#we SUPPORT the moustache on this blog

[theemporium]

nicojack: wedding edition

[flowerandblood]

The First Impression (Drabble)

[ coffee maker • Aemond x student • female ]

[ warnings: angst, him being a mean bitch ]

[ description: He hates his job and she makes him hate it even more. Or maybe not entirely? A very old request from the anon. ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Word count: 700

My other works chapters: Masterlist

_____

He hated his job. He couldn't think of anything worse and more boring than pouring coffee, cutting fucking cheesecakes and signing cups for little hipster girls who then took pictures of themselves with them, grinning like idiots.

However, nothing annoyed him more than those momentary, watchful glances as if someone was under the impression that he was just imagining things, looking at him more closely to make sure that in fact one of his eyes was prosthetic.

He felt like pouring hot coffee in their faces then and asking: anything else?

Of course, he couldn't do that, and that vision remained only in the realm of his dreams. He wanted to support his mother and pay his own rent while studying at the University, and few employers were willing to go along with him when it came to working hours.

He had no choice but to endure it somehow.

He was devastated when it turned out that, according to the fashion, they were supposed to learn how to make different patterns on coffee so that they resembled different shapes or characters. He felt like an idiot when, for the tenth time, he had to repeat the movements that would allow him to create a heart shape out of the liquid, and then he had to do the same thing, only that for the female customers.

For them it was romantic, for him it was pathetic.

One day he saw a girl bending over a cup he handed her – she was sitting at a table taking a picture of the design she had ordered, which was a flower.

He thought she was probably some kind of influencer and rolled his eyes, thinking that at a time when someone had to work hard like he did, others were simply putting their pictures on social media, making a product of their lives.

She surprised him when she approached him, undeterred by his stony face expressing boredom and disapproval.

"Could I ask for that most complicated pattern, with the dragon's head?" She said, and he closed his eyes thinking that this was the worst day of his life.

Why, why did it have to be him?

"You don't like doing this." She muttered finally, trying to make out his answer from his face. He turned involuntarily over his shoulder, not wanting his manager to hear him.

"Not really." He admitted reluctantly, thinking after a moment that he was a moron, that she would write about him on her blog and he would lose his job because of her.

"We study at the same university, so I have to warn you." She finally confessed.

"Your boss hired me as a secret client. This is my last day of work. He wants to know how you talk to your clients. But I won't tell him about it. Just be careful because he might do it again. I wouldn't want you to lose your job over such stupidity." She said quietly, leaning towards him, and he froze, feeling the cold sweat on his back.

"– fuck – I –"

"Don't say anything or he'll see it on the cameras later. Just make me that coffee. By the way, you're very good at it. I even sent a picture of your creation to my mum." She said with amusement and he swallowed hard, tense and nodded, taking a clean mug from the counter.

"Right."

He figured he'd put his whole heart of stone into the design on her coffee as a thank you for warning him, and made out his boss's face with his big glasses and moustache. When he placed her cup in front of her she burst into loud, warm laughter.

"Beautiful. This is better than the previous one. He's even similar. So sad to drink." She sneered, pulling her wallet out of her bag, taking out her credit card.

"Thank you. You know." He said, tapping the amount she should pay into the terminal, handing it to her so she could put her card close to it.

"It's okay. I'm just glad I had the chance to meet you and talk to you for at least a moment. See you at the University?" She asked lightly and he nodded, embarrassed.

"See you."

[strawberry-lullabies]

hi guys more stupid zuko headcanons (but iroh’s here this time!!)

zuko is dangerously emo. like the type to say “it’s not a phase uncle, it’s a lifestyle” unironically while he’s doing ATROCIOUS eyeliner and tying his converse oh my god azula would 100% make fun of him for it

on the topic of this zuko would so listen to early p!atd (a fever you cant sweat out or something) and whenever someone (uncle iroh) knocks he’s like ‘THE DEMONS ARE CORRUPTING MY SOUL!!’ or some corny shit like that and he’d have some stupid tumblr blog saying ‘we stopped checking for monsters under the bed when we realized they were inside of us’ or him doing that finger moustache thing oh my god

he’d also have some random cringy shirt saying ‘im too busy talking about EMO’ or ‘only gerard way understands me’ (gifted to him by uncle iroh,,,, shh. hes trying to be supportive.)

[thesilverlady]

I have to say that although Matt Smith is the perfect Daemon for me (book!canon wise too), the combination of Holliday Grainger (who is perfect for Rhaenyra! Both young and older versions (she is 35 so the older version is the one she could realistically play) and Sam Reid has me swooning. It's a thing I like about fancasting that sometimes the actors are actually good for the role and could fit together.

I am curious, do you have any fancast for Viserys I ? Mine is Amza Pellea, he is a great actor and really gives me the vibes of Viserys (when he has the moustache and grey hair is when he resembles more what I imagine Viserys looked like).

And have you ever imagined any particular jewels or dresses for Rhaenyra? ( I am obsessed with fashion, so to imagine the clothes and accessories for a character like Rhaenyra who was said to dress richly is very very entertaining). Or for any clothes for Daemon? ( The fashion for men is worth discussing too I think).

Anyways thank you, and I really like your blog even if we don't share every opinion you are always very nice.💖💖

I'll admit Matt Smith didn't work as Daemon for me, but then again I can count with my fingers only 3 actors who I genuinely enjoyed in the show and think they match the characters they were given to play despite the writing.

I fell in love with Sam Reid when I saw him acting in the iwtv. His performance as Lestat gave me so many book daemon vibes. The way he portrayed the obsessed, intelligent manipulative, short tempered lover? Simple chef's kiss.

I truly wish I was telented enough to find some way to edit him more as book daemon

As for Viserys I, I loved your fancast! I'll admit I haven't thought of Viserys much so my only fancast so far had been Clive Wood (for older Viserys obviously).

Now ✨ fashion ✨

I'm definitely not an expert but I have imagination. Daemon can be prideful and vain so he definitely cares about his appearance and understand the power an image can have.

I picture him wearing expensive fabrics and leathers with lots of embroidered doublets. Later in life i can imagine he might have adopted some of Rhaneyra's coloring into his as a power move and to show his support.

Meanwhile for Rhaenyra we know from the book that she dressed richly, favoring purple and maroon velvets, golden Myrish lace in intricate patterns, and her bodice often glittered with pearls and diamonds. So safe to say, the woman knew how to steal a show.

For her riding clothes I imagine something similar to dany but with the targaryens colorings of red and black, like this one below. Tight fitting and practical but not void of drama.

She was a big girl, so I imagine she boldly chooses cuts that compliment her shoulders and chest

Otherwise if everything had to be covered, she'd make up with interesting and patterns, embodiment. I imagine her skirts would be long and the sleeves either long and wide or slashed

As for her hair, i know she canonically wore them long and braided similarly to Visenya but I always pictured she was experimenting with it in a similar fashion as she did with her clothing. I think she'd play around with braiding her hair, wearing them sometimes in half or full updo

I'm not good with jewelry but multiple rings on her fingers is a must and her crown was probably something beautiful like this one:

sidenote: this is the shipper in me doing the thinking but given the amount of extravagant gifts daemon sent her. I can totally imagine him sending her Myrish lace that rhaenyra could either make it blend in her clothing or wear it as a veil like this:

ps: thank you for your kind words 🥺 and of course I'd love to also read your ideas if you feel like sharing. ♥

[optimistredsox]

22 Sep, MIN @ BOS, 1-8, win, Game 1 of doubleheader

Gosh. Tristan Casas erupted, didn't he? Not sure there was a better way to start a doubleheader against a playoff rival at the end of the season. I use the term playoff rival with my tongue slightly in cheek. I know we're pretty much a the very end of possibilities at the moment. But the title of this blog includes "optimist" and doesn't in any way, shape or for mention "realist" or "pessimist". So let's embrace those bright sides and revel in a postponed Saturday turning into a whole Sunday of baseball fun.

Nick Pivetta, who's not been very lucky of late, finally got some of the run support he deserved. The one run charged to him was unearned, he struck out 4 over 5 innings, walked 3 and gave up 4 hits. It wasn't the best pitched game ever, but he got the W and that's good.

The bullpen threw zeroes for four innings.

Tristan Casas kind of exploded. He was 3-for-4 with three dingers, 7 RBIs (meaning there was only one Sox run he wasn't responsible for).

Romy Gonzalez knocked in the other run and still has an awesome moustache. He was 2-for-5.

Masa Yoshida was 2-for-4 and scored twice.

Alex Cora got into a massive argument with the 3rd base umpire in the first and got thrown out of the game. At this point in the season for him to still be so fired up is encouraging. I've very glad he's with us for a few more years.

We won!

Maybe we'll win again!

[ajoytobeheld]

the latest from those pesky Los Camp! kids...

