and from it extended a veil of intricately woven Alderaanian lace. The dress itself was crafted from the galaxy's finest shimmershilk and embroidered with glimmering, crystal-encrusted designs. It hugged your figure beautifully, the skirt trailing elegantly behind you as you walked down the aisle.

Luke's outfit was equally as stunning: he wore a sleek black military uniform decorated with a crimson sash and various medals signifying his rank. A cape of cyrene silk draped across his shoulders, a reference to his Naboo heritage. As a final touch, a silver crown resembling rays of sunlight sat upon his head, reinforcing his almost deified status in the galaxy.

After over a year of planning, the time came for your wedding. It was the event of the century--every holonews station held countdowns to the day it would be broadcasted live. It felt like the entire galaxy was on the edge of its seat in anticipation.

The ceremony took place in the Senate Plaza as opposed to the Imperial Palace, as your marriage symbolized the unity of all nations, cultures, and planets under the influence of the Empire--even the rebellious ones.

Hundreds of thousands--if not millions--of spectators surrounded the venue, desperate to get even a glimpse of the royal couple. Security was tight due to fears of potential rebel interference. While there were handfuls of protestors in the crowd, nothing escalated beyond shouts of 'death to the Empire!'

As there had never been a royal wedding quite like yours in the recent history of the galaxy, there was no real precedent for how things were supposed to be, so the traditions you followed were amalgamations of ones from various cultures.

The two of you walked hand-in-hand down the aisle, followed by a procession of your family members and close friends: the Naberrie family behind Luke, and the Organa family behind you. Also present were Ahkelar and Arakhmil, his bodyguards; Sabé, his childhood governess; and Mon Mothma, your political mentor. The presence of your loved ones symbolized how your marriage would unite your two families--more importantly, assimilating them into the Imperial Family.

The premier Coruscanti philharmonic orchestra played a fusion of traditional Alderaanian and Naboo folk music as you made your way down the aisle, and onlookers cheered as they waved Imperial flags and showered you with flower petals.

When you reached the altar in front of the Senate Building, your entourage stopped to kneel behind you, and you and Luke turned to face each other, hands intertwined. The love in his eyes and gentle smile he gave you made your heart weep. Whatever your future as an Imperial Princess had in store, you would always find solace and comfort in him.

The officiant of the wedding ceremony was none other than the Emperor himself. You did your best to maintain your composure; his presence was absolutely sickening. Adjacent to him stood Darth Vader, the human incarnation of a shadow, if he truly even is human. Thankfully, you had your soon-to-be husband there to keep you focused and calm.

Palpatine began with a speech about the glory and righteousness of the Empire, how it brought together two people destined to rule the galaxy with the strength and power of their love. In typical Palpatine fashion, it was moving and captivating on the surface, but it was little more than thinly-veiled propaganda. His declarations of peace were merely metaphors for submission. The most obvious was how he spoke of a bride's devotion and duty to her husband, how she must remain obedient to him--a subtle but direct threat to the Alderaanians viewing the ceremony.

"Do you, Lady Y/N of Alderaan, pledge your life to Prince Luke of the Galactic Empire and take him to be your husband?"

"...I do."

"And do you, Prince Luke, Heir to House Palpatine and Crown Prince of the Galactic Empire, take Lady Y/N of Alderaan to be your bride?"

"I do."

Darth Vader stepped forward, presenting the rings that would cement your status within the Empire--by putting them on, you would exchange your freedom for limitless power. The rings had matching flamegems, glowing and pulsing with the heat of a miniature star. Taking your hand in his, Luke slipped the ring onto your finger, and you followed suite for him.

"May the two of you remain forever faithful to one another, and may you uphold the legacy of the Imperial Family with your benevolent leadership and a surfeit of children. With the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife, Prince and Princess Consort of the Galactic Empire."

Luke placed his hands on the side of your face, whispering 'I love you' and kissing you deeply. The crowed cheered even louder than they had before as you and Luke embraced each other.

The wedding ceremony was followed by an even more extravagant reception within the Senate Building. You and your new husband had changed into attire more suitable for engaging in the festivities: you wore a sultry evening gown with a plunging neckline and striking slit along the side, and Luke wore elegant, loose robes showing off his toned physique. It was near impossible for anyone to keep their eyes off you; you were without a doubt the most attractive couple the galaxy had ever known.

The party was filled with lively music, dancing, exquisite food and drink, and plenty of company. Prince Han was causing quite the riot. The two of you spent time socializing with your friends and families, but you also had many, many guests to greet and thank for attending. You met with dignitary after dignitary, spending more time making small talk with strangers than you did partying. In a rare instance of kindness, Vader insisted on taking over to let you enjoy the moment. The greetings stopped shortly after.

In spite of how reserved he usually was, Luke absolutely adored getting to show you off on the dance floor. You were his gorgeous bride, his beloved princess, his first and his only love--the one person he never had to worry about losing. The smile on your face and the sound of your laughter as he waltzed with you was enough to keep him happy for the rest of his life.

Representatives of every star system were responsible for presenting the royal couple with a wedding gift unique to the resources and cultures of their planets. Naboo had gifted a Guarlara mare and stallion named Veré and Set, whose names were taken from a famous folktale about eternal lovers. Aside from being exclusive symbols of nobility, Guarlaras mated for life and therefore represented true love; as you and Luke were avid lovers of animals, you were elated to receive such beautiful creatures.

Your adoptive aunt and uncle, Queen Breha and Viceroy Bail of Alderaan, presented you with a pair of droids who had served Padmé Amidala during the Clone Wars: R2-D2, an astromech droid, and C-3PO, a protocol droid. "They will serve you well on your new adventures as a married couple," Princess Leia told you. You understood what she meant--the droids were specially modified for untraceable, clandestine communication.

Much to your horror, Orn Free Taa of Ryloth presented you with an enslaved lethan twi'lek woman in what was to be the scandal of the century. You had no choice but to accept; not only would rejecting her create a rift between the economically important planet of Ryloth and the Empire, but it would have her thrown back into the treacherous slavery underworld. Luke ensured you and the woman, whose name was Yuna Dawani, that he would arrange to have her become a free and fully paid employee of the royal household.

The festivities lasted deep into the night, and by the end of it all, you were exhausted. However, that didn't stop you from enjoying your wedding night--as soon as you returned to your shared chambers, you relished in spending the rest of the night in each other's arms, passionately making love to one another.

