#six million years later <3

[hwaightme]

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, I see-”

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

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

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

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

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

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

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

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

“Two of us who are searching?”

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

“Then we can keep searching together.”

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

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

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

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

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

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

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

“There are private clinics?”

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

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

“Ah, yes, I see-”

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

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

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

“This really is a rainy day,”

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

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

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

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

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

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to-”

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

“...I’d like that.”

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

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

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

“Pissarro.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

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

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

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

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

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

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

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

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

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

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shh-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

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

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

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

“But they didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#kflixnet #cromernet #k-labels #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fluff #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa fluff #seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa x you #park seonghwa x you #park seonghwa x y/n #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez #kpop writers #kpop writing #park seonghwa #seonghwa #vampire!hwa #vampire!seonghwa #vampire seonghwa #vampire hwa

[nasa]

5 Years, 8 Discoveries: NASA Exoplanet Explorer Sees Dancing Stars & a Star-Shredding Black Hole

This all-sky mosaic was constructed from 912 Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite (TESS) images. Prominent features include the Milky Way, a glowing arc that represents the bright central plane of our galaxy, and the Large and Small Magellanic Clouds – satellite galaxies of our own located, respectively, 160,000 and 200,000 light-years away. In the northern sky, look for the small, oblong shape of the Andromeda galaxy (M 31), the closest big spiral galaxy, located 2.5 million light-years away. The black regions are areas of sky that TESS didn’t image. Credit: NASA/MIT/TESS and Ethan Kruse (University of Maryland College Park)

On April 18, 2018, we launched the Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite, better known as TESS. It was designed to search for planets beyond our solar system – exoplanets – and to discover worlds for our James Webb Space Telescope, which launched three years later, to further explore. TESS images sections of sky, one hemisphere at a time. When we put all the images together, we get a great look at Earth’s sky!

In its five years in space, TESS has discovered 326 planets and more than 4,300 planet candidates. Along the way, the spacecraft has observed a plethora of other objects in space, including watching as a black hole devoured a star and seeing six stars dancing in space. Here are some notable results from TESS so far:

During its first five years in space, our Transiting Exoplanet Survey Satellite has discovered exoplanets and identified worlds that can be further explored by the James Webb Space Telescope. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

1. TESS’ first discovery was a world called Pi Mensae c. It orbits the star Pi Mensae, about 60 light-years away from Earth and visible to the unaided eye in the Southern Hemisphere. This discovery kicked off NASA's new era of planet hunting.

2. Studying planets often helps us learn about stars too! Data from TESS & Spitzer helped scientists detect a planet around the young, flaring star AU Mic, providing a unique way to study how planets form, evolve, and interact with active stars.

Located less than 32 light-years from Earth, AU Microscopii is among the youngest planetary systems ever observed by astronomers, and its star throws vicious temper tantrums. This devilish young system holds planet AU Mic b captive inside a looming disk of ghostly dust and ceaselessly torments it with deadly blasts of X-rays and other radiation, thwarting any chance of life… as we know it! Beware! There is no escaping the stellar fury of this system. The monstrous flares of AU Mic will have you begging for eternal darkness. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

3. In addition to finding exoplanets on its own, TESS serves as a pathfinder for the James Webb Space Telescope. TESS discovered the rocky world LHS 3844 b, but Webb will tell us more about its composition. Our telescopes, much like our scientists, work together.

4. Though TESS may be a planet-hunter, it also helps us study black holes! In 2019, TESS saw a ‘‘tidal disruption event,’’ otherwise known as a black hole shredding a star.

When a star strays too close to a black hole, intense tides break it apart into a stream of gas. The tail of the stream escapes the system, while the rest of it swings back around, surrounding the black hole with a disk of debris. Credit: NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center

5. In 2020, TESS discovered its first Earth-size world in the habitable zone of its star – the distance from a star at which liquid water could exist on a planet’s surface. Earlier this year, a second rocky planet was discovered in the system.

You can see the exoplanets that orbit the star TOI 700 moving within two marked habitable zones, a conservative habitable zone, and an optimistic habitable zone. Planet d orbits within the conservative habitable zone, while planet e moves within an optimistic habitable zone, the range of distances from a star where liquid surface water could be present at some point in a planet’s history. Credit: NASA Goddard Space Flight Center

6. Astronomers used TESS to find a six-star system where all stars undergo eclipses. Three binary pairs orbit each other, and, in turn, the pairs are engaged in an elaborate gravitational dance in a cosmic ballroom 1,900 light-years away in the constellation Eridanus.

7. Thanks to TESS, we learned that Delta Scuti stars pulse to the beat of their own drummer. Most seem to oscillate randomly, but we now know HD 31901 taps out a beat that merges 55 pulsation patterns.

Sound waves bouncing around inside a star cause it to expand and contract, which results in detectable brightness changes. This animation depicts one type of Delta Scuti pulsation — called a radial mode — that is driven by waves (blue arrows) traveling between the star's core and surface. In reality, a star may pulsate in many different modes, creating complicated patterns that enable scientists to learn about its interior. Credit: NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center

8. Last is a galaxy that flares like clockwork! With TESS and Swift, astronomers identified the most predictably and frequently flaring active galaxy yet. ASASSN-14ko, which is 570 million light-years away, brightens every 114 days!

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

#space #planets #exoplanets #science #tech #technology #astronomy #astrophysics #stars #black holes #NASA #spaceblr

[togrowoldinv]

A True Love’s Kiss

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

When Natasha gets brainwashed, it’s up to you to bring her back to her formal self. It’s not an easy task, but maybe your love for her is the key to unlocking her memories

Note: Woohoo Natasha. Just a fun (kinda angsty) little idea I came up with today. Enjoy this one!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

It’s a quiet morning as you run through the park. Memories of the last few years flash through your head, but you shake them away.

It’s been six months since you’ve heard from any of the Avengers. The so called ‘family’ left you out to dry the moment that things ended with you and Natasha.

In hindsight, it was a terrible idea to date the woman you worked with. But you knew you were in love with her and life felt too short to deny that.

You’re on the way back to your car when you sense it. A few moments later, two of your ‘old friends’ walk into your view.

“Y/n,” Steve begins. You don’t look at him.

“Come on, y/n. Look at us,” Clint adds.

“Why should I? I haven’t heard from any of you in months. All you did was side with Natasha,” you say bitterly.

“We’re sorry,” Steve says. You hate that it really seems like he means it. “Things got messy and we weren’t there for you.”

“Understatement of the century,” you remark.

You decide you’ve had enough of this. You move to open the car door but are stopped short by Clint’s next words.

“It’s Natasha,” Clint says. “She’s been compromised and we think the only person she’ll talk to is you.”

You sigh.

“And why do you think that?” You ask.

“We’ve tried everything. It’s our last idea,” Steve says. His tone has a sadness to it. “Will you come with us? Please. For Nat?”

You don’t reply, but you simply grab a bag of clothes from your car and walk closer to Steve and Clint. They’ll take that as a yes.

After walking to the quinjet, Clint takes the reins while Steve explains to you what happened to Natasha.

“She’s not herself. None of us have been able to stop her from these missions she’s been on,” he explains. “It seems like it could be the red room again. Like they’ve brainwashed her.”

“How did this even happen? How did she get that far out of reach in the first place?” You ask.

Steve hesitates to answer.

“Tell her,” Clint says.

“Tell me what?”

“Y/n, when you and Natasha broke up she went into hiding,” Steve says. “You never heard from us because we’ve been busy trying to find her. Now that we have, we have to figure out how to bring her in.”

“We found her in Russia,” Steve continues. “She’s good at what she does, you know that. But her heartbreak made her incredibly vulnerable. Even before she left the Avengers, her focus was somewhere else. Probably on how she broke your heart.”