March 26th, 2008

Since we missed several festivities since we last wrote it seems appropriate to say happy new year and happy easter, we hope you got as many Lindt bunnies/giant kinder eggs as your heart desired. My parents buggered off to Russia for the week…so I got NOTHING. I’m still angry. And I hate all of you smug chocolate-d to the brim bastards.

OK I think I’ve recovered now so we can actually get on with filling you in on some of the Los Camp shenanigans of late. Since we last rambled several important events have occurred in the lives of Los Campesinos!

In no particular order • We released our debut album “Hold on Now Youngster” to critical acclaim from Glamour Magazine. Sadly they did not throw a free suscription into there 4 out of 5 star review. • We released “Death to Los Campesinos!,” our first “proper” single and it got to number 490 or sumin like that • We got unsuitable prefix’s before our names in a article in NME. For anyone that’s confused by that – Ellen no longer has pink hair…I still have flame hair though, so I’m not bothered. • We met Louis Walsh and Sonia off Eastenders • We made a fanzine and it was pretty. • We went to SXSW and had the best time ever. Officially. • This blog got published in NME again, so therefore Aleks and myself are published journalists. That’s sooo going on the CV.

But to start with we began the year with a jaunt around the UK, Ireland and Europe with our lovely friends the supremely talented Johnny Foreigner (for the first leg anyway) We also got supported by a cast of sometimes younger, more sprightly and infinitely more talented troupes of musicians e.g ultcult and sparky deathcap who made us in awe of them/jealous of there skillz and slightly aroused.

We also did our first live TV performance and got to hang out in a green room, the drinks AND biscuits were free and Louis Walsh told me (Ellen) I looked like Dido. He also kept making reference to me being a Russian hippie. And so far more suitable adjectives are born: “Dido lookalike Ellen and Russian hippie Aleks”.

We started out the tour of course with the Bath Moles type gig which involved some Panther Girl moonlighting from Aleks and our first experience of people knowing the words to the album before it was released (you cheeky people.) Yes, I can now tick ‘being a Panther girl for the night’ off my list of things to do before I die, a lifelong ambition of many I’m sure. Oh and we were gifted our second cherry pie of our band career…keep ‘em coming…please.

We sold out King Tut’s in Glasgow meaning we were given a free bottle of whisky, enough to motivate anyone! This was despite copies of the Stool Pigeon being readily available in the venue – the album got 1/5 (or maybe it was 2, I can’t quite remember but something tells me 2 is a bit too optimistic.) The rest of the tour seemed to also go rather swimmingly with a gig in a rehearsal room/aircraft hanger in Reading, some self indulgent drunken performing in Portsmouth which lead to some livejournal slash fan fiction about Neil and Gareth’s onstage antics.

If we were going to write some fan fiction about these two it would go something like this: “Neil shredded out a fat solo on his guitar whilst making eyes at Gareth who so totally wanted to do him, and they lolled about it before they made out on stage and it was the sexiest thing ever OMG!.” We may release a book.

During the first half of the tour, we had the best tour manager ever. And thinking of his moustache and hat still makes our little hearts swell with love…Dan WE LOVE YOU. We also gained a new merch guy who got more phone numbers from potential lovers on this tour then any of us have ever got in our tiny little lives, so if you think being a rock star gets you the bitches and the ho’s, think again. Merch guy.

We then moseyed on over to Europe where we celebrated the album release day in Amsterdam. We performed a gig (you can watch it somewhere on the www but finishing reading this blog will prob be more satisfying), and were given a bag of easter eggs which has 400 different flavours, see if you can name that many flavours of chocolate….or anything. Go on, I dare you. Which reminds me, over Easter in the paradise that is Birmingham I saw a giant bull made entirely of jelly beans. It’s like the Bullring bull only better coz it’s like edible and colourful and stuff.

Back to business though…We went to Europe and it was chic and europey, and one venue had a large “DO LOS CAMPESINOS!” sign, so obviously our band sluttiness is infamous. That was also the same gig where free condoms where handed out, so we are also some form of aphrodisiac! We played with Kula Shaker in Halden which was nostalgic, and did the Black Sessions in Paris which was a bit of a honour. Tom managed to accidentally offend Antwerp by speaking in French instead of Flemish but we also managed to offend them by being generally rubbish. We saw the beauty of the eiffel tower on a chilly day filled with the colours of the autumn leaves, we slumped against the soft cushions of the back lounge of the bus whilst watching the wonder that is the back to the future trilogy (I can’t believe you just off-handedly mentioned the back to the future thing. That fact does not deserve to be reduced to just part of a sentence, it needs it’s own paragraph or blog. It was one of the biggest achievements of tour for me…) and Aleks, Tom and myself went on Italian MTV and got asked about the music scene in Glasgow.

We also went to SXSW and drank margaritas and sold our souls for various free sunglasses and hair products (well we did) and saw Why? and Fight Like Apes and Times New Viking and they were all amazing, and we once again felt a little bit humbled. I also got to wear my straw hat which was obviously very exciting (and no it doesn’t make me look like a ginger version of Kooky Kooks Luke) and visited the Mecca of Wholefoods coz apparently the chain was established in Austin. Sadly there wasnt much in the way of celeb spotting, except did see a man who looked like Bill Bailey. Aleks saw the NERD and Harriet saw Robyn! Also I tried playing the fun game of how many people were wearing there sunglasses in a inappropriate context, I think it rounded up to 40,000. Me, Ellen and Harriet did an interview where the idea for our side project ‘Periods and Make-up’ was born. Watch. This. Space.

I also celebrated my birthday there in a lovely bar called Coyote Ugly (LIKE THE FILM) where I had to order a drink between two dancing ladies pretending to lez up. Best Birthday Eva! Also I saw bats fly out of a bat cave whilst on a dawsons creek style jetty and I think they were trying to spell out Happy birthday. But I also saw a duck being raped….I dont think that was for my birthday.

This is how excited she got. The duck rape is taking place just out of shot.

We leave you with one of the best comments we’ve eavesdropped this year so far: “I can’t tell if that person’s a tramp or trendy” Aleks and Ellen x.o.x.o

[finerllines]

you and that moustache [football!h]

a/n: hello! i am back with another blurb for football h that is inspired by my love for ted lasso <3 reblogs and comments are always appreciated and if you have any ideas for this au please lmk!!

summary: harry hates how much y/n loves ted lasso

wc: 900+

cw: none :D

///

y/n doesn’t wait for Harry as she carefully balances her bowl of leftovers on her bed and leans forward to press ‘play’ on her laptop. The familiar cold open immediately puts a smile on her face.

“What are we watching today, love?” he asks, carrying his own dinner to join his girlfriend on the bed. “Again? We’ve watched Ted Lasso so many times already.”

“Shh. You said I can pick today and I wanna watch Ted Lasso.”

Harry grumbles to himself, mocking y/n when she laughs at the show. It’s not that he doesn’t like Ted Lasso, he found it funny the first three times they had watched it. But this must be nearing the tenth time and he is getting sick of it. Not just sick of rewatching the same episodes over and over, but sick of the show in general.

Ever since the show aired, y/n has been obsessed, even by her usual standards. She started a new side blog dedicated to the show and even though there hasn’t been a new episode in months, she is still consistently making gifs and photosets. Now, Harry likes to think he is a supportive boyfriend. He has never made fun of her having fan blogs or laughed at her when she cries over shows, but he is finding it difficult to not feel annoyed.

At first, he thought this would be a fun way to get y/n more interested in football because despite having been to a good number of his football matches, she really only goes to cheer when his team gets introduced and wish him congratulations after. He isn’t even confident that she knows any of the rules. Well, she probably didn’t before Ted Lasso, but after the first season, she wouldn’t stop asking about what ‘off-side’ meant and whether teams really did fun formations.

Harry was all excited too, thought that she had suddenly developed a new love for football. Now, he can safely say all his excitement has died.

“I don’t understand why you love this show, you don’t even like football.”

“Well, maybe I do like football now.”

He scoffs. “Then why are ya watching a bloody show, love? You’ve got a fit footballer at your beck and call. I can bring you to the field tomorrow. Fuck Roy Kent.” His tone coming across more serious than he intended.

“Well, it’s less about the footballers and more about Ted.”

“Ted?” he asks, almost offended. “All this time you’ve been crushin’ on Ted?”

She doesn’t answer, choosing to shove a large spoonful of food into her mouth instead.

Harry can’t let this go; he doesn’t understand.

“What is it about this ‘Ted’ then? He’s old.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s funny, kind, has a moustache …”

“Please, I’m funny and kind, and I can grow a moustache.”

“Can you really?” she asks, attention pulled away from the screen for the first time this entire conversation.

“That bloody moustache. You didn’t tell me you like moustaches. You never gave me a fair shot!”

y/n catches onto the seriousness in Harry’s voice. She pauses the show and gently pinches his chin so that they are facing each other.

“Harry, are you mad at me?” she asks softly.