[adozentothedawn]

Detective Conan (Case Closed i think it's called in english?) is in a constant state between bullshittery and mysteries that make sense and are at least partially guessable and I love that about it.

[muckyschmuck]

giggling kicking my feet at the fact he'd hate me (i'm literally so sick for him this is not funny abymore) anyways. i agree, other anon. let's keep the twink bullying going even if i don't even know who the twink in question is we should bully every twink in earth. also omg future miku lore is confirmed sanguinary the comic fandom wake up !!!!;!!;!!!

OK FANDOM IS INSANE me and the other persons unfortunately subjected to that garbage are more like a small commune hidden somewhere in rural west virginia Also i don’t wanna spoil but yuo will see ur husband (meow meow) and wife (miko noises idk) very soon pinktext i swear

[9kittie]

need ex hubby rafe and reader lore 😻 i just know he will forever be her man

loveee this ask because the two are so complicated with each other knowing they'll end up together anyways <3

exhusband!rafe and her hadn't even been together that long before they both 'decided' to call it off. only being together for two years prior, and now a year divorced. they both had their own issues which resulted in one specific toxic argument before she's brattily sliding the divorce papers towards him and he's glaring right back at her.

neither of them want the other to sign, but they love playing cat and mouse and challenging each other, it's fun─ with consequences.

he had short temper issues, and she had attitude issues. which one can only imagine how much they clash because she's so spoiled by him, and they're young. which results in another thing..

age difference. it's controversial. she's twenty-five and he's thirty. a year into their marriage she got pregnant, which caused a lot of stress on top of all that.

truth to be told, the two didn't have any specific reason for divorce other than her attitude which was caused by his short and aggressive temper. he'd never physically touched her in any way that's bad, they just caught each other on a really messy minded day.

he'd come home from doing deals allll day with barry, and she'd been home feeling all cranky and upset because she just missed her husband so badly! and as soon as he's entering that door to the house he worked so god damn hard for, she's running her mouth and he's over it all.

and when she threw the engagement ring at him that used to be his mothers, he was floored. hurt, and so confused because he's panicking now and it's all just so messy and she's out within the next week in a house he offered to pay off, all thanks to his real estate cameron business.

yes, he will forever be her man, and her his woman. the two are so attached to each other and can never go within a week without fucking at least once or twice. it's almost every time where she's picking up their kids that he's convincing her to stay the night which ends up with them messily all over each other and practically screaming out the words "i love you" to one other while going at it like some bunnies.

exhubby!rafe is so pussy whipped and the spoiled brat is so dick drunk, the two would never ever think about getting with other people because who else would take care of the other like he and she does?

and it's the way he's always handing her a weekly allowance, paying for her nails, hair, shopping addiction sprees, etc. he pays for everything.. and that has her knowing he's the only guy for her ever.

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, captivity, fantasy lore, abuse, murder mention, suggestive (?)

"You seem to be upset."

He's leaning against the window not too far away from you. Not too close as well - just far enough for you to feel at ease.

"Aren't you a mind - reader." You respond under your breath, trying to focus on the book you're currently reading - but the letters are escaping you, and you find yourself re-reading the same paragraph for the third time. He sighs, much like a disappointed father, before stepping towards you. And if you flinch just slightly, he doesn't pretend to notice or care.

"What is wrong, my flower?" The man gestures theatrically, soft velvet voice unbecoming of the monster he is flowing easily into the open air. You don't know what to say, really. It's been two years - or so you think, there is no way to keep track of time in this kingdom, not that time goes the same way in the elfen world as it does in the human, yet the part of you still capable of logical thought seems to think so. Two years, and there is very little you haven't already said. Very little left to be said, so your conversations are mostly rehearsed repetitions of what you already know. What you already fear - that you're going to die here. Or even worse. That you've become incapable of aging, so very consumed by this foreign land you detest that you've given up death for a life of boring, purposeless immortality.

"Don't I shower you with lavish gifts?" The noble moves closer, stalking towards you - observing you as if you're a butterfly pinned to a wooden frame under a microscope. "Don't I buy you the shiniest jewels? Not even the queen herself owns such sparkling emeralds." He scoffs, painfully used to your lack of response. You clear your throat, turning a new page - having little to recall about the last. It's completely meaningless just like all the other pages in all the other books you read. How funny, you think. In that distant, dreamy past of yours you were too busy to read - busy with work, busy with family, busy with friends. Busy with life. Now nothing gets in the way of your reading, you have all the time in the world - but there's no one to share the knowledge with. No one to spoil the ending. No time limits. No goal to it all, no final destination. So you read, and you soak the pages with salty tears not remembering a word.

"I am grateful for all the treasures you give me, my Lord." You answer nonchalantly, keeping your pointer at the end of the paper in a desperate attempt to find the sentence exactly where you left it off. You can feel him move closer to you - and the only indication of your growing fear are the shivers that travel down your spine with the beat of your violently full, thumping heart.

"Don't I provide you with all the entertainment your little human heart could possibly bear?" The duke clicks his long sharp nails together once against the other - an ugly metallic sound echoes deep into the ceiling reminiscent of a dying forest clow. "There has never been a lack of wine or music or dance in my court. I've gifted you more golden dresses than you can wear in this life. I've written you more poems than you can read." He keeps going, describing every little thing he's done for you, despite the fact that you've never asked for any of it.

"I admire your taste for indulgence, my Lord." You repeat almost automatically, the praises sitting on your tongue just waiting to be spilt from parted honey lips. Your eyes are glued to the book, but you've given up on reading long ago. Now you're simply trying not to cry - focusing your eyes at one word at a time and blinking repeatedly, manically, feeling as if the world with end the moment you let him see your weakness. You can't believe you still have so much pain in you - enough to feel loss and anger and, what's even worse, hope. Hope that one day you'll be free again.

"And tell me, flower—" His fist wraps around your low ponytail, forcing you to look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time tonight. What's staring back at you might as well be the bottom of the ocean itself, misty and dark, cold and unknown. Human eyes convey so much affection - so much care that you can never mistake it for anything else. With elves it's different - you can spend centuries looking for a hint of kindness, and you'll only get lost in those beatiful bottomless pits. Shiny and sparkling and completely empty. "Don't I give you love? Don't I embrace you tightly every night?" His voice lowers dangerously, barely above a whisper.