“So this is my fault?” You wonder aloud. You don’t know if that makes you angry or sad. Maybe both.

“No,” Steve says. “It’s no one’s fault. Nat chose to leave.”

“But she’s not choosing to act like this,” Clint says. “I can tell. I can almost bring her out of it when I mention my family. And since she’s in love with you-“

“Was,” you correct him. “She was. Not anymore.”

“Right,” Clint says noncommittally. “We hope once she sees you, she’ll snap out of it.”

“So all of this is based on a hope?” You ask.

“Well, yeah,” Steve says.

“Great,” you say sarcastically. You stand up and push your way to the back of the jet to sit alone.

Truthfully, you’ve imagined reuniting with Natasha a million times. In your fantasy, she would show up at your door in the pouring rain with flowers and a romcom style apology for how she hurt you.

But this reuniting will be no romcom. You can tell from the way Steve can’t really meet your eyes that it’s bad. He cares for Natasha as deeply as you and Clint do. You can sense his fear. And Clint’s.

“We’re here,” Clint announces, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Where’s here?” You ask. You look out the front and notice the landscape is not the Avengers compound where you thought you were heading.

“There’s no time to prepare,” Steve says. “You can do this, y/n. Approach the house carefully and expect resistance. We’ll back you up but if Nat sees us we’re sure she’ll be quicker to turn against you.”

“Here’s coms,” Clint says, handing you a piece for your ear.

“Okay. Here goes nothing,” you say, taking a deep breath.

You step out of the quinjet and walk over one hundred paces to where Natasha is supposedly staying. As you expected, she doesn’t answer the front door when you knock.

Instead, you’re struck in the back of the knee. She effectively brings you down to the ground. Her legs straddle your waist. Your breath is taken away in more ways than one.

She looks beautiful yet sad. You try to shake off the fact that you’re seeing her for the first time in so long and focus on the way she’s crushing your ribs.

“Natasha,” you say.

“You don’t know me,” Nat says.

“I used to,” you answer. That throws her off briefly and you manage to squirm free. Natasha catches up fast and pins you against the door this time.

“What do you want?” Natasha asks. She feels an odd attraction to you. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help you,” you say.

Natasha punches the wall behind you and wraps her hand around your neck.

“Okay, you don’t like that answer,” you whimper out.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Natasha commands.

You bring your arm up to pull hers away from your throat but she doesn’t stop. You plead with her with your eyes and once again she hesitates long enough for you to slip away.

She pulls her gun on you, but waits to shoot. You hold your hands up in surrender. You try again to make her remember you.

“Natasha, please,” you beg for her to relent. “You know me and I know you. It’s me, y/n.”

She doesn’t appear to have any recollection, so you go deeper.

“You love peanut butter sandwiches,” you say. “And you secretly love M&Ms but only the red ones even though they all taste the same.”

“I-“

“And you get up every morning and go for a run not because you love running but because you like to see the world before it becomes too loud and unsteady,” you continue. “And you love me. Or at least, you used to.”

“I don’t- I’m not who you think I am,” Natasha says.

“Yes you are,” you argue back.

“I’m not,” she says. Her voice breaks. You feel like you’re making progress.

“Natasha, baby, please,” you say.

She’s fighting her internal turmoil. Her objective is to take down anyone in her way.

“Y/n, get out of there,” you hear Steve in your ear.

You don’t dare reply. She’ll shoot if she thinks she’s surrounded.

“You’re an Avenger,” you say. “You’re a friend. You’re a sister. You are an aunt to Clint’s kids. You’re the love of my life.”

Natasha’s hand shakes. She thinks she knows you, but she has a mission.

You look into her eyes as she aims at your chest. Steve and Clint run towards you knowing what’s about to happen but it’s too late.

Natasha fires the weapon and you feel a lot of pain before you feel absolutely nothing. Steve hits Nat with a tranquilizer before she can shoot him and Clint as well.

The next thing you remember is waking up in the medbay at the compound.

“Hey,” Steve greets you. “You’re okay.”

“Where’s Nat?” You ask, sitting up.

“She’s detained,” he says. “And asking for you.”

“What?”

“Welcome to the world again,” Tony interrupts as he enters the room. “Dr. Cho fixed your wound up perfectly as always.”

“Oh,” you say, remembering why you’re here. The ache in your shoulder becomes more noticeable when you try to move it. “I need to see her.”

“No can do, buckaroo,” Tony says. “We’ve got Hill in there talking to her.”

“You mean interrogating her,” you correct him.

“Maybe,” Tony replies. “But we need to know whose side she’s on now.”

“Steve, please you have to let me see her,” you say. “She recognized me. She just- she needed to continue her mission.”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. “It’s too dangerous.”

“She already shot me,” you say dryly. “What else could happen?”

Steve relents. After a couple of hours of resting, you get dressed the best you can, putting your arm in a sling.

You approach the detainment area carefully. Natasha is sitting at a table with her hands cuffed to it when you enter.

“Take those off,” you instruct the guard.

“I’m not supposed-“

“Just do it,” you say.

“Ma’am-“

“Take them off,” Steve says over the intercom.

The guard complies and unlocks the cuffs. You frown at the way they’ve rubbed her wrists raw.

“Hey,” you say to Natasha.

“How’s your shoulder?” She asks.

“Fine. Why didn’t you shoot to kill me? I know you could’ve,” you say.

“So we’re jumping right in,” Nat remarks. “You said you know me and you told me facts that no one knows. I needed to talk to you more. I needed you alive.”

“Do you know me?” You ask.

“I don’t,” she says. You can’t help but frown. “But you do feel vaguely familiar.”

“You’ve had your memories of us taken from you,” you say. “Probably by the Red Room.”

“What did you just say?” Natasha asks. She stands up and pushes you against the wall.

“Nat,” you say. Your shoulder is throbbing.

“We’re coming in to help,” Steve says urgently.

“No wait! I can do this,” you shout. “Natasha please, you wouldn’t hurt me. Not again.”

“Stop acting like you know who I am!” She shouts. “How did you get that name? The Red Room? How did you know?”

“Because Natasha we dated for over a year,” you say. “You told me everything.”

“No,” she says. “I would- I would remember if I had loved you.”

“Natasha, I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Stop,” she cries out. “Stop. You don’t- stop it.”

“I do. I love you. Please, I love you. Find yourself in me again, Nat,” you beg her.

Natasha’s eyes fill with tears. It’s beginning to click. You think of the last effort you can make to help her remember it all.

You lean toward her and pull her in for a hug. Your good arm goes around her waist and pulls her in. Natasha doesn’t hug you back but she doesn’t pull away either.

“Please, Natasha. I need you to come back to me,” you whimper into her neck.

It feels so familiar to her. Holding you in her arms as you bury your face into her neck, but she still can’t figure out who you are to her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, pulling away from your embrace. “I just don’t remember you.”

You nod in understanding. She doesn’t know why but she doesn’t flinch when you place your hands on the sides of her face. Her cheeks feel hot under your touch.

“Can I try?” You ask her. She gets what you mean.

“Okay,” she says.

You lean in and kiss her lips softly. It’s barely there, but it’s enough to make Natasha’s heart flutter. And yours too. Under different circumstances, it would be an amazing reunion kiss.

“Y/n?” She asks when you pull away. There’s a light of recognition in her eyes.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Detka,” she begins. You could cry at the pet name. “I don’t- are you okay? Shit, this is my fault.”

She tries to inspect your wound, but you just hug her again.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so so sorry that I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I did when I broke your heart,” she says regretfully.

“Natasha-“

“Let me just,” she interrupts. “Let me apologize. I’m so sorry, y/n. I love you. I haven’t stopped. It’s just I got so protective of you that I couldn’t let you go on missions. I was holding you back.”