He pouts. “No.”

“Lovie, I love you and I am very attracted to you. I think you’re the hottest man alive, hotter than Ted. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were so upset by this stupid crush, but I love you the most and it’ll take more than a moustache to make me stop. Okay? I’ll shut up about the show, I promise.”

With both hands she cups his face gently and he closes his eyes momentarily at the contact as he leans further into her palm. “I’m sorry, I’m being stupid and jealous. I just … I couldn’t make you like football and this stupid fake football team can. I don’t know, I know you love me, but this one’s just a bit too real.”

“Oh Harry, that’s because you are more than just some football guy to me. There are so many cooler, more lovable things about you than how good you are at football. No need to be jealous okay.”

“Okay, but I’m still a little hurt so I think I need to be little spoon again tonight.”

She rolls her eyes at her needy boyfriend. “My big baby, of course I’ll cuddle you.”

Still wearing a pout, he tugs at her hips to pull her to nestle in between his legs and lean against his body. One hand stays wrapped around her waist while the other slowly spoons his dinner into his mouth cautiously.

“You can watch your dumb show now.”

y/n tilts her head up to press firm kisses under his jaw, snuggling into Harry’s warmth. The best way to watch her favourite show, she discovered, is wrapped in her boyfriend’s arms, surrounded by his scent.

“Wait ‘til my moustache grows out,” he whispers into her ear, “then you’ll lose your mind.”

She thinks she just might.

[variousqueerthings]

okay okay some trans guy daniel vibes

3. After Highschool

I extend my continuous wishes and deepest gratitude at any and all trans!daniel headcanons sent my way/tagged with this blog 🥰

light cw for very mild mention of what daniel's and silver's relationship might have been

also this one's just a tad sadder, sorry

1. the trials and tribulations of his first karate mishaps continued after highschool, as we know

2. those times sucked -- however, neither Chozen, nor Kreese and Silver knew that he was trans, so the ways in which they sucked weren't directly related to being outed, although in a vaguer sense, they affected him just as intensely...

2.5 (alternatively, if Daniel was really drawn into Silver's net and/or Daniel thought he was in love, there's the possibility that he told him, which is potentially terrifying and is going to be its own dark-post musing)

3. he told Kumiko during the months they were rebuilding Tomi village, in a roundabout, stuttery way, because hell, he didn't even have much of an official language for it and then to simplify what he wasn't even really practised in talking about in the first place (the only people he'd ever "told," he realized in that moment, were Ali and Kumiko), but -- like so much else between them -- they always had a communication that worked beyond simple words

like with Ali, that was never the problem. unlike with Ali, he thought he might have been ready for this relationship. this time around it was just life that decided it wasn't gonna work out. the heartbreak was tinged with the fear that many people have that something good and deeply understood cannot be replicated again, but for Daniel it was the growing knowledge that every relationship he was ever going to have would need to include some kind of "Moment Of Acceptance"

and that was a sort of grief all on its own. to think that he had to prove that worth over and over again, for something that was just who he was -- that he, Daniel, wasn't enough as he was

4. what he learned from the 85' tournament was, as we know, that you couldn't trust that men had good intentions towards you. after that year he would start to become alienated from trying to form deep bonds with most people for 35 years.

this -- in connection with being trans -- had its ups and downs.

He continued to form a masculinity that felt authentic to him, but he was also incredibly lonely, and struggled with the idea of what being a man is supposed to be like in the company of other men (if only he and Johnny had been friends huh). there were individuals - like Miyagi, or the nameless boy he kissed one time he was in a gay bar, but straight, cisgender - although obviously that term wasn't around in the late 80s/early 90s - men weren't people he had a lot in common with, and gay and bisexual men... well, growing up in the 80s didn't really inspire him to create those connections for several reasons

there was also an added impetus to be straight: if you wanted any kind of medical support, you had to "prove" you were a heterosexual (see, Lou Sullivan). Daniel liked women, and was afraid of men. the Gay Rights movement wasn't for him, as far as he was aware, and there was very little support for community finding as a transsexual (at the time and for a long time later, it was encouraged to assimilate, read: not try to find other trans people, and the Gay community wasn't uniformly trans-inclusive)

5. these were the years were Daniel cemented who he was going to be for the next long, long time. still vibrant, still friendly, still attempting - always - to offer kindness, but withdrawn from creating deeper community connections with anyone

6. he also had - over a prolonged period of time - top and bottom surgeries, and got on T.

7. (his girlfriend at the time thought this moustache was charming, and she was right)

8. he was never out at any of his workplaces, and he possessed enough charm for five men, so getting on the up-and-up when he started to work at his first car dealership was easy for him. in that space he was able to feel accomplished

9. in many ways he did succeed in becoming the man he wanted to be. but this was also the time when he learned how much closeness and companionship he would have to sacrifice to simply be

10. he would never, ever forget those events that shaped the opening salvo of these years, but he would -- with time -- feel that ache lessen, in the same way the grief over his father's death had lessened

11. and one day, he met Amanda...

[maverick-werewolf]

Vampire Fact #3 - Fangs

Time for something incredibly important - something that, today, most people immediately associate with vampires and will think of first the moment you say “vampire,” maybe even as quickly as or before actual blood.

Fangs! We all love fangs. Well, I do, anyway. But did vampires actually have fangs in folklore? The answer will surprise you - and it all comes down to the story behind vampire bats.

The answer is... No.

In folklore, vampires did not have fangs.

Although there are many elements to what we think of as vampires today that were popularized by pop culture but have their roots in folklore (more on those in later facts!), fangs stand out incredibly as something that came 100% from pop culture, not from folklore at all.

Vampires in fangs did not always physically drink blood: many folklore vampires take ethereal forms instead of corporeal: mists that drain the life-force or blood from their victims. Others, it is not really specified how they retrieved the blood, only that they did. Still others bite the neck/throat, but they don’t have fangs, they just use their teeth. Still others were a little more like cannibals than what we think of as vampires today.

So where could the fangs have come from?

The vampire who popularized fangs was, of course, Count Dracula from Bram Stoker’s Dracula, published in 1897.

There are several instances where Dracula is specified to have “sharp teeth,” though the word “fangs” is never actually used in the book. “Sharp white teeth,” in particular, is a very common phrase...

The mouth, so far as I could see it under the heavy moustache, was fixed and rather cruel-looking, with peculiarly sharp white teeth; these protruded over the lips [...]

The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely; he answered:— [...]

noticing his quiet smile, with the sharp, canine teeth lying over the red underlip [...]

I could feel the soft, shivering touch of the lips on the super-sensitive skin of my throat, and the hard dents of two sharp teeth, just touching and pausing there. 

When Lucy is described as turning into a vampire, her teeth too become sharp...

In particular, by some trick of the light, the canine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest. 

Lucy, after becoming a vampire, is continually described as having such sharp teeth, like Dracula. So where did he get the idea?

Vampire bats. Another passage from Dracula...

Can you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their veins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them, and then—and then in the morning are found dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?” 

Something to bear in mind: vampire bats are not native to Europe. Vampire bats were discovered in the New World in 1810. Bats in Europe did not include any “vampiric” species.

The newly-discovered bats were named “vampire bats” because of the fact that they drink blood, not because they have fangs. Thus, while the bats got their name from vampire legends, the vampire legends got their fangs from the bats.

Something else interesting: although Dracula certainly popularized vampires with fangs, it’s debatable if Bram Stoker was the first to have the idea. In 1819, John William Polidori published The Vampyre. In it, the vampire is not actually specified to have fangs, but someone does see the mark of the vampire on the victim’s throat, from “teeth opening the vein,” and we do know that Bram Stoker took great inspiration from this book when writing Dracula. There was also Varney the Vampire, but he’s like the weird cousin, and he didn’t come before Polidori’s vampire, though he did exhibit almost all the same popular modern vampire tropes that Dracula does.

But Dracula was the more successful (and better-written) novel, so it is the one that became incredibly famous and timeless. It is to Dracula that we owe the overwhelming majority of our concepts of modern pop culture vampires - and greatest among those aspects is the fangs, which originate from pop culture alone.

Now, you may have heard that vampires in folklore do in fact have fangs - because so many modern books that claim to be on folklore about things like vampires and werewolves have plenty of false information in them and will make claims like werewolves that are weak to silver - and vampires that have fangs or some other relation to bats. Why is this? Because they don’t do good enough source checking and they believe whatever they read.

The trouble with these is that they are simply inaccurate. This really shows when you go back to older sources that were published well before these concepts arose in pop culture - and you find that, back then, even just a little bit closer to when people had many more widespread and truly believed concepts of these things (and certainly in the primary sources: the actual stories about them at the time of their belief), they didn’t talk about things like silver in relation to werewolves or fangs on vampires at all. Why? Because it was conceptualized entirely by modern or relatively modern popular culture, not folklore.