"I don't understand what more you could possibly want. Should I prove myself to you? Should I slay a dragon for you? Perhaps I could tie the heads of your enemies with a pretty bow and give them to you as a wedding gift, hmm?" He's babbling incoherently, nails digging into your scalp with unyealding grip. "Would that finally, finally make you happy, beloved?"

"No, no, please let go." You cry out in agony, wriggling out of his hold - but he's too strong, too massive to move. "I'm happy, I'm—" You sob pitifully, weakly pushing at his chest. "I'm happy with you. Please, you make me so happy, just please let go. And please don't hurt anyone."

He slowly pulls away, chest heaving in and out wildly. The scariest part is always his face. It remains unbothered - cold and defined like a statue of a god, his true feelings hidden by a mask of barely contained rage.

"You're happy with me?" He raises an eyebrow, foot stomping on the ground impatiently. You nod hesitantly, too shaken up to comprehend what you're even agreeing to. "Then prove it. Show me just how happy I make you." He grabs your wrist, pulling you face-first into his hard chest. "Do it, and I might reconsider my other more... inhumane methods of courtship." His lips twist into a cruel smirk. "And may the Gods help you."

As you sink to your knees you try to think of what book to read next - but no title comes to mind.

[kaiisers]

I apologize for my naivety but how in the fuck- zhongli and alhaitham know each other????

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hiii I really love the one with the harbingers where reader calls them words of endearment from their homeland, can you do one where reader cooks for them food from their homeland? pantalone's part was so cute <33

✦ You cook them their favorite home meal, based on their homeland

(Or trying to guess what food the not-yet-playable characters might like based on their region, culture, or language. ) 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

✧ It is to no one’s surprise that Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, would easily drop everything to grant your needs. Just blink and the world’s spoils are at your feet, bestowed by your beloved. Expensive clothing, jewelry, art pieces, weaponry, or lavish dishes. With his money and status, plus being a connoisseur of the ancient lores of Teyvat, The Jester can easily acquire anything you require on a silver platter. 

But this time, it was you who tried to gift him something on a silver platter.

On an unsuspecting day, Pierro returned home only to be greeted with a strong scent of baked goods. The smell wafted all around the living quarters, warm and sugary. Glancing curiously, the Jester marched to the kitchen, where he found you grumbling to yourself. You stood with your oven mittens, a tray of voluptuous Kanelbullar presented in front of him; some were cut as you tried to take an analytical bite of the cinnamon rolls.

“Trying your hands at familiar recipes, my cherished?” - The man asked with a welcoming glance while you mulled and judged the taste of your cooked goods.

“Ah, Pierro, you’re right on time. Here, try this one for me. Does it resemble traditional cinnamon rolls?”

When the Jester took a bite, even his icy eye widened for a moment. A wave of nostalgia and warmth lanced his memories, ones he thought were long forgotten. The cinnamon rolls you baked were not the average confectionaries one could easily purchase, as the taste resembled traditional Khaenri’ahn Kanelbullar. A simple treat that all children and adults used to enjoy in their free time.  

“Well…? Oh no, don’t tell me it’s that bad?” - you awaited his response, but Pierro quickly shook his head.

“It’s rich and potent in taste, but not too sugary. Just like the ones in our Homeland… I didn’t think replicating such intricacies was possible. What did you add this time?”

Your eyes light up. Finally, some progress. “Really? I’ve been mulling over it for hours, I thought my taste pallet was going numb. I tried to find any local ingredients that might add the flavor of saffron and cardamon.”

“Like the golden Saffron…? They were a local specialty back in Khaenri’ah. Although some variants exist in Teyvat’s soil, they are not used as cooking ingredients here.” - Pierro pondered, amazed at your ability to combine other local spices to imitate the taste of the past.

As both of you mulled over how to achieve the most accurate results for these traditional Cinnamon Rolls, half of the tray was already gone.

“Although now that I think about it, my divine, I don’t think it would be an issue to send an expedition to obtain that rare spice for you. Especially if the result is such exquisite home pastry.”

✧ In this house, Il Capitano is the master chef. The man is proficient in the art of survival, thus, his skills in outdoor cooking are especially shown. From simple meat and vegetables, the Captain can come up with the best meat skewers you ever ate. Not to mention the topic of sustenance and growth is intertwined with a good diet. A man his size and capabilities puts immense care into outdoor survival and health.

But even a strong Captain deserves some spoiling for his hard work. 

After a wearying day spent honing the skills of his Fatui troops, a group of soldiers that will prepare for an upcoming expedition, Il Capitano was greeted with a surprise visit from you. You arrived right on time for their break, and as always, the Fatui soldiers couldn't help but eavesdrop on the Harbinger’s exchange with his beloved…

“I brought you your meal for today, Bife de chorizo. You need lots of protein.”

“Thank you.” - The Captain stood obediently, holding the lunchbox you brought.

“With Pico de Gallo and avocados. I also put some almonds and walnuts as a snack.”

“I understand.” 

“You are preparing for another important expedition. You must take care of your body after such intensive training, Cappy.”

“You are right, you are right.”

“And I don’t want to see anything left from the lunch boxes. Make sure to eat all of it, okay?”

“Understood!”

It sure was a sight. One would think the Harbinger was the student as he stood nodding vehemently while you scolded him. With one hand on your hip, you gave him an earful as you checked up on him, generously providing him a full-course meal neatly packed in a mealbox.

The Fatui soldiers were slightly jealous. Even they could easily tell that behind that pitch-black helmet, Il Capitano was absolutely joyous to have his beloved visit him and provide such mouthwatering nourishment. 

✧ Today, you were ready to tackle and kill Il Dottore. Why? Because that man barged into your kitchen and confidently announced himself as the culinarian for today’s dinner. A simple and kind gesture, right? You would rather starve than have The Doctor implode your kitchen again.

“Stop exaggerating as if I let your Serenitea Pot house crumble. It was just a little fire.” - Dottore defended himself, watching closely as you made him stand back from the stove. 

“I had to replace the whole walls, Zandik!”

The two of you stood in the kitchen, with the Harbinger peeking from behind your shoulders as you claimed dominion over the frying pan. The whole day, he was made watching you prepare Sumeru Kibbeh meatballs, since the last time he decided to dabble in the art of cooking, your house was put at stake.