“You weren’t holding me back, Nat. I understand that you’re protective over me, but I can handle myself.”

“I know that,” she says. “I’m just so sorry.”

“Let’s go home, Natasha. We can talk about this over a cup of hot chocolate,” you suggest.

“Yeah. Let’s go home,” Nat says.

You both ignore the other Avenger’s requests that you stay at the compound and they evaluate Nat’s situation and your injury.

The hope of a true love’s kiss curing Natasha seems to be really true. Maybe fairytales are real. Maybe they’re not. But you both love each other and you were always meant to end up together again.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #natasha romanoff angst #steve rogers #clint barton #tony stark

[plaguedocboi]

Waterfalls! These gorgeous, powerful features of nature have been oddly lacking in my past lists, I think in part because their danger has always seemed more “obvious” to me. But doing the research for this list has reawakened my phobia of the water. Some of the later entries (numbers 9 and 10 especially) brought back anxieties that I thought I had gotten over long ago, but it was kind of thrilling. Like watching a particularly scary horror movie. Let’s get into it!

1. Underwater Waterfall, Mauritius

No, it’s not really a waterfall. It’s just an optical illusion caused by sand falling off the island’s slope down into the deeper water below. But it looks cool and scary, and the drop-off is 2.5 miles deep so that’s pretty impressive and I think it deserves at least a mention.

2. Blood Falls, Antarctica

There’s nothing particularly dangerous about this one, it just looks incredibly creepy. Obviously, it’s not actually blood, it’s just water that’s very rich in iron. But the really fascinating part of this waterfall is that its source seems to be a subglacial lake that contains a unique microbial ecosystem which has been isolated for two million years! These microbes are like nothing else we’ve ever observed in nature before. They live in an incredibly cold and extremely saline lake, and metabolize sulfur and iron ions with no oxygen present. They are being used as a model to study what life on ice-covered alien planets could be like.

3. Khone Falls, Laos

This waterfall is not nearly as famous as some of the others on this list, which is surprising because it’s the widest waterfall in the world, with an average width of six miles! Although not particularly tall, it is the second most powerful waterfall in the world, more than double the power of Niagara Falls! The Khone falls divide the Upper and Lower Mekong river, making travel by boat between the north and south impossible. What makes it kind of unsettling to me is that during the rainy seasons the falls are basically swallowed up by the river, turning them from a spectacular waterfall to a series of massive rapids.

4. Huntington Gorge, Vermont

When water levels are low, this river is a popular and scenic swimming spot, and the canyon has an almost otherworldly quality with its unique bends and overhangs. Unfortunately, these very features are what makes it so dangerous. Much like the infamous Strid, the gorge is full of holes, steep drop-offs, and powerful currents hidden beneath the water, which can suck people in and trap them against the cliff walls. Over fifty people have died here since the 1950s, and many more have been injured. With proper precautions, one can safely explore the gorge and swim in the river, but don’t forget that this water has swallowed up many people before you.

5. Victoria Falls, Zambia

I’m sure most of you already know about Mosi-oa-Tunya, more widely called Victoria Falls, as the largest waterfall in the world. Formed as the Zambezi river pours into a series of massive gorges, this curtain of water spans nearly a mile and falls 300 feet with such force that columns of rising spray can be seen for miles around. Despite this, the pools around the lip of the falls can be relatively tame, and locals have fished while balancing on the edge of the cliff for generations. The safest and most famous of these fishing holes is the Devils Pool, which allows you to literally swim right up to the edge of the world’s biggest waterfall. The pool is actually very safe when the correct precautions are taken, and I can only find one death attributed to the pool specifically, when a tour guide in 2009 fell while trying to help a man who had slipped and was dangling off the edge (and, honestly, I was expecting a lot more deaths given the amount of clickbait articles advertising it as the most deadly swimming hole in the world). Although that was the only death from the Devils Pool, there have been many other deaths at Victoria Falls, mostly tourists who underestimate the power of the river or get too close to the edge. So if you ever visit this spectacular waterfall, please observe it from a safe distance and follow all the rules.

6. Huka Falls, New Zealand

This is not a traditional waterfall, but rather a series of small waterfalls along a narrow stretch of the Waikato river, creating an incredibly turbulent chasm that ends in a whirlpool. The 300-foot wide river is funneled into a 50-foot wide stream, causing a torrent of water that flows at a rate of 58,000 gallons per second. Obviously, this is not an area that you should get in the water, but not everyone takes that advice. There have been multiple deaths at this waterfall, and a few narrow escapes, including two swimmers who, incredibly, survived after trying to raft down the falls on pool toys. Please, for the love of god, don’t do that.

7. Niagara Falls, US/Canada

These falls are the only place on this list that I’ve visited, and I can tell you they are certainly an incredible sight, but also rather intimidating due to their sheer size and power. These three massive waterfalls are fed by the Great Lakes and, combined, have nearly 700,000 gallons of water thundering down every second. There is also a permanent whirlpool in the river that has existed for over 4,000 years and reaches depths of 125 feet! Besides being huge and awe-inspiring, these waterfalls are known for their appeal to daredevils who have gone over the edge in barrels or, in one case, a giant rubber ball. But these famous success stories are punctuated with tragedy. Roughly 20-30 people die at Niagara Falls every year. Most of these, sadly, are suicides, but others are failed attempts to replicate the successful daredevils of the past, and others are accidental. An estimated 5,000 bodies were recovered at the bottom of the falls between 1850 and 2011.

8. Murchison Falls, Uganda

Also known as Kabalega Falls, this is the worlds most powerful waterfall. Formed as the Nile River flows from Lake Kyoga to Lake Albert, this waterfall is so strong it literally causes the ground to shake around it. Here, the Nile is constricted from a river nearly 400 ft wide to a passage only 20 ft wide, creating an incredibly turbulent and violent tunnel of water that tears its way into the pool below at 79,000 gallons per second. And this is no ordinary pool. Waiting below the falls is the highest concentration of large crocodiles observed anywhere in the world, waiting for any dead or stunned animals caught in the falls to wash into their lair. Although the waterfall and surrounding park are now a beautiful tourist attraction and wildlife refuge, the history of the falls includes tales of human and animal sacrifices, thrown in alive to appease the gods that some believed resided beneath the raging waters.

9. Bath Fountain, Jamaica

This is just a random little waterfall along a hiking trail, but the video triggered some intense bathophobia in me for the first time in a while. Like, I was scared to get in the shower after watching this. Proceed with caution:

10. Kipu Falls, Hawaii

This one scares me because, despite my research, I can’t actually figure out what the hell is happening here. Multiple people have died here; all tourists, all drownings, all of seemingly very unclear causes. Kipu Falls is a beautiful and popular swimming spot, and locals frequently dive off the top of the falls with seemingly no danger. However, five deaths over the course of five years from 2006-2011 challenged its reputation of being a safe swimming hole. All the articles I could find seem to repeat the same information; there is no current in the pool and the waterfalls are not especially powerful. Despite these established facts, all five deaths were the same. Someone jumped in, surfaced, and then were dragged back down to the bottom of the pool and held there until they died. This has resulted in a lot of speculation, including everything from a hidden whirlpool current to evil spirits. I’m just. Really unsettled by the lack of information on this one. Every article I found was published in 2011 and I couldn’t find any updates, which hopefully means people aren’t still dying here, but… what the fuck???? Was going on????? Sorry guys this one might not be as dangerous as some of the others but it freaks me out a lot so it’s getting a higher rating. I want to know what’s going on but I’m sure not going to investigate it myself.

#long post #water rating #bathophobia

[odinsblog]

Land and Housing

As a result of decades of land confiscations and discriminatory land policies, Israeli authorities have hemmed in Palestinian towns and villages, while nurturing the growth and expansion of Jewish communities, many of which in practice exclude Palestinians. The majority of Palestinians in Israel live in these communities, while some live in “mixed cities” like Tel Aviv-Jaffa and Haifa.