So there you have it! One of everyone’s favorite aspects of vampires comes from pop culture alone, not from folklore. Hey, I’m not saying folklore is always better. Just usually and in most aspects. Pop culture has some good ideas, too!

(If you like my blog, be sure to check out my other stuff! And please consider supporting me on Patreon - not only will you help me keep this blog running, but you get access to cool stuff in return!)

Patreon --- Vampire Fact Masterlist --- Wulfgard, my fantasy setting and novels --- Werewolf Fact Masterlist --- Twitter

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 04

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: A sprinkle of jealous werewolf!Jaebeom and poor yet adorable attempts at coming across as human.

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

There are a lot of extraordinary people in the world, but you often don’t find them remarkable until you happen to stumble upon  and talk to them. The wolfish man holding tightly onto my hand, his arm draped across my shoulders, as we swagger over the pavement to his home above Paper Souls is such a curious person.

The good hour he dozed off hasn’t helped his sickly state. Even though he was nestled comfortably against me, occasionally a pained delirious whine fell from his panting lips as his features turned into a grimace. Upon waking, Jaebeom tried to dismiss his symptoms as nothing to worry about, but I insisted on getting him home as soon as possible.

“I’m sorry I ruined our outing,” he murmurs, voice strained. As we ascend the stairs to his apartment, he keeps his head bent low to focus on his steps.

Step by step. One foot before the other. There you go.

“It’s not your fault you got sick,” I reply, keeping a close eye on his movements to offer additional support if needed.

He turns his head to me, a few long black locks partially concealing the sweat on his brow. For a moment, it seems as if he wants to protest yet decides against it. Henceforth, what I get in reply is a hum resigning in the notion it’s indeed not his fault.

Is your condition causing this?

The question burns hot on the tongue, but I swallow it down. Hopefully, we’ll get to talk about it properly sometime in the future. 

The day we know each other.

We make it to the top, albeit not effortlessly since I have to steady him when he almost trips on the last step. Panic and instinct rush through me when Jaebeom threatens to topple over, so I act quickly and shoulder more of his weight after clumsily steadying us both on the narrow staircase. 

“Are you going to be alright?” I ask, out of breath. The adrenaline of the potential danger has spent whatever energy I had, the muscles in my limbs melted.

“I will be,” he weakly answers. 

I gently let his arm glide from my shoulders, the removal of the weight simultaneously a relief and a missed presence. The attempt at letting him stand on his own feet is successful, although his hand shakes as he unlocks the front door.

The feverish fingers glide from the doorknob to entwine with mine once more before his tongue runs over my lips again. Despite this being the third time it happens, it still doesn’t fail to bewilder me nor bring a boyish smirk to his face when I look at him, speechless.

“Thanks. Today nice. I-,” he starts up and averts his gaze to the side, a rosy flush on his cheeks, “I mean, today was nice.”

I put my hand on the side of his face, gently compelling him to look at me. A cheeky idea rises in my mind, tempting me to go against my very nature.

Which I do.

Standing on the tips of my toes, I close my eyes and give him a peck on the cheek. The action surprises us both because he looks utterly gobsmacked when I have gathered very piece and sliver of the courage needed to look up at him.

However, before I can utter a word, a hesitating hand reaches out to carefully brush against my cheek, the touch as light as the fall of a feather on porcelain. The gentleness of the contact forms a funny contrast to the roughness when he firmly presses his lips on mine the second after.

Musk mingled with the musty perfume of books, warmth of spices and bitter coffee with a hint of fresh cologne fills my nose and overtakes the senses. My brain short-circuits, filled with a strange primal instinct no one has ever awakened before. Notwithstanding, something in the way our bodies harmonize in the small yet passionate contact triggers it, leaving me wanting more.

Skin on skin.

Just us.

But it’s too early and we barely know each other. This isn’t right. Not now, at least.

Hence is why I pull away, taking a step back with the imprint of his moustache ticklish on my lips. 

A whimper like an abandoned puppy erupts from his throat as he chases after my mouth. Nevertheless, when I take a step back to avoid further contact, he gives up and lowers his head. However, as rapidly as disappointment had overtaken him, he rights himself and clears his throat. When he speaks up, the words come out in a mumbled mess. “I- I’m sorry. That was too direct.”

“No, it’s fine,” I reassure him, vaguely gesturing with one hand while I rub the back of my neck with the other. “I- I liked it, but let’s not- Do you... really see me that way?”

“In what way?” he asks, blinking as he gives me a blank look. But, the meaning dawns on him after a moment in which I badly try to articulate what I mean. 

He grabs my right wrist, the one he bit, and holds it up for me to see. The broken skin has already healed a bit, but it’s still sensitive and throbbing, especially now that JB puts pressure on it. “I didn’t do this out of some de- del- confused?”

“Delirious?” I help him, wondering what point he is about to try and convince me of. 

“Delirious! I didn’t do this out of a delirious frenzy. This means something to me. Something important. To me, this is us.” JB takes in a deep breath to steady himself, his voice strained as he seems to hold something in. “What I want for us. And I want others to know this because you’re my territory.”

“I’m just a friend.”

And scared of losing you to Love.

“You are, but you’re also more to me. I know you said you want to take things slow and I agree with that.’’ His expression softens, dark eyes filled with tender affection. ‘’However, I want you to know how I really feel about you.”

“I don’t want to risk our friendship.”

“Me too. Yet,” he closes the distance and cups my face, his thumbs lovingly brushing my cheeks, “you deserve to know my intentions. Know I want to take the risk when you’re ready to do so too.”

“Thank you.” I run my hands over his arms, his body heat warming my palms through the fabric of the sleeves. It’s a pleasant thought, knowing he is there to catch me should my knees give out. Which is likely to happen as the leftover tension from our trip upstairs fades and affection fills the heart. 

“For what?”

“Waiting.”

Until I figure out when it’s the right time.

He nips at the tip of my nose, his tongue cheeky in its feather light touch. “I always will. Do you have any plans tomorrow?”

“I’m going out for tea with a friend.” The delight in his expression sours as it did in the park, the confident playfulness replaced by a vicious brooding. The autumn chill cools my face, the warmth and safety of his hands fallen away. 

Turned to stone by the suppressed vehemence, I stumble over my words as I swiftly explain myself. “She is an old friend I met at university. We go out for tea or coffee often, especially before I have to go on a trip.”

“Ah, I see.” He hangs his head in remorse, but perks up immediately as if remembering something. “I got you something. Wait here.”

He rushes inside, coming back soon after with two books in his hands which he holds out to me. A collection of Keats’s poems and Songs of Innocence and Experience by William Blake.

The books I read when we met.

“For you,” JB happily announces, the bright proud ring in his voice distorting it to sound like a bark. “So you have something to read when you’re away.”

 “Thank you so much. That’s so sweet of you.” I accept the gift, showing my gratitude in the brush over his fingers as I take the books from his hands. “I should get you something in return.”

“Just send me a reminder to take my medication every day.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s all I want.”

I nod. “I can do that.”

“And a text you arrived home safely.”

“Of course.”

“And let me pick you up from the airport when you come back.”

“My, do you have any other demands?”

Lips pursed as if seriously considering the rhetorical remark, Jaebeom tilts his head to the side. “Well, eating together again would be nice. Maybe we can go around town and try out various cafés and go bookshop hopping? I could also cook for you at least once a week, though I’ll have to ask Jinyoung to teach me.”

Oh my God, he really is serious.

Before he continues adding to the evidently growing list, I cut him off. “Okay, okay, I hear you. One thing at a time, alright?”

“Right,” he chuckles, “one thing at a time.”

“I’m gonna go.” With a heavy heart full of reluctance, I initiate our goodbyes. “Go to bed and get some rest before your fever worsens. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Can I have one more kiss?”

“Of course.”

I stand on the tip of my toes and tenderly press my lips against his. “Goodnight, Jaebeom.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

I ascend the stairs, but do not head home immediately. Instead, I remain where I stand and turn around to wave at the wolfish man gazing down at me.

One more moment with him.

Before I set off on the homebound journey in the next.

Above, the moon is waning.

Yesterday evening, Morgan sent pictures of the place she has chosen for our next tea adventure, lyrical about the interior. Since the moment we met, in our first year of studying journalism at the local university, we have been visiting coffee shops and tea rooms around the country and occasionally written an article about them for the university’s blog. Our adventures always begin the same, never having changed in the six years we have known each other.

A picture.

And a rant about aesthetics, reviews, and the potential of having discovered a hidden gem.

The latter might be the case of Moon Bunny Coffee and Tea, a tea room inspired by the French countryside. The far wall is made of bare brick, which forms a strangely yet nice contrast to the white wooden furniture and neatly set tables. From the speakers in the corners of the establishment, instrumental pieces and French songs alternate each other to enhance the atmosphere that makes one feel as if they are truly in France. And if the interior does nothing for the imagination, the pastries and beverage names noted in French on the menu will do the trick. 