He was a scholar, not a chef, unfortunately. But The Doctor is not ashamed to admit his impatience and lack of skill in the kitchen. Hence, he helped you as much as he could while you diligently taught him how Kibbeh is properly made. He remained silent but pleasantly subservient. The sight of your sleeves raised, hands tactfully molding the Kibbeh was oddly amiable. Especially when your face was so focused on the task, he couldn’t help but stare. 

Yet every time you fried the meatballs and set them aside on a pan lined with paper towels to drain, a sneaky hand would try to steal some. You’d slap his hand away.

“Nope. Hands off! Wait till dinner”

“They’ll end up being consumed anyway. I’ll just have a small tas-”

Slap!

And it continued for a long while, all the way to the end once you finished cooking. When the two of you finally sat down and began eating, Dottore would often remain silent. You were too busy relishing the dish, unaware of the Harbinger’s appreciation for your home-cooked meal. Sustenance is just a waste of time that the human body must go through to gain its energy. But it’s not the same when he is sitting with you casually, the warm afternoon sunlight wrapping the dining table, and the warm food steaming with an appetizing aroma.

For him, eating with you was different. It was simple, but it was home. 

✧ Scaramouche may huff and scoff all he wants, but when it comes to appraising your Unagi Chazuke, no master can compete with you. Perhaps because he is a puppet, but Scaramouche has a delicate pallet. He despises strong flavors and always preferred simpler dishes, to appreciate the unique flavor of a singular ingredient. He would never admit it vocally, but he would often crave your chazukes, and it was easily written on his grumbling face.

“Come on, just say it.”

The Balladeer lamented.

“Say it. My home cooking is the best, and you just want me to cook for you today.”

“...I won’t. I don’t have use in consuming any human meals.” - he mumbled in response, arms crossed. You sighed and with a wide smile, you turned away.

“Oh well. Guess you don’t want any, huh…? And here I thought I could prepare your favorite Unagi Chazuke today. But I guess it’s foolish-”

“No, Wait-!” - The Harbinger wished to bite his tongue but it was too late. He already called out to you in a moment of weakness, and your goofy grin only widened with his desperation. 

He gave up. With reluctant embarrassment, the Balladeer admitted your victory - “If you may… Can you prepare another one of your signature Chazuke? Please.”

And that’s how you two ended up by the dinner table. You couldn’t just deny him after such a heartfelt request. You prepared the unagi meat and rice diligently, showing him how to prepare green tea to add mild bitterness to the salted rice. Topping off with some dried Nori leaves, and sesame - two bows of Unagi Chazuke were ready and looking artistically grandiose.

Light and sublime, that’s what Scaramouche thought. A true definition of soul food, as he held his bowl and chopsticks close. A rare but sincere smile would always grace his features whenever he ate your cooking, but he of course would conceal it by clearing his throat.

“Hm, okay fine. Maybe your cooking is adequate after all. Especially when you don’t make it too sweet.”

You’d laugh at his reaction. At the end of the day, it was you who taught him how to cook what later would become his signature dish, even if his identity as a Harbinger was wiped away. 

✧ Being the richest man in Teyvat like Pantalone means dealing with lots of bureaucracies and business. Sometimes, after a prolonged day in the office, the sight of stacked papers becomes dreadful and negotiations with the Snezhnayan elites may go fruitless. Thus, The Regrator would often slum by his desk, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose and sigh in exhaustion.

Now what would the richest man in Teyvat do to relax after a bad day at work? Go to the most expensive five-star restaurant? Perhaps purchase a fancy drink that costs more than his subordinates' monthly salary? No. He would head straight back home, where he knows you are awaiting him with open arms.

A single look at him and you would know he is fatigued. Leaning up to embrace him, you plant a tender kiss on his cheek - “How about I make us a quick snack, hm? You can go and take a shower in the meantime.”

Pantalone would try to conjure up a faint smile and nod. As he winds down for the day, subconsciously he knows your home cooking is like a balm to his soul. No matter how many exquisite restaurants he tried, he’d easily sacrifice all of them for a bite-full of your culinary.

And here you are, merrily handing him his childhood favorite - Mora Meat Roujiamo. A simple meat sandwich, but a staple street food in Liyue’s culture. That’s all the Harbinger desires after a tough day at work, as he gobbles the sandwich wrapped with a paper towel.

“Made your favorites. I added some extra meat since I know you like it juicy.” - you gave Pantalone soothing pats on the back as he ate up.

“You’re a lifesaver, honey. You would not believe how frustrating work has been today,”

Pantalone would rant and confide in you about his work. He would rather do that than delve into the nostalgic feeling that Mora Meat sandwiches gave him. It was indeed his childhood favorite. Yet it also reminded him how in the distant past, when food or money was scarce, starvation and desperation were his only companions as a lowly child. Thus, on better days when he acquired some change just to purchase simple Mora Meat - these sandwiches felt like a king’s feast.

Such an unadorned dish, but one that brought warmth and sustenance to a starved child, telling him that everything would be okay. Today, this starved child is the richest man in Snezhnayan. Nevertheless, he still relished these sandwiches from your hands like divine wealth, telling himself once more that everything would be okay. 

✧ Tartaglia was bedbound for some while, bandaged heavily after a massive battle he faced during one of his missions. The young Harbinger would never tell his family where his scars hail from, except for you and his father maybe. But after an earful of scolding, you took care of your reckless boyfriend and sighed.

“You made me worried, you know. I don’t want to see you move a muscle around the house these days, are we clear? You must recover first.”

“Y-yes, captain.” - Childe chuckled humorously, suppressing the soreness his cuts provided around his body. “It’s just… there is only one remedy that could save a fallen soldier like me.”

“Hm? What is it? Do you need something, Ajax?” 

“Please, dear… come closer.” - he said with a pained expression. 

You did so he could whisper to you what he wanted. Your concern was only heightened, oblivious that his dramatic words were playing you - “The secret to my healing… is…”

“Yes?” - you leaned even closer.

“... Some yummy food.”

You blinked at him, and Tartaglia immediately gained a comically “passed out” expression on his face, as if your cooking were his last death wish. You let him plop to the pillow and gritted your teeth - “Why you little-...! Ugh, you’re lucky I am worried about you. You just want me to pamper you.”

“Oh, come on, is that such an unrealistic request? You told me not to move a muscle and I would receive your scolding no matter what. Please, sweetheart, just anything you would like - cook it and I would happily gobble it up!”