Ninety-three percent of all land in Israel constitutes state land, directly controlled by the Israeli government. Israeli authorities confiscated much of this land, several million dunams, from Palestinians through several different legal instruments, as documented in a later chapter of this report. A government agency, the Israel Land Authority (ILA), manages and allocates state lands. Almost half the members of its governing body belong to the JNF, whose explicit mandate is to develop and lease land for Jews and not any other segment of the population. The fund owns 13 percent of Israel’s land, which the state is mandated to use “for the purpose of settling Jews.”

Israeli authorities have almost exclusively allocated state lands for the development and expansion of Jewish communities. Since 1948, the government has authorized the creation of more than 900 “Jewish localities” in Israel, but none for Palestinians except for a handful of government-planned townships and villages in the Negev and Galilee, created largely to concentrate previously displaced Bedouin communities. Less than 3 percent of all land in Israel falls under the jurisdiction of Palestinian municipalities, where the majority of Palestinian citizens live, according to a 2017 estimate by Israeli and Palestinian groups.

Even inside Palestinian towns and villages within Israel, Israeli authorities discriminatorily restrict the land available for residential growth. The authorities have zoned large sections of Palestinian towns and villages for “agricultural” use or as “green” areas, prohibited residential building in them, and built roads and other infrastructure projects that impede expansion. A 2003 Israeli government-commissioned report found that “many Arab towns and villages were surrounded by land designated for purposes such as security zones, Jewish regional councils, national parks and nature reserves or highways, which prevent or impede the possibility of their expansion in the future.”

While increasing focus in recent years on these issues has resulted in more state-approved residential development, they have done little to date to change the reality of hemmed-in Palestinian towns and villages. By contrast, in case studies documented by Human Rights Watch in each of Israel’s six districts, planning authorities provided sufficient land and zoning permissions to predominantly Jewish communities to facilitate their growth.

(continue reading)

#politics #palestine #gaza #isreal #israel is an apartheid state #illegal settlements #apartheid #displacement #israili apartheid #visualizing palestine #nakba #al nakba #🍉 #🇵🇸

[hairmetal666]

cw// cancer mentioned, no character death

Eddie's moving to Chicago with his boyfriend and their best friend.

Eddie's moving to Chicago and it feels like everything is finally coming together.

Eddie's moving to Chicago, Steve Harrington is his boyfriend, and his life is starting.

Eddie's moving to Chicago, but then Wayne gets sick.

He tells Steve that he can't leave, not yet, needs to take care of his uncle.

And Steve, his Steve, perfect Steve, says with no hesitation, "I'll stay. Eddie, I'll stay with you. We'll go in six months. Together, that's the plan."

But Eddie can't let Steve do that; Steve who is everything bright and good and right in the world. Steve needs to get out, even if Eddie can't.

He insists Steve go, insists so hard that Steve can only agree, though Eddie can tell it's killing him.

Before they leave, Steve and Eddie cling to each other.

"Six months, baby. Just six months and then I'll be with you."

"I'll stay, Eds. Let me stay for you?"

"Not in a million years. What's six months in a lifetime together?"

"You mean that?" Steve whispers, the words tickling against Eddie's neck.

"Of course, sweetheart. Never meant anything more in my life."

They cling harder, crying against each other, despite it being goodbye for now and not forever.

They haven't said "I love you" yet, and the words hang on his tongue as the embrace ends, but he can't say it now; not when six months of time and 200-plus miles will separate them.

Except Wayne isn't better in six months. He's not worse, but the cancer's still there, he's still sick. And Eddie can't leave.

Eddie figured something like this would happen. Knew in the back of his mind that Steve and Robin and Chicago were never anything but a pipe dream.

When he calls Steve, he thinks he's ready.

"Okay, so Hopper's letting us borrow his truck, but he needs to know our timeline. You think next Saturday--"

"Steve." He says. His stomach clenches.

"What's wrong?" Because Steve knows, like he always does.

"Wayne's not better."

Steve is silent for a beat. "Okay...that's okay. I'll come back. Right now. Tonight. We'll do this tog--"

"You know I can't let you do that."

"Eddie--"

"No, Steve, don't. Okay? Let's just. It's time, you know?"

"It's not. Eddie, it isn't. Don't do this. Please, please," Steve cries.

"It's for the best. I know you can't see it now, but it is. You need to live your life, Stevie. Get that degree. Be someone."

"Eddie," Steve sobs. "Please. You have to know that I lo--"

"Don't," Eddie snarls. Doesn't mean to but can't hear those words, the three that will break him in two. "This is for the best, Steve. A clean break, yeah?"

"No." And Eddie hears Steve shuffling on the other end, like he's getting up. "I'm not letting you do this. I'm coming back, and we're doing this together. A lifetime, remember?"

Eddie's crying now, can't help it. "Please, don't. Steve, just--it's over, okay? I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't do this anymore."

He hangs up the phone before Steve can argue, cries himself to sleep.

5 Years Later

Eddie never gets over Steve Harrington. His golden boy, the brave, perfect, kind, bratty man who has his whole heart.

Wayne is okay. Will never not have cancer, but he's doing good. And Eddie runs a record store in the town over. Visits some bars in Indy when he feels a certain kind of lonely. He's settled, finally, is the thing. He's settled and happy enough, so of course, that's when it happens.

He's at the grocery store, stopped in produce. There's a little girl, maybe 3 or 4--bright pink shirt, chestnut hair, little overalls--sitting in a cart by the tomatoes.

The sight of her sparks something in Eddie's chest, but he doesn't understand what or why, and then she's pointing at him, smiling and wiggling. "Daddy!" She shrieks.

That's when Steve Harrington swoops around the corner, reaching for the girl, his daughter, and Eddie takes a step away, ready to run from this.

The girls says, "That's the boy in all your pictures." She giggles and points at Eddie more. Steve blushes, and Eddie's assaulted by so many things all at once he thinks he may pass out.

"Stevie," he hears himself saying.

Steve freezes, looks at Eddie, so much knowing in those hazel eyes it makes him a little sick. But it still surprises him when Steve pulls him into a hug. Being in those arms again, It's like everything keeping him together falls apart. He sinks into the hold, breathes in deep, feels like home.

It shouldn't, though. Steve's got a kid. Probably a wife. Can't have his ex-boyfriend falling apart in his arms in the grocery store. Eddie disengages, steps back a little. Steve blinks, eyelashes fluttering, and Eddie is still so in love with him it hurts.

"I should--I should go," he mumbles, gripping at the back of his neck like it's a lifeline. The little girl giggles more, bouncing in her seat, and he's overcome with fondness. Can't help but give her an exaggerated bow as he goes.

He makes himself walk to the end of the aisle, but once he's left Steve behind, he runs.

That night, when a knock comes at his door, nothing prepares him for a sheepish Steve Harrington standing on the other side.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced," Steve says, manners still impeccable. "Wayne gave me your address. I'm glad--I'm glad he's doing okay, Eddie."

Eddie's too astonished to respond, nods for a few seconds before, "Th-thanks. Uhh, you wanna come in?"

Steve does and then they're in Eddie's little living room together and what the fuck is he supposed to do?

"Where's the kid?" he asks. He gestures Steve to the couch.

Steve smiles, a soft thing that's a knife to Eddie's heart. "Oh, I left her with Robin. They'll be fine for a few hours. Her name's Ellie, by the way. Ellie Jane Harrington."

"She knows who I am?" Eddie asks.

"Course. I told her about everyone. Showed her pictures. I hoped she could meet you one day."

"Yeah?" Eddie can't stand the thing that unfurls in his chest, blooming with love, so much care it aches in his teeth. "I swear next time I won't run away."