It’s only recently opened and is run by a young couple. Élise, the owner, has opened this establishment after working in various patisseries in Paris during her teenage years. However, she has now settled here with who I actually presume rather than know is her partner. According to the context Morgan sent, the tall guy with pale blond hair, oval narrow face and a leather necklace with a strange bauble - that seems to change colour - hanging from it is called Mark. The level of familiarity between the two as they work makes it easy to assume there is more than friendship, hence the suspected relation between the two.

“So, have you seen him again?” Morgan takes a sip of her cinnamon and apple tea, a smirk on her cherry red lips.

I told her about Jaebeom and the strange first encounter with him. Regardless of the weird amiability that grew between us as the hours passed in each other’s company, I could not help but remain wary. After all, the bookseller has a particular reputation thanks to the rumours created by the local gossip mill. In hindsight, it’s idiotic I used those groundless stories in my analysis or, rather, overanalysis of the kindness he showed me. Yet, I did, though they sound as absurd as they did before now that I know him better.

Notwithstanding, whereas I was losing my sanity anxious bit by anxious bit as I told her about it over the phone, Morgan’s enthusiasm grew at the same rate. Each argument in favour of the concern about my strangeness or far-fetched theory he was merely polite, she countered with a more realistic view on the situation. In the end, it’s also her input which led to me dropping by Paper Souls on the way to work and back on a daily basis.

And I’m glad she’s part of the reason I did because I might otherwise have given up after the third day of seeing the bookshelves cast in shadows. 

“I have,” I admit, unable to suppress a smile at the memory of our outing to the park.

And what came after.

The memory of the chafing of his moustache triggers a phantom of the loving warmth of his lips on mine. Cheeks heat up, remembering the roughness of his sturdy hands. A sharp sting followed by a throbbing treks through my wrist again, the half-healed wound suffering from a pleasant phantom pain.  

“Judging by that grin of yours, you’re not telling me everything.” Morgan cuts her scone in half and smears some of the homemade strawberry jam it comes with on one half, followed by a dollop of clotted cream. 

I nibble on the rice cake filled with red bean paste. Maybe it’s not a perfect partner to the tea I chose although it makes for a delicious combination regardless. The taste of red beans is an acquired one, but the subtle sweetness evens out the bitterness of the beverage. “We went on somewhat of a date.”

“Somewhat?”

“It kind of just happened.” The whiskey tea I ordered is stronger than I thought, howbeit not in an unpleasant way. Like the real drink, it goes down smoothly and warms the body from within. “He offered to go out for lunch in the park and I agreed. It was nice. Really nice.”

Especially his body heat, the safety of his presence. How protected I felt despite not knowing him all that well.

“And?”

“And?” I repeat like a parrot. I know what she’s unconsciously aiming at, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll tell her outright. It’s always fun to tease the raven-haired woman a little. 

“Details, lass!” 

“We kissed,” I say, the confession hardly louder than a whisper. ‘’And I was the one to initiate it.’’

“How scandalous.” In fake shock, she clasps her hand over her mouth. “You’re a bold one, Y/N.”

“Oh, stop it.” I take a sip of tea and point at the other half of her scone. “Clotted cream with jam instead of the other way around now?”

As a fierce defender of both sides of the old discussion, Morgan indeed now smears the fluffy white cream on the other half first before she tops it off with the jam. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“I do, but I’m not sure if there’s a future for us.” I lean back, cross my arms and look out the window. 

A little distance away, there’s a metal bench and somehow an image of myself sits on it, alone. No wonder she looks glum because she is the me of the future, a woman who’s heart was devoted to the type of love that is, like humans, a plaything of Time.  

She tilts her head to the side, brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

“It’s not my place to say this, but,’’ I turn back to her, absent-mindedly rubbing the mark on my wrist, ‘’he told me he has this condition that’s kinda like dementia, but he gave off the impression it’s also not. I don’t know what’s going on, only that there’s a deadline. A cruel one, and while I know avoiding it is futile, I’m not ready to face it nor will I ever be.”

The confusion on her face lightens to understanding concern. However, despite her features softening, there remains a hint of brooding in her attitude. “I see. It’s like that,” she murmurs cryptically as she takes a bite of her scone, more to herself than as a reply to me. “The story is repeating itself.”

“Morgan,” the mention of her name makes the raven-haired woman snap out of her reverie, “what do you mean?”

Instead of providing a proper answer, she dismisses the questions with a vague gesture. “Just the murmurs of an old soul.”

There is inherent beauty in the medieval cities of Europe that leaves one in awe wherever they go. Furthermore, the shops specialized in local goods and hidden gems add to the flair of narrow streets enclosed by tall buildings that breathe history. Nevertheless, regardless of the ancient beauty, there is nothing which can compete with a warm bed at the end of a day full of running from one end of the town to the other in search of the best chocolatiers.

Well, there is one thing.

As I’m putting on my pyjamas, my phone gives off a light buzz, indicating a new message. 

Jaebeom: Can we video call? I miss your face. 

You... You miss seeing me?

In spite of the unease of not having makeup on, I oblige and call him first. It has not even gone over once before messy black locks show up on screen. However, before he can have a good look at me, I quickly slink beneath the blanket.

“What’re you doing?” He, too, is in bed howbeit without any insecurity whatsoever. In fact, he is more than comfortable wearing not even a top regardless of the chilly weather, leaving defined collarbones and defined chest muscles on display. 

“I’m not wearing makeup, so I look horrible.”

And you showing up like this doesn’t help either.

Because the bare skin, little as it is, unleashes a storm of butterflies in the stomach. The temperature in the room rises or maybe it is simply my body reacting to the aching to run my fingertips over his definitions, the features that unintentionally unleash an absurd frenzy holding the middle between unashamed love and lust. The cheeks heat up as the need for the thick comforter decreases yet the growing discomfort is not enough to come out of hiding. 

“I’m sure you don’t.” Either intentionally or not, he puts on irresistible puppy eyes. The well-meant tenderness in his voice also stirs something in me, charmed by the kindness. “Please don’t hide. I want to see you.”

Although reluctant, I lower the sheets. 

Only to want to pull them over my head at his words and the stupidly bright smile accompanying them. “You’re even prettier like this.”

“Shut up, you weird wolf,” I grumble, jaw clenched as I strain myself not to hide again. To distract us both, I change the topic. “Did you take your meds?”

“I did! And I mean it. No, no, no! Get out from under there. Y/N, come on. I’m not lying. You are pretty. And caring and nice and-’’

“You’re handsome.” I glare at him, peeking just over the edge of the sheet. Unfortunately, my revenge isn’t successful since it merely yields a low chuckle.

Though it seems the victory is still mine because he bites on his bottom lip and softens his voice further to a timid whisper. “Even with my new look?” 

He shows off the mess of his shorter black locks, which are shaved on the side and longer on top. It’s a shame to see the long hair go because I personally think it suits him better, but he pulls the cooler style off too.

“Even more so because of it.” Although they’re essentially minor changes, it casts Jaebeom in a whole other light. He’s still a wolfish man, and I doubt I’ll ever see him as something else, but the new look gives him a more human allure. As if he’s tuned in better to life in the city instead of wandering the rough landscape in his mind. 

“I’ll tell Jinyoung he did a good job, then.” He gets up on his elbow, a view of the upper part of his chest filling the small screen. The veins in his hand form mellow ridges on the back of it, highlighting a few patches where the skin has scraped off, as he fluffs his pillow before lying down again and snuggling into it to get comfortable. “How’s Bruges?”

“It’s a really pretty city. I think you’d like it.” A wistful smile forms on my lips, in part dazed by the entrancing sight a moment ago. “I wish you were here. Wish we could get lost forever... together! I mean, get lost together. Here. In the city.”

“Are you getting sleepy?” His features soften into a dreamy expression though a cheeky spark illuminates the night sky in his eyes. 

“No,” I fiercely protest. That is, until an involuntary yawn escapes me, which makes it impossible to hide the fatigue of running about town the entire day anymore. “Maybe.”

“Go to sleep, Y/N.”

“Don’t want to. We’ve only been talking for a few minutes.” I conceal another yawn by pulling up the comforter.

“You likely have another busy day ahead. So go hit the hay and I’ll talk to you in my dream.”

“Who says I won’t do the same?’’ I remark smugly, proud of the comment that pops up and is too tempting not to make. ‘’Wouldn’t that make it our dream?”

“We’ll talk in our dream,” he corrects himself, a content hum following the correction. Notwithstanding, the delight darkens into a stern seriousness as he tries to look over my shoulder to scan the room, to inspect every nook and cranny instead of what’s on display in the background. “By the way, what’s your colleague doing? Are you alone?”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “He has his own room because he tends to want more of the local taste, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t.” A deeply puzzled expression forms on his face, clearing the spine-chilling suspicion. “Is that code for something?”