You crossed your arms. You hate to admit it, but his puppy eyes were working effectively and if his appetite was returning, that means he is on a good path of recovery anyway.

“Fine… I’ll make something nutritious and easy for your stomach.”

Tartaglia's eyes lightened up in an instant. He was a simple man - if you cooked him something, he would drop on his knees for you instantly. That day, you pondered whether you’d make him some Piroshki or Borscht, but he needed something light. His health was your priority, after all. Even though Childe fancied himself a master at concealing his painful whinces, you are no fool. You always notice them.

Thus, your beloved was presented with Ukha fish soup. A warm bowl with fresh herbs, imported calla lily, and nutritious fish.

“Easy now, I know you like Calla Lily Seafood Soup, since you often had it in Liyue… So I decided to go with the local version of it. Now make sure to eat all of it, or you won’t feel better.”

Like an obedient child, Ajax felt pampered and delighted. Lunch by the bed? His sweetheart feeding him? The injuries were worth it as he happily ate the Ukha fish soup.

“If getting injured makes me taste food more worthy than the gods themselves, maybe I should get wounded more often, haha- Ow!”

Your response was another fistful nudge to his shoulder.  

Kanelbullar - in Swedish, Cinnamon Rolls Bife de chorizo - in Spanish, Argentinian beef cut Pico de Gallo - in Spanish, Mexican salsa/dip Kibbeh - in Arabic, bulgur parcel stuffed with minced meat filling (in Genshin, they just called it meatballs lol) Chazuke - in Japanese, green tea poured over a rice meal (Scara's signature dish)  Mora Meat - had to look this one up, apparently Genshin is referencing RouJiaMo (肉夹馍) meaning “meat in a bun". Ukha fish soup - in Russian, also known as fisherman’s soup. Childe’s signature Calla Lily Seafood Soup is probably a variation made with Gēng found in Chinese cuisine. But there is a Slavic variation that reminded me of his signature dish. 

[mead-iocre]

𐙚⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚⋆˚✿˖°

this is spoiled!reader and brat!reader btw

𐙚⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚⋆˚✿˖°

[msflora-lynn]

Rating the fanbase of every Primarch & their legions.

This is my opinion, I love all of you ㅤ♡ྀི ₊

Lion'El Johnson & Dark Angels fans (8/10): I like the fanarts they make, also 100 points for portraying Lion like a rouge kitty cat sometimes. Oh I also like how the Lion fans are embracing the 'our primarch is obviously neurodivergent and we love him for it'

Fulgrim & E.Children fans (10/10): This part of the group always produce the best fanart?? Or at least a lot of artworks for E.Children in general. Though browsing his fanart must be done with caution cause 20% chance I might see schlongous or booty.

Perturabo & I.W fans (8/10): I'm sorry about your favorite character. Not many of them are around though :( But so far their fanart production have been solid. I like how they kinda just chill and embrace the 'neurodivergent manchild' persona for Bo and makes no attempt to refute it.

Jaghatai Khan & W.Scars fans (8/10): Surprisingly not many of them. I'm kinda bummed out about it since I like this character. Though his fanarts are mostly adorable! They're always chill, I'm happy to see them on my feed -`♡´-

Leman Russ & S.W fans (7/10): I would rate it 8/10 but I hate stimky wolf grrrr so -1 point (msflora found dead in fenris more at news 6). Anyways fanart-wise, they're so good!! I like how they always draw Leman like a scrunkly lil guy. I also love to read their fanfictions.

Rogal Dorn & I.Fists fans (6/10): WHERE ARE YOU PEOPLE?! I CAN'T FIND YOU!! I RATE IT LOW BECAUSE I'M SCRAPING THE GROUND FOR ROGAL DORN CONTENT! But in all seriousness, loving how they embrace the 'fortify' meme. I don't like the weird Black Templar larpers from twitter, but that's just a 1% of the fanbase

Konrad Curze & Night Lord fans (8/10): Your fanfictions scares me, most of the hashtags are nowhere written in the bible, but I read them all so who am I to judge. I love how this side of the fandom just embrace the 'we are bad and disturbing and creepy' schtick and go ball. I blame this side of the fandom for making me love Jago Sevatar tho.

Sanguinius & Blood Angels fans (10/10): Insane artworks from this side of the fandom, always impress me. A lot of vampire and angelic stuff, I love you guys. Sorry about your primarch tho.

Ferrus Manus & I.H fans (all six of them) (7/10): I'm sorry about your primarch, I'm sorry he get crumbs in the lore. I rate it low because I'm scraping for any IH/Ferrus content here....

Angron & World Eaters fans (8/10): Loving the contents you guys made here! A lot of red, so many red, oh god. I'm sorry about the sinking ship of Argel Tal x Kharn though.

Roboute Guilliman & Ultramarine fans (9/10): Spoiled, well-fed, their favorite guys have insane plot armor and I'm jealous >:(. Keep the bulky half-naked Rob fanarts coming tho I have them all liked & downloaded.

Mortarion & D.Guards fans (6/10): I do not like Nurgle stuff so I rarely go there... But my god most fanfictions yall made for Mortarion x reader is heartbreaking. Rating it low because I get scared of some fanarts they make, but pre-heresy Mortarion is kinda baddddddd👅

Magnus the Red & Thousand Sons fans (100 Tzaangors/10): We are so cool and awesome, not a biased rating. In all seriousness we Tsons fans r eating GOOODDD this year (thx SM2). Though we suffer from a disease called 'inconsistent writing of our favorite primarch's power levels' and it's not getting better.

Horus & L.Wolves fans (9/10): Guys I understand, Horus is big daddy, a father, he's an icon, you guys made it clear with the abundant of breeding tags in your fanfics. Sorry that the way he's corrupted into chaos is kinda bootycheeks tho :( Wishing they explore more into his corruption.

Lorgar & WB fans (Where Are You Guys/10): While being small, they make the best artworks for Lorgar. Questionable fanfic tags, but I love yall regardless. They kinda eats with all the Word Bearer fanarts tho I've seen. Sadly, Erebus is from here and everyone hates him.

Vulkan & Salamander fans (8/10): I would like to pet them. In all seriousness I'm happy to see the majority of Vulkan fanarts are created with African features in mind ♥︎!! Everyone from this fanbase are cute and sweet!!

Corvus Corax & RG fans (Birds/10): I love all the raven aesthetics often seen in their fanworks. Corvus having wings is so cool, and often I see amazing OCs spawning from this legion.