Steve laughs, hazel eyes fond in a way that Eddie can't look at for too long. "You didn't run away, Eds. It was a weird--reunion."

Eddie chuckles, pulls hair over his face. "A little bit. Not every day you run into your ex and his daughter scoping out tomatoes."

"I was hoping to give you a call, ask you out to dinner, or something. Not my kid recognizing you at Bradley's Big Buy."

"You wanna take me out to dinner, Stevie?" He asks before he can think better of it. Steve blushes red, and god Eddie missed him.

"Thought it might be nice, yeah. Get to know each other again."

It's Eddie turn to blush. "Why are you here?" He asks, good of a segue as any.

"Here, like, in your apartment, or here in Hawkins?"

"Both."

"I'm--uh--the new counselor at Hawkins High. Might coach the basketball team."

"But--Chicago," is all Eddie can say.

Steve laughs. "It was fun for a while, but--I don't know, man, it got hard with a kid. Joyce told me about the job opening and I decided to try."

"And Ellie's mom?" Eddie doesn't want to ask, can't stand not knowing.

Steve's eyes fall. "Ah," his hands squeeze into fists. "She's not in the picture. Never really was. After--" he takes a deep breath. "After we broke up, I sort of. Lost myself for awhile. Slept around. One night, I got this call saying that a baby had been surrendered at a fire station, my name listed as the father."

"Oh, sweetheart. I bet you didn't hesitate."

Steve stares at his hands, smiles. "Not for a second. I cried when I saw her, Eds. Just fucking sobbed. She was so beautiful. Then I had to figure out how to raise a kid and finish school."

"But you did it." Eddie can't hide that he's crying anymore.

Steve nods, is crying too.

"I'm really proud of you, sweetheart," Eddie whispers.

They look at each other, tear stained and sad but somehow so happy, and Steve leans forward, presses his mouth to Eddie's. He freezes, shocked to stillness, overwhelmed with the thing he never thought he'd have again.

Steve pulls back, face red and eyes wide. "I'm so sorry. I got it in my head--" he stands, fumbling for his keys. "I should have never--you told me we were done and I know you meant it. But I saw you in the grocery store and I thought, you know, I'm never getting over him. I'm so stup--"

"Steve, wait" Eddie snaps out of it all at once, hurrying to where the man he's never stopped loving is shoving his feet inexpertly into his shoes.

"Don't leave," he says, almost whispering. "Please don't leave. Steve, I'm so, so sorry for how I ended things. I was so young and stupid, and--I didn't want you to lose your dreams for me."

Steve turns then, tears trickling down his cheeks. "You were my dream, Eds. You still are. I should have come back, made you let me stay. But I thought--maybe your feelings had changed. That you didn't--that you weren't--"

Eddie can't help it, pulls Steve into his arms. "I was. I am. You're all I've ever wanted." He presses his face to Steve's hair, breathes in deep. "I loved you then. I love you now. I've loved you every day in between."

"I love you," Steve sobs. "I love you so much."

They kiss, lips slotting together like they never stopped. It's salty with tears, but it's perfect. It's them.

Their mouths part, but they stay in each other's orbit; need the proximity after years apart.

"I have a kid now, Eddie," Steve says into the silence between them.

"Yeah," Eddie nods. "She's beautiful. Looks like her dad."

Steve smiles, flushes again. "She needs stability in her life, you know? She's my priority. Always will be. And if I--if this--"

Eddie knows. Understands his boy just as well now as he did back then. "We'll take it as slow as you need, baby. I want to be there for both of you. When you're ready. And until then, I'll be wherever you need me."

More tears escape Steve's eyes, but Eddie brushes them away. "We have a lifetime to figure it out."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #oneshot #break up #second chance at love #reconnection #mutual pining #angst #angst with a happy ending #girl dad steve harrington #steve harrington has a kid #good nephew eddie munson #wayne has cancer #getting back together #eventually ellie calls eddie daddy and everyone cries #soft #a little bit of fluff amongst the heartache

[stop-talking]

You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 4)

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.4k words + 300 word epilogue

Tags: 18+, mike x fem reader, no use of y/n, exes, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, pet names, banter, angst, fluff, comfort, happy ending.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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Mike sits at his kitchen table, trying not to nod off into his cereal. Today is a quiet day. A lazy day. His one day off.

Except, not really. There's always work to be done. He just has to figure out what today's work would be. He's caught up on laundry and dishes, the house isn't too much of a mess... Hm. Maybe he should finally fix the dripping pipe in the bathroom. Or the living room window that's been stuck for years. Or one of the million other things wrong with his house.

He sighs and goes to take a bite of his cereal, only to realize he forgot the milk. Damn it. When he opens the fridge, he stands face to face with a little blue dolphin stuffed animal. Right... Abby's still testing him. He leaves it alone, she'll see it when she gets home from school and assume her "spell" still works. Pfft.

Mike nearly drops the milk mid-pour when he hears the phone ring.

*click.*

"Hello?" He mumbles groggily, a little annoyed to have his morning brooding interrupted.

"Hey, Mike? You free at all today?"

He immediately perks up at the sound of your voice. It's been two days since he last saw you, and he honestly wasn't sure if you'd ever speak to him again.

"Yeah, uh... It's my day off, actually."

"Good. I'm using that 2nd favor."

Mike's heart races. If this favor is going to be anything like the last one, he was definitely up for it.

"Oh? Missing me already, sweetheart?"

"As if. I need you to build me a shelf."

A shelf? Well, that was unexpected. Hm. Better than nothing.

"What, like build it from scratch? Are you expecting me to buy the boards, or-"

"No. I have all the pieces. It just needs to be assembled."

"You can't assemble a shelf?" Mike scoffs, but secretly he's pleased. Sounds like you just want an excuse to have him over.

"Mike. You know I'm no good with tools."

No, he didn't know that actually. Liar. You definitely just wanted to see him again. God, he felt giddy.

"Mhm. Sure."

"Just get your ass over here, Schmidt."

"Woah, what's with the attitude, Princess? I'm here to help." He can't help but let some smugness seep into his tone. Okay, more than some. He's a cocky bastard and he knows it.

"I've been working on the damn thing all morning. Almost three hours now. Not in the mood, jackass."

Shit. You sounded sincere. And really pissed off. Then again, what kind of a shelf took three hours to assemble? The fuck was it? A jigsaw puzzle?

"Alright, alright. I'll be over soon. See ya."

Mike slumps against the counter as you grumble something incoherent and slam the phone down. Damn, what is he getting himself into this time?

Only one way to find out.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When Mike finally arrives at your apartment half an hour later, he feels a bit silly. He put on a nice shirt and trousers to come see you, and here you are in sweats and a baggy t-shirt. Figures.

"Call for a handyman?" He greets you with a teasing smile, holding up his old rusted toolbox as he makes his way inside.

"Pfft. Someone's happy to see me."

Mike can't really say anything to that, so he doesn't try. He is happy to see you, even if you have attitude problems and dress like a bum.

"So, I bought the damn thing from a friend-of-a-friend, who got it at a garage sale. I swear, it has to be missing some parts or something, because-"

He nods as you rattle on and lead him to your bedroom, but he's only half-listening. He looks around your apartment, taking it all in. It's been at least six months since he last came over, probably longer. It doesn't look to have changed much. He likes your apartment. It's cozy.

"Anyways... can you fix it?"

Mike pauses in the doorway of your bedroom as you give him a sheepish smile and gesture to something in the corner.

Holy hell. Is that supposed to be a shelf? Mike can't help but think that the hideous agglomeration of boards and screws would only be good as a fire-starter. It looks more like a pile than a shelf.

"Uhh..." He bites his cheek, desperately trying not to burst into a fit of laughter. Maybe you really weren't lying about the whole "no good with tools" thing.