“An affair, JB. My colleague more often than not enjoys a one-night stand, if not more, with local girls. It depends on how long we’re away.”

“Have you ever done that?” It has to be the exhaustion, but the question strangely sounds like a whine.  

“Never. In fact, you...” I bite my lip as my stomach ties itself into a nauseating knot, chest constricted with bleak worry about what he will say about the confession balancing precariously on the tip of the tongue. However, I swallow hard and continue the unfinished sentence. “You’re the first guy I’ve dated.”

“We’re dating?”

“Are we?” His question makes me wonder if we actually are, if I didn’t jump to a fantastical conclusion. Then again, we kissed, went out together, and drank coffee in his shop. Nevertheless, also judging by the curiosity in his response, I doubt it’s right for me to assume it’s true. “Well, maybe we aren’t. After all, we’ve only been to the park, so I suppose-’’

I’m wrong, because we barely know each other and yet. Yet, I kissed him. And he kissed me back. Is that anything to go by, a valid reason?

“We’re dating!” The sudden outburst catches me as much off-guard as the enthusiastic addition or, rather, plan for when I return. “I’ll cook for you after bringing you home. Afterwards, we can just sit on the couch and read. You can also nap on me to cure your jet lag. Does that count as a date?”

“I don’t know if it does according to the official terms, but,” the fatigue ebbs away, replaced by the giddiness of going home as soon as possible, “it does to me.”

“Two dates,” he murmurs thoughtfully, nodding as if confirming an unspoken notion. “We’re dating.”

Weirdo.

I watch him analyze the situation, overcome with affection. When he bites down on his index finger to suppress a broad grin, I almost have to do the same. 

“I wish I was there with you,” Jaebeom eventually notes to break the twilight hush, at last content on where we stand. The yearning of the wish is tangible in my bones because I feel the same way, though I try not to show it. “I should’ve given you a shirt or something, but I wasn’t sure if it would be good. That’s not the word. Ap... ap... appropropiate? Appropriate. If it would be that.”

“I do have the books you gave me, so I do have a piece of you here.”

But I do miss your scent. Wait, that’s weird to say. I shouldn’t say that.

Though it’s indeed strange and I don’t tell him, it isn’t a lie. Jaebeom does smell nice, like a wild forest in which the air is scented by a cologne that barely conceals its secret. The ferocious guardian in the shadows. 

 “Still, I wish I had given you something that marks you as mine.” Gaze downcast, the big wolf man pouts at the thought, sulking. 

“You have.” I hold up my wrist, the place where he bit me now nothing but a red blotch.

“It’s almost gone. I should renew that once you’re back. A shirt and bite. That should show other males we’re together,” he muses, the disappointment gone in an instant as his focus changes.

“Totally not possessive, are we?”

“I’m not,” he grumbles. “Just marking my territory.”

“JB, you are.”

“Does it bother you, make you upset?”

“Yes and no.” I take in a shaky breath, distracted by the thought of the implications I want him to be. After all, something about the feral allure melts any resistance and lets me slip into a headspace I didn’t know I had. 

Somewhere, deeply hidden in the brain, there’s a different woman, a different ego. A part of me which wants and needs him. That doesn’t mind being his possession.

His mate. 

“Don’t get me wrong-’’

“How can I get you good?”

The unintentional play on words uttered by urgent yet confused puppy eyes distracts me from the splendid explanation I wanted to give him.

How... How does he do it? Does he even know what he’s doing? Never mind.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” I begin anew, “I appreciate your concern for me and I really do feel safe with you. But you bit me. In public too! I get it’s your way of telling me you like me and maybe I don’t actually mind the mark you left behind so much-’’

“So it’s not the biting?” A boyish smirk plays on his lips. Had he had an actual tail, it would have been swishing heavily with a dangerous cheer. “I can do it again?”

“No.”

Maybe someday I’ll let you. But not anytime soon.

“But you said you didn’t mind my mark. If that isn’t a problem, why can’t I refresh it?”

“Jaebeom, please, let me finish talking.”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you.” I take in a deep breath. “Now, normal human couples don’t bite each other to let others and one another know they belong together. So let’s try to find other ways to do just that. Commonly, the girl wears the guy’s shirt. I think that’s a good starting point for us.”

“What are other ‘ways’?” he asks, evidently not too keen on the idea.

I tilt my head, trying to come up with the most frequent ways in which people casually express being taken without immediately suggesting obvious physical marks. “Necklaces, bracelets and rings are common couple items. Some even go as far as getting matching tattoos.”

“I like the sound of that, a tattoo. Permanent. Permanent human mark.”

“Let me think about that one, okay?”

“Okay.” He nods in agreement. “But, if I understand you correctly, I can give you a shirt.”

“You can.”

“And you’ll wear it because it has my scent on it.”

“That’s kind of the idea behind it,” I confirm, glad he understands the underlying meaning despite not explaining it.

He looks down at his chest only to discover he’s not wearing anything. The glance over his shoulder falls on a black shirt somewhere behind him. He turns away, grabs the piece of clothing and holds it tightly against his body when he turns back to me. “Sounds good to me.”

I guess I’ll be given a ‘welcome home’ present.

[honestsycrets]

Hi, Soldier | [ Alfred x Reader ]

❛ pairing | soldier!alfred x librarian!reader 

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | waiting for alfred to come home, the reader fixes the books in the library.

❛  tags | library au, wwii soldier!alfred, implied war time violence, loss of vision.

❛ sy’s notes | i wrote this fic for @maggiescarborough​ ‘s birthday. she asked me for a library alfred au a while ago and i just couldn’t get it to what i liked until now. happy birthday baby!

It was too high, you thought as you reached up on your toes. The cart squeaked outrageously as you got to the final books to stock that day. Your boss and husband’s cousin-in-law, Mr. Sigurd Ragnarsson, gave you leave after you would finish stocking this.

You never knew when there might be another.

When another air raid would come down upon your head, that was. It was war. Life was forced to consider to the best of its ability and still, you might wake up in the morning in a large bed, where he was meant to be, and feel the cold space beside you growing in its intensity. 

When you received post, it was with that fleeting hope that another might join your growing bucket of letters from war. The ladder had fallen off the track again. This time, your brother-in-law wasn’t here to fix it. Nor your husband-- who always had an answer.

“I can fix it,” you’re favourite spunky niece-in-law would say. You glanced off to her, holding books between her legs. When her mother was off working as a receptionist, you would often watch her until Sigurd had the opportunity to get off of managing his many companies to get her. Today was nothing short of the same.

“After we finish with these books,” you gesture toward your hand when you see it. The edition from 1926, The Private Life of Helen of Troy, which you had not read. It throws you back to the first moment you met your soldier.

He came in a hurry, dabbling his fingers through books, before he’d have to return to base. While all the other men were in the pubs, he found himself here, leafing through books hoping for one to read. You hadn’t noticed him as you squeaked along the aisles-- until coming upon his aisle, you suddenly became aware of the tall soldier who took up most of the room.

Your lips were suddenly chapped and dry. Your knowledge of soldiers was limited to the men your sister brought home and to be fair, they were not the reading type. He pulled a book free, pulling it into his open hand, and you found yourself looking down to your own. The Private Life of Helen of Troy-- it went there.

You left your useless clump of a cart, stuffing the books related to this section in your arms, and clopped over his way. It was then that the soldier glanced at you with curious, glittery eyes that contrasted against to his finely combed black hair on his head and lip. You tugged the ladder just to side of him, squeaking as your mary janes took the first step, smoothing out your skirt with emphasis on not flashing him with your undergarments and reached-- that was were problem brewed, because you couldn’t quite reach the area you needed to be.

Where your soldier stood.

“Let me help you,” he spoke, his voice low and smooth, like the honey in your tea. You drew your hand back when you felt him push the ladder on its wheels toward the section of historical period books. Then with a clop, clop, clop, the soldier climbed with his black boots up behind you. He was close enough to feel this thick, ironed uniform pressing up against your yellow dress.

“Oh--”

“Right behind you,” he muttered as he slipped his hand over yours. “You’re alright?”

“Yes, I mean--” you gave pause. “Yes.”

“The Roman non-fiction is right there, then.” He muttered softly and you could feel the fibers of his moustache against the shell of your ear as a hand, crisp with a playfulness in slipping the book into its hole with a small push.

You were somewhat disappointed when he slipped off from behind you, allowing you to set the last of the books in their place before turning down the ladder. The soldier held out his hand to help you down even-- and despite uncertainty, you took his hand to the safe ground.

“Thank you,” you said. “The cart-- and the ladder aren’t the best tools. They’re broke half the time anyway.”

“I can fix that for you.” The soldier blurted out before he seemed to register what he said or the limitations of it. Maybe Mr. Ragnarsson didn’t want you to-- but you had the sudden feeling-- he wouldn’t care.