Alpharius Omegon & A.L fans (What are you guys doing/10): I can't find much about them but I fw with the entire 'we dont know what our primarch is doing so we just ball it'. BUT HEY CONGRATS ON YOUR PRIMARCH COMING BACK!!!

:3 And I love all of you... Thank you for reading this nonsense of a post.

[redbullgirly]

Million Dollar Man [LS18 smau]

Lance Stroll x reader [social media au]

Masterlist

Summary: Lance's girlfriend isn't afraid to show how much her boyfriend loves and spoils her. Unfortunately, "fans" seem to think she's a gold digger. But who would Lance and Y/N bee if they just let it slide?

Warnings: A lot of hate towards the reader by online trolls and just toxic fans, at the end she and Lance shuts them up but if you're not in the right head-space to read this, then please don't.

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by lance_stroll, fernandoalo_oficial, astonmartin and 192,344 others

tagged: astonmartin and lance_stroll

yourusername life lately... how about you? 🍰💐

view all 3209 comments

user1 more like: life lately 💸💸💸

user2 LOL

lance_stroll life lately has been great ❤️

liked by the author

user3 Lance don't worry we're going to save you!!

user4 our guy is lyinggggg i can feel it

user5 Oh my god let them live a happy life you trolls🤦‍♀️

user6 how can you know it's happy when she clearly uses him for money?🤨

user5 And how can you know it's not? Besides I don't think she uses him for anything🤷‍♀️

user4 then your just as naive as him user5 lol

user7 she's so classy a love it!😻

user8 Can she even drive or she just wanted to take a photo in his car?

fernandoalo_oficial You are slaying Queen!😉

fernandoalo_oficial Did I do it correctly yourusername?

yourusername it's great nando, just please never use that emoji again and you'll be ready do graduate from my gen-z university!

fernandoalo_oficial Damn it I knew all you use these days is this one: 💀

yourusername 💀

user9 OKAY I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ANYONE SAYS ABOUT HER AND LANCE CAUSE I LOVE Y/N AND NANDO INTERACTIONS MORE THAN MY OWN LIFE!!

user10 i'm convinced she holds both aston drivers hostage in her basement and is forcing them to comment on her posts

user11 It's probably not even her own basement but Lance's😭

user12 nah she ain't even that pretty

user13 omg no way this post is the way I found out lance mf stroll has a girlfriend?🤠

user14 GIRL you have so much lore to catch up on

user15 Yeah welcome to the worst wag ever fandom xd

user13 wait I'm so confused... why do we hate her???

user14 bc she's basically a gold digger, like from the moment her and lance started dating she's been posting only about shopping and showing off herself and her bf's money

user12 plus she ugly af

user15 Yeah and there are rumors on twitter about her being really mean to everyone and that the whole paddock hates her and stuff...

user13 okay I get that but tbh we can't believe everything that's on f1 twitter

user14 idc she's a bitch even without the rumors

user15 I can tell Y/N is trying so hard to have the rich girly aesthetic... it's actually embarrassing😂

astonmartin Wow you have a great car right there😍

user16 more like her sugar daddy lance has it lol XD

user17 guys be fr if you had a rich boy you'd be spending his money too!!!

twitter

yourusername and lance_stroll posted on instagram stories

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by estabanocon, lance_stroll, astonmartinf1 and 206,948 others

tagged: astonmartinf1 and lance_stroll

yourusername thank you spa for having me! what a race, congrats to my favourite driver lance_stroll on p9 & his teammate fernandoalo_oficial on p5! great team work, hope to see you on another grand prix in the future astonmartinf1 💚🏆

view all 4022 comments

astonmartinf1 we hope to see you on another grand prix as well Y/N!🤩

liked by the author

user1 you don't have to lie admin, it's waste of money on her... better give the paddock pass to someone else

astonmartinf1 well, we definitely won't give it to you user1, so no need to worry about it 😙

user2 daaaamn, the admin is coming for y'all haters

user3 Of course she had to wear the racing suit... c'mon that's so embarrassing🙄

user4 actually it's pretty normal, I'm pretty sure Max's gf also wore his racing suit at some point

user3 Yeah but I at least like and respect Kelly... Y/N is a horrible gold digger

user4 well then I'm pretty sure it's your problem, not hers🤷‍♀️

user5 girl stop pretending you care about racing we all know you do it just for pr and cash xdd

user6 Honestly I'm not a Lance Stroll fan, but he deserves someone better than her...

lance_stroll Thank you to my favourite wag! 🥳❤️

yourusername love you baby!!!💞

user7 favourite wag😂 good joke����😂

user8 am I the only one who finds their interaction cute??

user9 yeah you are user8... like just look at it, it's so forced... wouldn't be surprising if their whole relationship was fake

user10 You can hate on her all you want, but she's actually gorgeous in the third pic😻

user11 YUUUCCKK🤮🤮🤮

user12 you see I would be fine with this post if she didn't have to show off the aston martin car again!!!

user13 Hey did you notice she tagged Nando in the caption and he didn't reply to her? I call it ✨karma✨ lol

user14 maybe he escaped from her basement😭

user15 💚💚

user16 sorry but I can't help it. There's just something fishy about Y/N and I can't bring myself to like her at all

user17 Guys who is this girl and why does she get more hate in her comments than hailey bieber??💀

user18 I hate how she makes the whole Grand Prix about herself

user19 no but fr... like honey, idc about you and your favourite driveeer

user20 Tf?? She literally called LANCE her favourite driver how is that about her... you haters are so dumb🤦‍♀️

user21 I bet she read the comments on twitter about how she's bad gf for not going to any races and decided to fix her image by this XD

user19 lmfao didn't probably work the way she hoped

messages between Y/N and Lance

lance_stroll posted on instagram

liked by yourusername, sebastianvettel, f1 and 330,219 others

tagged: yourusername

lance_stroll As some of you now, I am not very active on social media. Today I'm making an exception for Y/N, my lovely girlfriend I've been dating for almost a year now. She is one of the greatest, most kind, caring and selfless people I know. I don't know where the idea of our relationship being unhappy, one-sided or even insincere came from, but I would like to make it very clear once and for all that these assumptions are as far from the truth as they can be.