He finally loses it when you groan and flop down on the bed, hiding your face in a pillow.

"Ughh... Laugh at me, whatever. Just fix it."

"Jesus Christ. This has to be the sorriest excuse for a shelf I've ever seen. Sure you don't want me to haul it to the junkyard instead?" He snorts, sitting down on the edge of your bed and looking with disdain at the half-assedly assembled shelf.

Mike immediately shuts his mouth when you glare at him. Oops, right, you're in a bad mood.

"I mean, uh... you tried?" He laughs, shaking his head in amusement. He still can't believe you're actually this inept when it comes to assembly.

"Get to work, Schmidt."

Mike yelps as you kick him off the bed, but doesn't bother retaliating. He just grabs his toolbox and sits on the floor, examining the so-called "shelf".

"Well, the first step is going to be un-doing everything you did."

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You lie on your stomach in bed, chin propped up on your hands as you kick your feet in the air and ponder the sight before you. Mike's back is turned to you as he quietly works away taking apart the monstrosity you assembled.

"How long is this gonna take?"

"Well, If it wasn't so..." He trails off, glancing at you and choosing his words more carefully.

"...sturdy, it'd be a lot easier to take apart."

"Hm? What do you mean?"

He gives you an incredulous look and gestures to a series of nails in a corner where two boards meet. It does look pretty ridiculous, the sharp ends pointing out the other side. Not your best work.

"You put nails in it, sweetheart." He scoffs.

"How else was I supposed to keep it together?" You give him your best pout, and gloat internally when he has to turn away. He's absolutely infatuated with you. Even the back of his neck is pink.

"It comes with screws for a reason, ya know."

"There's a difference?"

He turns and gives you a flat look, and you laugh. Damn. You can play dumb with him, but maybe not that dumb. Noted.

Still, it's a little boring just laying there and watching him grumble and pull nails from wood. You can't really mess with him too much either, because you really do what him to fix the stupid shelf.

"You want something to drink?" You finally break the silence, under the guise of trying to be a good hostess.

"Pfft. Need some whiskey to deal with this bullshit." He snorts, pulling yet another nail free. He'd almost gotten one board off. One. This was gonna take a while.

"I was thinking more along the lines of soda or tea."

"Jack and Coke, then?"

"Mike. It's hardly past noon."

"So?" He scoffs. "For me, this is like... evening, or something. I dunno. Sleep schedule's fucked with this new job."

That answer makes you pause.

"What is it you do now, anyway?"

He groans, finally prying one of the boards free of the clusterfuck.

"Night guard. Told you already, remember?" He tries to shrug the question off, but you're nosy.

"Where?"

"Uhh... Freddy Fazbear's Pizza..."

"Speak up."

"Ugh. It's this stupid rundown hellhole pizzeria. Honestly dunno why anyone would wanna break in there anyways. It's a dump."

"What kind of a pizzeria needs a night guard? Or any guard?"

"The haunted kind."

You decide not to ask about that, simply shaking your head as you walk to the door. He's truly a loon. A loveable loon, unfortunately.

"Just tell me what you want to drink, Mikey, or I'm getting you water."

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Mike sits on the floor of your bedroom sipping his glass of water and wondering how he got here. If you'd told him a week ago he'd be building his witch of an ex-girlfriend a shelf, he would've gagged. Now...? Well, he just wants to go join you on that bed.

"So are you really just gonna sit there and look pretty while I do all the work?"

"Aww, you think I'm pretty, Mikey? You smile, lying on the bed with your feet kicking in the air, giving him a look of pure adoration. It wasn't hard to do.

"Pretty annoying, yeah." He turns away with a scoff, returning to his work. If only he could get this stupid nail untangled from the other two... why would anyone use this many nails?

"You know, I think I liked you better gagged."

"Oh I know, sweetheart. I could see it in those evil eyes of yours." He can't help but smirk a bit at the comment, though. Sometimes he liked himself better gagged, too. He shakes the thought away and keeps working.

"Why can't you just get on hands and knees and beg me to take you back already?" You huff dramatically and roll over onto your back, letting your head fall over the edge of the bed. He looks silly from this angle. Upside-down.

That question nearly makes Mike drop his tools. Were you serious?

"Why? So you can laugh me off again?"

Ouch. It was true you'd turned him down the last time he'd tried it, but that was six months ago.

"Maybe if you used those big brown puppy eyes of yours on me."

That only earns you a grunt, so you verbally prod him again.

"Besides, why can't I do both? Laugh at you, then take you back? Sounds fun."

"Pfft. Fun? To toy with me? You'd probably break up with me all over again just for shits and giggles." He responds bitterly, still refusing to turn around.

"Mikey. Look at me." You roll back over onto your stomach and rest your chin in your hands as he slowly meets your gaze.

"I didn't break up with you just for shits and giggles. You know that. I'm not letting you sit there and wallow in self-pity."

Mike goes stiff from your words, but your tone is soft, and your eyes even softer. You're still giving him that adoring look. Damn it.

"Well maybe I'd rather wallow in self pity than admit you were right all along."

"You've had six months to wallow. Grow a pair and come kiss me."

He can't say no to that. Not when you look at him that way. He shuffles over, kneeling by the side of your bed. On his knees for you again, damnit.

You kiss him. It's different from the lustful, sloppy kiss you shared last time. This one makes you feel warm. You kiss him again. And again.

Mike really doesn't want this to end, but the knot in his stomach forces him to pull away. He has to ask.

"Why? Why are you doing this, I mean? Do you really want... to take me back?" He sputters, looking down at the floor.

"I'm not completely sure yet." You answer honestly, shifting and lying back on the bed.

Damn. That's not the answer he wanted to hear.

"Are you-"

"Come here."

When you pat the spot next to you in bed, Mike melts. He's a wreck right now, but still wants nothing more than to be with you, in every sense of the word. He silently complies.

"It's not about right and wrong, you know. As much as I love being told I'm right." You give him a soft smile, breaking the silence and placing your hand on top of his as you both lie on your sides.

Damn it. He'd done this with you before, this and so much more. Why was such a small touch turning him to goo?

"What isn't?"

"The breakup. It's about growing as a person. As people. Both of us." You lace your fingers with his, and can't help but laugh as his face reaches a level of pink you've never seen before.

"And what exactly am I supposed to be growing out of?"

"Pfft. I don't know, the emotional unavailability? The way you never made time for me? Constant irritability?" You start to dramatically list off his flaws, using your free hand to count on your fingers.

"Okay, okay. I get it." He huffs, and grabs your hand before you can make fun of him more. Instead, he guides it to his side, pulling you in a little closer.

"And you're miss perfect?"

"No. 'Course not. I have flaws too." You give him a sly smile, and start listing your own "faults".

"Too hot and sexy, too intelligent, too kind, amazing, sweet and caring..."

That's as far as you get before Mike scoots closer, burying his face in your neck and giving you a playful nip.

"Too arrogant." He adds with a laugh, wrapping his arm around you and letting himself melt further into you.

"My arrogance is one of my best qualities, thank you." You reply haughtily, sliding your hand up his back and into his hair.

Mike couldn't speak, even if he could somehow find the right words to say. Everything in this moment felt so right. His arm around you. Your fingers in his hair. He lets out a soft groan instead.

You aren't exactly eager to let go of this moment either, and just hold him for a few minutes. It feels nice to play with his soft brown curls.

"I'll do better. Please." He finally mumbles something to you, not bothering to move his face from where it's buried in the crook of your neck.

"Please what, Mikey?"

"Take me back."

He finally pulls back, just enough to give you a glimpse of those puppy eyes of his. Damn it. How could you even think of saying no?

"Yeah. Okay."