“I didn’t catch your name, soldier.”

“Alfred.”

You nibbled on your lip as you came to, your little niece squeaking something about being hungry. “There’s some bread in my bag,” you gestured. “I’ll be out in just a second. This is the last section.”

The top bookshelf was just barely out of reach. You flexed your mary janes, hopping to work every last inch out of your body on the first wrung of the ladder when a hand came up behind you, snatching the book and easing it into its proper placement.

“Broken it already?” you heard, and as you whipped around, you recognized your soldier standing there. He was wrapped tight in his slim fitting military attire, his other hand supporting his weight on a cane he really had little use for.

“Alfred!”

You slapped his chest repeatedly. “You’re here! You’re here!”

He paused for a moment, looking at you, with one eye covered by the darkness of an eyepatch. “I am, did you miss me?” he pressed. “Or were you--”

“Your eye!” you noticed at last, bringing your hands to his smooth cheek, turning over his cheek to inspect him. You would have brought your hands up to it, but decided rather against it, smoothing your hands past the side of his neck to rest upon his shoulders.

“Yes well,” Alfred looks down, then up again, fixing a cigarette to the side of his mouth. “Ubbe said I looked older this way. We had better fetch Áslaug-- she was in your bag. I might be too, if I don’t each something other than war provisions soon.”

He does. Not in the sense of his age, but the tiredness that carries in his eyes as he glazes them to your squeaking cart, dragging over the ground. You stuff the books into places they don’t belong, whirling the half broken cart to the end of the aisle before your hand would find his thick armcoat.

“I hardly care about how you look,” you admit, knowing you would likely rush him home, make him something that your meager budget as a librarian couldn’t afford. It would be worth it. You tugged him out of the aisle, your fingers laced in his larger hand. “Only that you’re home safe.”

@tephi101​​ @alicedopey​​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​​ @tootie-fruity​​ @titty-teetee​​ @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​​ @ethereallysimple​​ @deathbyarabbit​​ @deathbyarabbit​​ @readsalot73​​ @natalie-rdr​​ @lol-haha-joke​​ @lisinfleur​​ @hissouthernprincess​ @marvelousse​ @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol​​ @vikingsmania​​ @wish-i-was-a-mermaid​​ @lif3snotouttogetyou​​ @gruffle1​​ @cris101071​​ @gold-dragon-slayer​​ @babypink224221​​ @wonderwoman292​​ @naaladareia​​ @beyond-the-ashes​​ @generic-fangirl​​ @chinduda​​ @laketaj24​, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope​ @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117​ @unassumingviking​ @ladyofsoa, @inforapound​ @winchesterwife27​ @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​​  @bluearchersstuff​​ @affectionrabbitt​​ @whatamood13​ @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou​​ @unacceptabletatertots​ @ivarandersen​ @stra-vage​​ @tgrrose​​ @cookies186​​ @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​​ @msmorganforever​​

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and go to London chapter 18

The story is about Henry, not Geralt (only using this gif because it fits perfectly for this chapter)

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress,  musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and  breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air,  escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there  she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (smut)

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 (smut)

Chapter 8 (smut/roleplay)

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 (smut)

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 (smut)

Chapter 15

Chapter 16 (smut/ s&m) Chapter 17

Triggers:   Smut (I know, too much smut chapters 😁 😂 🤣 , but this chapter needed to have smut, you’ll see why 😜 ); mention of rape, sex trafficking and panic attacks (while talking about a movie; only mention those words, not describing anything them in any way)

Tag list:  Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you    so  much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I    think  I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag     you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8     penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming    alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  

During quarantine, Henry spend lots of time cooking delicious meals, bread and desserts for the two of you. He pretended not to be good, but low key you knew that he wanted compliments because his food was freaking fantastic and you were sure he knew that already. He was in the kitchen preparing cookies for you an afternoon snack. Meanwhile, you entertained him dancing around, there were some real dance moves there, but mostly silly things that you did intend to make him laugh. Lizzo's "Juice", Nicky Minaj's "Anaconda", Rihanna's "Bitch better have my money", Bruno Mars's "24K Magic" were some of the songs you choose to perform for him. You closed your little show with N*Sync's "Bye bye bye" which make him laughed so hard that Kal barked at him. He mentioned that in his youth he made a movie with Joey Fatone and you were green with envy because you used to be a N*Sync fangirl when you were little. - What was he like? - you asked - Oh, he's great! Cool guy. If I ever cross paths with him again, I'll invite him to hang out so you can meet him too. - he replied - Oh yeah, baby. That'd be a childhood dream come true. - Have you ever meet one of your idols? - he questioned curiously - Hmm... yeah, I met Slash, he's now a friend of mine. He gave me guitar lessons. - You learned to play the guitar with Slash from Guns n' Roses? - he repeated your words as a question due to the surprise revelation - No. I was already pretty good. He gave me lessons on how to improve my guitar solos. It was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! I've learnt so much with him and improved drastically my habilities. - you explained - I've also met Duff and he is cool too. I met Nikolaj Coster-Waldau from Game of Thrones, he's one of the sweetest people I've ever met. I met my now friend Annie (Hathaway), which you must already know because we worked together in my first acting role and she is a mentor, she truly helped me a lot to become a good actress. - you paused, thinking and after a few moments continued.- I've met Robert De Niro, he played my dad in the movie that you didn't see - previously you have had a conversation in which he confessed to having seen three on the four movies that you made in your short but successful career as an actress. You advised him not to watch the movie, because you played a woman caught in sex trafficking and there were a lot of rape scenes and you thought he may be affected to see you like that, even you had panic attacks after filming that movie and never watched again after the premiere. You couldn't even see Cillian Murphy anymore, another co-star in that movie, because he was the villain and there was a much graphic scene in which his character raped yours. "Only the twisted mind of Darren Aronofsky could come with a story dark as that one," you told Henry laughing because you liked the director, he was a good man, but with a weird taste for disaster and dark psychology-.  You talked about meeting people that you admire and he mentioned Russell Crowe, Tom Cruise and Guy Ritchie, among others. As you predicted, the cookies were delicious. Your boyfriend was, definitely, the perfect man. Not only he was the sweetest, you two never fought, but he was also an amazing lover - he even made out a rule that you that to tell him if you didn't have an orgasm (or wanted more) so he could take care of that because those moments were made so both of you could have a great time and not just him. And, on top of all of that, he cooked for you amazing dishes and desserts. He was the definition of perfection. - Someday you're going to get tired of cooking for me and that'd be my doom. - you pointed out as you ate the tasteful cookies. - Not at all. I'll never get tired of cooking for the woman I love. - he assured you smiling. You chocked with the cooking you were eating and recover a few seconds later and starred at his face with an expression of full shock in yours. - What did you say? - you demanded him to repeat his words - What? I've said that I love cooking for the woman I love.- he repeated without understanding what was wrong with his words. - "The woman you love"? Do you love me? -you asked astonished - Absolutely.- he admitted with a smile on his face- I've been in love with you practically since the time I asked you to be my girlfriend, I just thought that you were going to think I was crazy and was too soon for saying the L word. - I felt the same way. I wanted you to be the first to say it. -you confessed him. - So, we are in love with eachother.- he confirmed with happiness written on his face; the kind of happiness that a child would experience on Christmas day if he/she received exactly what was expecting. You stood up from the table and run into his arms, as he embraced you for your first kiss after knowing that you were in love. Hours later, Henry was back again in the kitchen. This time he was planning to prepare dinner for him since you told him the cookies made you feel full and you didn't want to eat anything else for the day. He was preparing everything that he needed, when you showed up in the kitchen wearing nothing but translucid bran with pastel green colour and white flowers on it. The bra was delicate and made your breasts look amazing. You also wear a white thong and white stockings and stiletto heels pumps. You left Henry speechless. You got closer to him, put your arms around his neck a started to kiss him. You could feel his hands sliding through your back reaching your ass and grabbing it. That made you laughed and he joined you. You looked at his eyes and suggested him to take things to bed. You indicated that you couldn't wait anymore to properly celebrate the fact that you loved each other. He picked you up, holding you by your thighs and walked to the bedroom. He left you on the bed as he turned to close the door and took his clothes off. He got on the bed and then slowly slid your thong and then throw it away. Grabbing you by your thighs, he began to pleasure you with his mouth. He loved to stroke your clit with his tongue, grabbing it and sucking it as well. He could do that for long periods. You were used to him putting his fingers inside your underwear and make you cum over and over. He'd do that at least three or four times per week -without counting that you had sex every single night and some mornings as well. He always wanted to take you and satisfy his desires but also wanted to make you happy. He couldn't get enough of you, and the feeling was mutual. You could feel him tasting you, after several orgasms, you were dripping wet. He climbed on top of you and kissed you, grabbing your lips with his. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand and after putting it on, he put his member inside of you, making you burned inside. It felt so good. He would go from slow movements to really fast pound. He had both of his hands on the mattress and your's were on his neck. He would separate his mouth from yours from time to time only to be able to kiss your neck and breasts. He knew how much you needed the touch of his sweet lips on yours; to feel his tongue dancing inside your mouth. You put your arms on his back and dug your fingers on his back, followed by your nails scratching his back. That made him insane. He had shaved two days before that moment, but his beard started to grow again. He also left he moustache to grow. It was still on its early stages, but still made you tingle and it felt so amazing, especially when he was with his head between your legs. He made you stood up from the bed and then grabbed you by your thighs once more, as you entwined your arms around his neck and he started to thrust you. Your body was on flames. The fact that he was strong enough to fuck you while holding you amazed you. For moments, you would free one of your hands just to stroke his arm, as his muscles tense. He sat on the edge of the bed and continued to pound you, buried himself inside of you deeper and deeper each time. You pushed his back against the mattress, kissed him with burning passion and then started to ride him, placing your hands on his majestic hairy chest. Then, you enlaced your hands with his while you continue to move up and down his cock. He pulled your hands into his lips, kissing both of them, one at the time. You put your chest against his and whispered on his ear "You're mine, baby. You're mine and I'm yours", he looked into your eyes. Just as he thought he couldn't want you more, you told him everything he wanted to hear, that you were his. He remembered at that moment that if he wasn't for your ex, he'd been the only man you have been with. That thought made him feel both jealous and lucky at the same time. Another man had you before him, but he intended to be the only man you'll be with for the rest of his life. You were his. He wasn't the kind of man that would treat you as an object, as something that could belong to him, but you were his woman, he loved you and would make sure that you'll want him forever over anybody else because he could not stand the idea of losing you. You were his angel and he would love you and protect you and hopefully make you as happy as you made him. Life with you was a paradise. You woke up due to the need to drink some water. You had your head pressed against Henry's chest. You had sex until the sunrise. You felt so tired after that amazing night. You checked your phone to see the time and to your surprise, it was midday. You got up and decided to prepare lunch for the two of you. You starred at him for a moment before leaving the bedroom. Seeing him sleep so peaceful felt like a warm hug. You were so lucky. He was amazing and he loved you as much as you loved him.