In my life, I experienced a lot of hateful comments and reactions myself. It is not something I wish anyone should have to go through and it's disgusting. I love Y/N with all my heart and I hope that one day, she'll make me the happiest man alive and allows me to marry her, build a family together. No one will ever again speak about her in an inappropriate way, or they'll be blocked and possibly face legal actions taken agains them. I am very serious about this.

Y/N, I'm not afraid to call you the love of my life. I never want to see you cry because of some meaningless hater. Love you to the moon and back, sweetheart ❤️

view all 4823 comments

user1 It's just so heartbreaking how Lance himself had to go through so many waves of hate because of his dad and now he had to watch Y/N go through it too...😓

yourusername love you to the moon and back too lance!!!💖

lance_stroll Wouldn't have it any other way honey!😌

user2 you know it's serious when sebastianvettel shows up

astonmartinf1 once the it couple, always the it couple!💚 proud to say we were never a hater😘

user3 i still think it's fake

fernandoalo_oficial and I think you are fake🤪

user4 LMAO nando come and get the haters lets goooo

user5 That's how you shut them up xd

fernandoalo_oficial how do you children say it? I AM LANCEY/N DEFENDER

user4 yeah yeah nando exactly that or you can say your a lancey/n truther

liked by fernandoalo_oficial

user5 omg I can't believe I just had online conversation with THE Fernando Alonso😭

user4 GIRL ME TOO AND HE EVEN LIKED MY COMMENT😭😭

f1 What a beautiful couple you are!🙌 Hope to see you in the paddock after summer break!😏

user6 "they'll be blocked and possibly face legal actions taken agains them" daaammmnn man is standing on business here

user7 Tbh I never understood why y'all hated on her sm she's literally so beautiful and seems kind as well🤷‍♀️

lilymhe pretty giiiirl

lance_stroll I couldn't agree more!❤️

yourusername oh stop you two I'm blushing

user8 Can we take a moment to appreciate how beautifully the caption is written?🥹 Lance really has some poetic talent!

liked by yourusername

user9 aaah she's still a gold digger and he's too blind to see it😂

user10 Yeah she probably charmed him in bed or sm

user11 Ohh user9 and user10... I wonder how it feels to know Lance and probably some other drivers hate you🫢

chloestroll My brother and my future sister-in-law!🥰

liked by the author and yourusername

yourusername 🥰🥰

user12 im actually so happy to see y/n replying to some of the comments and just being active without so much hate on her now!!!

yourusername posted on instagram

liked by lance_stroll, kellypiquet, fernandoalo_oficial and 299,102 others

tagged: lance_stroll and dior

yourusername they say if he wanted to he would... I say he wants to so he does 🌹❤️

comments have been limited

lilymhe she ate you jealous people up with that caption

liked by lance_stroll and fernandoalo_oficial

lilymhe also alex_albon me when??

dior Wow!❤️‍🔥

lance_stroll That's what real men do instead of trolling others on the internet.

yourusername daaammn baby

lance_stroll What? I'm just stating facts 😌

kellypiquet shopping trip to Paris when?😍

yourusername anytime you want!!!💕

astonmartinf1 So lucky to (basically) have you on our team💚

fernandoalo_oficial I call that a slay admin

astonmartinf1 ...should I tell him slay is kinda out dated??

yourusername aaah let him have his moment

fernandoalo_oficial WHAT?! YOU TRAITORS I THOUGH I WAS GEN-Z APPROVED

yourusername 🫢

THE END

Author's note: I hope you liked my first ever social media au story! I'll be glad for every feedback, comment, like, reblog and everything! You can definitely send me asks and requests for another smau's and even 'normal' fanfictions. Have a great day!

[jezebelblues]

𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 | 𝐇.𝐒 ݁ᛪ༙ ꫂ ၴႅၴ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭.

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧—𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.

pt. i, pt. ii

𝐂𝐖: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 7.3k

❏ yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye

Fourth of November, 1701

The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.

Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.

YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she’d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”

She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”

He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”

They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.

As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.

Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.

Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.

“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”

YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”

He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”

YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”

His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.

It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”

YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”

She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”

He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”

YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.

“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”

Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”

She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.

The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.

The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.

As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”

Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.

Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.

“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”

Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”

YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.

YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”

“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.

YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”

“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”

Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”

Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.

He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.

“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”

They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.

“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”

YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”

Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.

It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”

The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.

“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”

He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”

YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”

A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”

Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”

Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”

YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”

The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.

With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.

Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.

Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”

They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.

“Careful now.” 

He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.

“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”

She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”

The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.

They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN  frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.

“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.

“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”

He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.

“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”

He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.

Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.

The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.

When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”

YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”

He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. ��Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”

She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”

Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”

“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”

He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”

“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”

They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.

The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.

Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.

“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”

Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”

“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”

Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”

Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“

YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.

“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”

She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”

“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”

YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.

The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.

Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.

IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.

The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.

The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.

Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.

A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.

“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.

YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”

He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.

Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.

“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”

“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”

He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”

The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.

But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.

With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.

“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.

Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”

She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.

But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”

She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”

Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.

She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.

“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.

She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”

He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.

“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…

He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”

He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.

Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.

He had always been a weak man for the living.

Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.

Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.

But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.

But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.

The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.

He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.

The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.

It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant. 

His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.

And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.

Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

And in that moment, he’d lost himself.

The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.

After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.

And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.

And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

[leaderwonim]

𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐘 — fourteen: because you tolerated me

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. lee heeseung x fem!reader, park sunghoon x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. Y/N always knew that her high school was dominated by wealth and privilege. Upon having a one night stand with popular athlete Lee Heeseung, she uncovers that Heeseung's friend group controls not only social dynamics but also school policies and local affairs, revealing a hidden world of power and manipulation behind their so called perfectly polished exteriors

author’s note: wrote this at 11pm and just finished at 12:25am 😭 my roommate told me to head to bed but i haaaaad to update for you guys so!!! enjoy the lore, hopefully it’s not too confusing ??

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Hanni isn’t so sure what to do. On one hand, she thinks she hates your guts, but on the other, she knows that she really doesn’t.

In fact, Pham Hanni had lived across from you at the ripe age of three, your moms having shared the same apartment complex. Hanni hated everything about that place, it was poorly managed, and quite frankly, cheap.

“Nini!” Little you yelled, your chubby baby hands reaching out for the girl in front of you. “Nini!”

You never knew her actual name because you were so young, referring to her only as Nini.

Hanni loved playing with you, she would beg her mom to bring over some spoiled bread they had in the pantry to pretend to play tea party and eat.