You both lean in for another round of soft passionate kisses, and Mike feels himself relax completely. His stomach unknots and his mind goes numb. For the first time in months, he feels completely safe.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"So does this mean you'll babysit for me again?"

"Go finish the shelf, Schmidt."

"Yes, Princess."

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♡ Epilogue ♡

Over the past few weeks, you and Mike had fallen into a sort of rhythm.

He never did end up finding a new babysitter, and besides, you're the only one who could ever get Abby to finish her dinner. You had to graduate her from daily witching lessons to weekly ones, though, convincing her she needed to study for the more advanced spells. Secretly, Mike was just losing track of which objects in his house were supposedly invisible. It was quite amusing to watch.

Mike's favorite part of the day was coming home to you already asleep in his bed, and waking you up with a kiss. He'd then either lie down in bed while you shower, or hop in there with you, depending on how you felt. Either way, he loved the view.

The conflicting schedules made things complicated, but you were able to work around it. Mike slept better with you holding him, and consequentially, was a lot more agreeable. He did his best to make more time for both you and Abby.

He even started to open up to you for once, letting you take on some of his burdens. This man sure had a lot of guilt. You were certain he hadn't yet told you everything, but he told you enough. At least you finally knew what the fucking NEBRASKA poster on the ceiling was for. Now you kind of felt bad for all the times you teased him about it the first time you dated.

As for the damn shelf... well, he finished it. It was still hideous, but it was functional. There were holes in it from the nails, and the wood had even started to splinter in a few spots. You couldn't bring yourself to get rid of it, though. Not after how much work you both put into it. Even if most of Mike's work revolved around un-doing yours.

It definitely wasn't a perfect relationship, not by far. But Mike never promised to be the perfect boyfriend. He just promised to be better.

And he was, bit by bit, every day. Better. ♡

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Author's note:

Thank you all for the love!! This was my first time writing a fanfic of any kind so I'm really happy so many of you enjoyed it. Feels good to bring the story to an end.

Feel free to send me a request, I'd love to write more fics about Mike. Or any other J-hutch character for that matter, Mikey is just my favorite <3

#fnaf movie #fnafmovie #jhutch #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #mikeschmidt #josh hutcherson x reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike x reader #no use of y/n #x fem reader #josh hutcherson x you #fluff and angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with comfort #angst with fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #fnaf fic #i can fix him

[pablitosgf]

always ! — cl16

pairings ! — charles leclerc x fem!ex!reader

warnings ! — heart break, mentions of cheating, and thats it (i think).

info ! — in which you learn the reason why y/n hates the word, "always."

authors note ! — inspired from always - daniel caesar, if you can see there are some connections to the lyrics and the events with y/n… <3

format ! — writing

Always. A word you despised, a word you hated with all your heart. It made your heart go cold and your whole body go numb. No matter the use of the word it brought you back to memories you tried to stored deep within your brain. In a chest, in fact, you tried to keep it locked but somehow it let it's way out with the word “always” and you hated how such a word could have a huge effect on you. A word so simple, yet so heartbreaking for someone like you.

Always used to be a word you loved though. A word that made your heart melt instead of break into tiny fragments like it did now. Such a word had a huge effect on you, not a bad one, but a good one back then. The promises from him included always every single time. To which you would interlock your pinky with his and repeat the word again. Thinking of it now made you break and turn into a crying fit. It was embarrassing, to say the least. Everything reminded you of him, but that word especially did.

To put it into simple terms you hated that word because he made broken promises. People constantly say, “Promises are meant to be broken.” but you disagreed with that. You hated broken promises. Even he knew, yet he decided to break those promises. He’d say things like:

“We’ll always be each other’s forever.”

“You’ll always be mine, even until the end of time.”

“Always.”

“We’re like peanut butter and jelly, we always go together.”

Thinking about those caused a stinging effect on your poor broken heart. But you could never hate him, you’ve loved him for years. The sight of him makes your heart leap but also break into a million more pieces. You could never forget the night it all happened, the night when “always” became the word you hated, the night when all the promises he made for years were broken, the night when he wasn't your always and forever anymore.

“Hi mon amour,” you said shakily as if you were about to cry any second. You knew what was about to happen, but tried your best to remain as positive as you could, so you swallowed up those tears and put on a wonky, lopsided smile. You always thought negatively of everything and he knew that. So, when you received the text of him wanting to talk to you after you got off work you assumed the worst. “You asked if we could talk?”

He looked down at the ground, not bothering to meet your eyes that were filled with love, nervousness, and scariness. Your heart was beating out of your chest. The uneasy smile on your face faltered as he still refused to make eye contact. What went wrong? That was the only question left in your head.

After a few minutes of deafening silence looming over the two of you, he finally said the words you knew he was going to say.

“I want to breakup.”

You answered by giving him a nod as tears threatened to leave your eyes, your vision had gotten blurry due to the amount of tears building up over the past few minutes. You couldn't even fight back and be stubborn to have him stay. Future you wished you had, because six months later you hadn't been over him. A decade's worth of your life thrown into the trash. You sat there as he left the shared apartment you had with him in Monaco. All you wanted to do was cry till you couldn't.

You had no why. He didn't give any closure to you, even after six months. Every day since that day you rotted in your bed crying until you were tired and couldn't anymore. This was the first heartbreak you’ve ever experienced, and you hoped this would never happen. Because at that time you thought he was your forever and always and you were his. Even after six months, you thought there was still a possibility, you still had hope he’d return to you because you would with open arms.

In the closet, you both used to share you still kept his part empty, so whenever he came back he could fill it back up with his clothes which you’d steal every day. And in the bathrooms where you still had the brush holder near the second sink, but with no toothbrush. You’d always stare through the mirror where he would be, happily brushing his teeth with a smile on his face waiting to kiss you because you didn't want to kiss him with morning breath. You kept the left side of the bed empty for him because it was the side closest to the door and he wanted to protect you in case there was any intruder. Even after six months, half a year, you still kept it that way. He moved on while you didn't.

And you remembered that day vividly.

You finally had the will to go out and have brunch, it was a one-on-one with Lily. She was one of your best friends and you’d say she’s the WAG you were the closest with. Lily and you instantly clicked when you first met. She would do anything for you and you knew it with all your heart. And you would do anything for her.

So when she whizzed her head around, looking back at you with wide eyes she quickly tried to hide you were confused. Her eyes were filled with panic and distress, you wanted to find out why. You looked behind her to find out but she kept blocking your view, and to be honest, she looked ridiculous, to say the least.

“Stop moving your head, I want to see.”

“Y/n, trust me you don't want to.”

“Lily, I don't care.”

And you wished you didn't. You saw him there with a girl, she looked very familiar to you. Then it clicked, she was the girl he told you not to worry about, and right there you were questioning his fidelity. Question if you had been cheated on all this time. And if so for how long? Just when you thought you were doing well it all fell down, all your hard work, and your progress went back to 0%. A look of pity washed through Lily’s face and you hated it. She was trying to protect you, and you hated how stubborn you were. You wished you listened. Tears welled in your eyes just like that day, you mumbled, “I wanna go home.”

Lily nodded as she went to pay for the barely eaten food then the two of you left the restaurant. You wondered if he saw you, probably not though. He seemed to be focused on his new girl. All your friends expected you to hate him after this, but you couldn't. You dated that man for twelve years and loved him since you were little.

Even after that you still kept the right side of the bed instead of the left, left the abandoned toothbrush holder, and left the his side of the closet empty. You couldn't move on to another chapter of your life. But you had to. Though, deep in your heart you still had a spot filled with love for him. Forever and…

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[incandescentlysomething]

Lady of the Ashes: Chapter 3

House of the Dragon Season 1

Aemond x TargaryenOC

Chapter Word Count: 3763

She was his everything… For her…he would do anything.