[lovinmullen]

this is a pappy patrick love blog. that is including with AND without the moustache. we support both looks in this house and if you don’t you will be catching mine and rudy’s hands

[ogrebattles]

hey hey hey! we've waited so long for this moment! you guys are unbelievable! i still can't believe how far we've got, and we couldn’t be happier! if it wasn't for all of you this blog wouldn't go anywhere, so THANK YOU! thanks to each one of you who pressed the follow button and to all of your support! :') we decided to wait for the Somebody To Love event to end, so we wouldn't mess things up. we've actually been thinking about it since we reached our first milestone, but we had zero ideas of how to celebrate this. later i thought about something we could do, so here we are!!

rules:

mbf us

reblog this post

celebration:

send us a 🌙 for an url moodboard/edit (it must be related to queen)

send us a 🌟 for a make me choose game and what we choose we’ll make a post about it (e.g. “[🌟] + freddie’s moustache or brian’s curls?”)

come and celebrate 1.5k with us!

[goodguydotmp3]

I really like how your blog is not an outright hate blog, but you presented your opinions with correct research/facts. I was also really iffy about the fact that harries get riled up when he literally does the littlest thing to speak about social issues and he could literally use it to his advantage in 18328040 other ways and help out people suffering. lmao he shaved his moustache and he's trending on twt, man's got power, use it properly dude. world needs it right now.

Hey grey face! 

Yeah I wan’t trying to be one of those blogs that obsessively hates on ppl for no reason(I’m actually probably changing my title black this weekend)! I try to base my opinions on facts as well, so I’m not just out there being an ass for no reason!

For context this person messaged me yesterday, I’m just now getting to it

Yeah, I do find it irritation that he gets so much attention for so little, I think I said this before, But I think it’d be perfectly fine if he never said anything. I don’t think it’s important for celebrities/influencers to really have an opinion on everything. They’re people too, which means they don’ know everything, nor are they always given the best context for things. Even more than that, sometimes they don’t have all the information, of they act in a way they think is good but is actually harmful (that black out thing on ig for example). 

So yeah, I don’t think he should say anything, esp seeing as he does the bare minimum for like three seconds so that he can get attention, and I esp don’t think that people should be encouraging him to do so, or giving him a pat on the back when he does the bare minimum. I think it’s important that we stop looking for leaders to guide us into what to do, and start looking around to see what we can do to help, and what we can avoid doing to avoid hurt. 

Often times there is more than one solutions, and sometimes there is nothing that we can do, but I dif think this whole culture of looking for a celebrity or an influencer or some important person to say something really is both a crutch and a distraction. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely have to check myself on this too. I was born into this type of society. 

But I think part of the beauty of being alive everyday is trying to do better than you did the day before, even is small increments. 

And really I think that’s a big part of us crushing this whole “Celebrities ad thought leaders” thing. Billy Porter is lovely, but that doesn’t mean that he is an expert on the germ theory of disease. It’s okay to not need his opinion on matters concerning that. and at the end of the day I feel that if we pull way from this needing celebrities to comment on everything as if they’re Jesus, it would squash them felling like they should comment for clout (the ones that do anyway). 

I hope this didn’t feel like an attack on anyone, I’m not trying to chastise, as I said I sometimes fall into this trap where maybe I feel like I need to hear Issa Rae’s thoughts on the president. I don’t! What I need are facts on what the president is doing, continues to do, and where the nearest guillotine is. 

Same with Harry. Black lives have mattered since before he was born. The official organization came about 6 years ago! No one needs Harry to endorse blm (and honestly I think quite a lot of people want his support because they know a lot of his fans will do things just because he said to which...I cannot tell you how much that completely misses the point)! No one needs Harry’s opinion on Blm, because the organization is worth fighting for in it’s own right, and people should be doing things because they think that’s what’s right, not because their favorite white boy says something 

this is so long lol I hope this was a satisfactory answer

[thelasttraintoarcady]

(want to peep at a letter I sent to a poet I know? OK)

Hey, t'was lovely to see you yesterday afternoon, What a very strange night for me it was at the Lionel Johnson book launch at Gay is the word. I came a way thinking that I'd been in some kind of green room for my time of reckoning to come in Limbo or perhaps, marooned in restless dream of my own fermenting. I wish you'd been there to pinch me ! Firstly, the lecture was in the form of a Q & A hosted by an Edwardian figure called Darcy, the president of the Oscar Wilde society. He  defined the word dapper and looked as if he had stepped straight out of casting for the Dorian Gray movie, with a light three piece suit, pink and white flourishes and sporting a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. Then, a man in a hat sat next to me who looked as if he'd based his style on Tom Hollander playing guy Burgess. He had a friend with him who was the actual Walter Lure from Johnny Thunders' Heartbreakers.  I really began to wonder if someone had spiked my orange juice until I realised that the editor of the book was Nina Antonia, who'd previously written books on Johnny Thunders, Pete Perrett and more recently assisted Pete Doherty with the release of his diaries. Darcy opened proceedings saying something of how we lived in an age of aggressive alpha-males and how much we need the more gentle souls of aesthetes like Lionel Johnson. I could have scripted it myself, which just made things even odder in my head. Hardly anyone there seemed to know much about Johnson, but the scripted questions of the  "interview" were an intersting introduction to the book. Enough strangeness and coincidence you'd think, until afterwards a slim young French man overheard me talking to Walter Lure about how I'd supported Johnny Thunders in the Nikki Sudden band at the end of his career and beginning of mine and told me how he'd just been on a pilgrimage to Leamington Spa to see the grave of Nikki Sudden. He showed me a photograph on his phone to prove it and spoke most knowledgeably about Nikki, the Libertines and such like. I'd mentioned I still wrote songs with John Hassall and the April Rainers and he knew about them too and how they were based in Aarhus. Anyway, as I skulked off home and saw a cyclist with four identical little dogs in a basket go by (fate had to wrap it up with something odd didn't she) I couldn't help feel that I'd left something of my soul behind, yet there this morning was the lovely book about and by a poet who's work I liked so much I'd once it copied out of a reference book, by my pillow. Johnson should have been an integral part of the Oscar Wild story, but seems to have been one face too many and airbrushed out of the picture and the movies, just as the band I was in with Nikki Sudden and Mike Scott had been overlooked in the complete list of Thunder's gigs and support bands. On opening the book I found that W B Yeats had described Johnson as ".....(someone who) has renounced the world and built up a twilight world where all colours are like colours in the rainbow that is cast by the moon....". A description that could - if I may be so bold to say so - describe my visual art too. I think this letter will have to be a blog too as it says a lot. love or what you will Steev