By the time Hanni turned six, her father took custody of her. Her father worked under a man named Park Hyunwook, and that was where she met Park Seojun.

He was a fairly skinny boy, but he made himself look charming nonetheless. Seojun took Hanni under his wing whenever her dad was busy in his father’s company, and soon enough, the two of them became best friends.

They became close to the point where that he made sure his father secured a spot in Decelis for Hanni.

“I’ll quit football if you don’t do it,” he threatened, which earned him a painful slam into the door by his own father.

It worked, though.

Hanni met Jungwon in her sophomore year of high school. He was a cute, rather calm composed boy who reminded her so much of a cat. She swore she fell inlove in an instant.

They talked for quite a while, and eventually, Jungwon did ask Hanni to be his girlfriend.

He stumbled upon Seojun and her hugging after class, and even though Hanni swore to her heart that it was platonic, the younger boy wasn’t having any of it.

So she spilled it out. She told him why they were hugging—of course she did—she loved Jungwon, how could she let her relationship just go down the drain like that?

“My dad’s threatening to pull me out of Decelis if I don’t tell my mom to stop contacting him.” She explained, and Jungwon didn’t understand what Seojun had to do with it.

Turns out, Seojun’s father was the one paying the tuition. If she was pulled out of Decelis, she would never see any of her friends ever again.

“Well, I don’t care if you’re rich or not Han, I love you.”

Despite Yang Jungwon promising his love to her, all Seojun could think about was how scandalous it could be if word ever got out that his father was paying for Hanni’s spot when millions of scholarship kids were still waiting.

So he killed him. Pushed him off a cliff. Seojun wasn’t a monster—maybe he was an awful person—but that didn’t mean he hated Jungwon. He just couldn’t risk it. His reputation was far way more important than some guy his friend was dating.

Besides, Hanni was a pretty girl. She’d find loads of boyfriends by the time Jungwon was gone.

“Are you listening to me? Hello?”

Heeseung waves a hand in front of your face, a playful smile comes to his face when he sees you snap out of your daze.

“Sorry,” you say. “I was just…”

He looked over at your direction, sighing when he sees Sunghoon and Hanni all close to each other. “Looking at the newly inlove couple? Yeah, I know.”

“Inlove is a reach.”

Heeseung shrugs. “I just want class to end so I can take you out for dinner.”

You practically choke at his confident tone. “We made up literally a few days ago.”

“So? I mean it when I say you’re important to me, Y/N.”

Any girl in your spot would’ve dropped dead at Lee Heeseung practically melting in a puddle in your presence.

“You should smile more,” Sunghoon says from the table across yours, his hands coming under Hanni’s chin to smush her two cheeks together.

She slaps his arm away, annoyed. “You’re lucky Seojun didn’t kill you.”

Sunghoon grows tense at that, his eyebrows furrowed. “What did you say to me?”

“Nothing.”

Danielle grows uncomfortable in her seat, her eyes dashing around the room. “How’s home life Hanni?”

Hanni shrugs, stabbing her fork into the mushy mashed potatoes the school had served. “Nothing better than before.”

She wanted to cry so badly in her seat. But if anyone had caught onto the tears that were forming at the edge of her eyes, she would lose the reputation she so desperately worked hard to maintain.

“Excuse me.” She hurriedly rushed off. Sunghoon stands up after her, but Danielle places a hand in front of him.

“Just let her be Hoon.”

And who was Sunghoon to argue with Danielle?

She practically grows limp as she reaches the end of the empty corridor, far away from the cafeteria. Her mascara is probably smudged like crazy, and she doesn’t even want to think about how insane she might look to a passerby.

“Are you okay?” You don’t register the crying girl as Hanni at first. You had just bid goodbye to Heeseung and dropped him off at his business management class, so you were in a rush to get to your class before your teacher gave you detention.

“Just leave me alone.”

Your eyes widened. “Hanni?”

Hanni never felt more embarrassed in her entire life. She didn’t even know why she was crying so hard.

Sunghoon, despite always being around her, was never truly there for her.

Sure, he was there when she broke down in tears complaining about her dad, but he only used that as collateral against her when Seojun had threatened him after he too found out about how Seojun’s dad had been paying for Hanni’s tuition.

Hanni had opened up to him more than she knows she should’ve. She told him how much she hated her dad, how everytime she went home from Decelis, she couldn’t wait to go back because she couldn’t stand an day in that house, let alone an hour.

And what did Sunghoon do with that information? He used it against her.

Sunghoon wasn’t like Yang Jungwon. Seojun couldn’t just kill him off, he was an important asset to the Park Administration for the local politics, the same ones that Seojun’s father was running for.

Killing Sunghoon was too much of a big risk for everybody involved.

Sunghoon knew he had that power over Seojun. He knew Park Seojun couldn’t cry to his daddy about him and he knew that he could destroy Hanni’s whole life with a snap of his fingers.

But he didn’t. It wasn’t fun that way. Plus, like Seojun said, Hanni was a pretty girl. Much prettier than other girls at Decelis. Sunghoon actually liked her.

Heeseung just had to get in his way. The boy knew Hanni first, but Sunghoon managed to squeeze his way to the top within months of joining the friend group. He knew Lee Heeseung had too much of a weak stomach to keep secrets like this. Lee Heeseung was a coward, and would always be in Sunghoon’s eyes.

“Drop him.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf? I said drop him.”

Hanni didn’t want drop Heeseung. She just wanted to feel loved. Heeseung made her feel loved. Sure, she didn’t like him enough to actually pursue him—but she loved the attention and adoration he had for her despite seeing through all her faults. Lee Heeseung cared for her, she just didn’t have the energy to care for him back.

So she let herself reject Heeseung’s confession on the night of Seojun’s gala, she let Sunghoon humiliate him in front of their whole friend group, she agreed to become Sunghoon’s girlfriend.

Why? Because Pham Hanni’s reputation was too big for her to let a man destroy it.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, you know, I won’t judge.”

“God, I hate you.” She whispers, hands harshly rubbing away the tears.

“Why Hanni? What did I ever do to you?”

“Because you tolerated me.” She cries even more. “Because you never once called me out on my behavior, because despite me being a total bitch, you were always nice to me.”

You had no idea what to say, so you didn’t say anything. You just rubbed Hanni’s back, wondering why the hell you were actually feeling bad for the girl who made your life a living hell for weeks.