From the moment of her birth, Aemond Targaryen swore himself to the protection of his niece Aelinor Velaryon. As the two grew up inseparable, they find themselves entangled in the Dance of Dragons, battling to stay together even as their families try to pull them apart.

IMPORTANT: Instead of the six year time jump we saw in the show, we're doing a nine-year time jump. I was in no way comfortable building toward future events with Aelinor only fifteen years old. Here is a list of current ages. Aemond: 24 Aelinor: 18 Jacaerys: 19 Lucerys: 15

Let me know what you think!

Masterlist A03

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 P.1 P.2 Chapter 3

Nine Years Later

The citizens of Dragonstone felt the dragon before they saw it. The fishermen working at their boats, the merchants unloading their hauls from the ships, all felt the world swallowed by shadow as the sun above them was blocked out. The first time it happened, as the shadow of dragon wings passed overhead and the heat of the day was blocked, some of them had screamed that it was Balerion, returned from the dead. There had been chaos in the streets.

But now they knew better, and some of them even lifted their arms to wave at the young Princess as she flew by.

Aelinor Velaryon Targaryen laughed when she saw a few scattered expressions of fear below her, pulling hard on the handle to draw Darrax away from the shore. He’d been known to swoop down and steep the catches of unlucky fishermen, but now he was so large that he would destroy everything in his path if he tried.

“Come, Darrax,” she leaned forward to pat his neck. “Let us carry on.”

The girl was a sight to behold, and many people from the harbor and the castle both stopped their tasks to watch her and her mighty dragon turn toward the sea.

Darrax had not slown in his growing, now with a wingspan rivaled only by Vhagar and a body only slightly smaller than that of Vermithor. His obsidian scales sparkled a million shades of blue and green as the light of the sun reflected off of the waves. He was fast, carried by his large wings, and it was easy to see why the people of Dragonstone had shouted ‘monster’ the first time he flew above them.

But he was also gentle, for he had his rider to care for.

Aelinor had grown much since her childhood, though those that truly knew her would have said that she had not changed at all. She wore her hair in a long plait down her back, and it flapped behind her in the wind, a streak of brilliant silver against the sky. Her reins were modified with a single handle, so that she might be able to command Darrax with only one hand. She rarely needed to, however, as the bond between dragon and rider was so close that she could command him with just Valyrian.

“We aren’t fishing today, Darrax,” she called. “Just stretching our wings.”

The young woman had been stretching her wings more and more often as of late, as she found it suffocating to be in the presence of her parents. Her mother was pregnant with her fourth child by Prince Daemon, and while Aelinor wouldn’t mind supporting her mother in such a time, it was difficult to do so without encountering her father. He had been growing ever more persistent in his desire to train her and Darrax, and she was beginning to run out of excuses.

They swept around the west side of the island, keeping low so that they both might enjoy the spray of the sea. If anyone had asked, Aelinor would have said that she went this way so that Darrax might rest on the cliffside that faced toward the west. But Darrax did not need any such rest, and there was only one reason that she always flew west.

This day, like all the rest of them, she looked west and found the skies empty.

Aelinor sighed, too used to the disappointment for it to sting much. It had been a long nine years, with no word save what came through official messages to the Princess Rhaenyra. She knew that Aegon and Helaena had wed, and that they now had two children. She could not imagine that to be a good match, struggling to reconcile the odd and insect-obsessed Helaena with an image of motherhood. Nor was the Aegon that she remembered the type of boy who should have been a father. Aemond…there was little news of Aemond. She knew it was no fault of his own, but she still found herself hoping to hear from him, even after all these years.

Darrax let out a huff, sensing his rider’s emotions, and then he dove.

“No! NO, Darrax! No!” Aelinor’s shouts were silenced as Darrax plunged beneath the waves.

For a few moments she was weightless, and then he was splashing back to the surface, his wings causing great waves around them as he launched himself back into the sky.

Aelinor sputtered and spat out water. She was completely soaked, but she was laughing. “Darrax!” She scolded, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. “You silly creature. Let’s go home then, so I can dry off.”

Darrax pumped his wings, driving himself up and over the cliff, cutting across the island to carry them back to Dragonstone.

An hour later, Aelinor was walking through the halls of the castle. She was no longer wet, though her leathers had pasted themselves uncomfortably tight against her skin. She had undone her long braid, letting her hair fall past her hips. A bath. A bath was what she needed after that sojourn into the sea.

She reached up with her bad hand, grabbing her glove with her teeth and pulling it free. Then she carefully stretched out each of her fingers, looking forward to warm water and bath salts.

“Aelinor,” her father’s voice echoed from in front of her, the man himself stepping out from an adjoining hall.

She didn’t slow her pace. “Price Daemon.”

He didn’t protest her use of the title. He had never been one to argue trivial matters, and he couldn’t care less whether she called him Father or not. For nine years, his eldest daughter had held him at arm’s length, resentment simmering between them like oil in a pan.

He knew she didn’t like him, but he just didn’t care.

“I wish to take you flying,” he fell into step, watching as she carefully tended to her crippled hand. “So that you might learn to—”

“To what? To fly into battle? Against who, Prince Daemon?” She demanded. “My mother might feign ignorance, but anyone can see that you are preparing for something. I will not be brought into your schemes.”

“You are your mother’s daughter, and with that comes specific—”

“Correct. I am my mother’s daughter. And the daughter of the man who raised me,” she didn’t say whom you murdered, though she had been tempted more than once over the years to confront him about the murder of Ser Laenor. “My loyalty is to them, and not to you.”

Daemon let out a scoff, but fell away, and Aelinor did not look back. 

She stepped into the warmth of her bedchamber, finding the bath already full and steaming.

“What did—” A girl stepped out from behind the dressing screen. “Rhaena!”

The two girls had grown closer in the years they had lived together on Dragonstone. Though not as close as sisters, they were dear friends. Aelinor decided not to wrap her in a hug, given that she still reeked of seawater, but she beamed at her cousin.

“I thought you might need it,” Rhaena laughed. “Darrax take you for a swim again?”

Aelinor was already stripping out of her leathers. “Of course he did. He’s positively impish.”

“I wonder where he gets that from,” Rhaena rolled her eyes, watching as Aelinor practically dived into the bathtub.

“It’s so warm. Thank you, Cousin.” They had never stopped calling each other that, all too aware of the boundaries that would be ripped down if they had to acknowledge what they were — sisters. But still, since the marriage of their parents a few years ago, they had been sisters in all but name, and Aelinor was eternally grateful for the female companionship.

“Your mother said that she wished to speak to you,” Rhaena said. “It sounded important.”

Aelinor gave a slight nod, dread already pooling in her gut. She knew what this was about, as did Rhaena. It was the same topic that had been haunting the halls of Dragonstone for months, casting a pall over everything Aelinor did.

“She knows my feelings on the subject,” she finally said. “But she is my mother, and the Princess of Dragonstone besides. My feelings have little relevance.”

Rhaena passed her a cloth, and Aelinor started to scrub some of the salt from her skin. “But shouldn’t your feelings matter? After all, it’s Jace, of all people.”

Rhaena’s expression was genuine, but Aelinor could hear the question she did not ask. Rhaena was, if not in love with, certainly interested in Jace. But it had never been a secret that, to secure Jace’s own place on the throne, he would marry Aelinor. With her pure Targaryen looks, they would be able to secure the claim of any of their future children. In recent months, Rhaenyra had begun making plans in earnest. After all, both Aelinor and Jace were older than Rhaenyra had been when she first wed Ser Laenor.

Aelinor sunk lower into the bathtub, letting the water lap over her mouth and nearly to her nose. She did not want to think about these things. She did not want to imagine having children with Jace, and certainly did not want to imagine what that would mean. Her brother was nice enough, having grown out of the worst of his childhood impulses, but he was still Jace. Luc would have been more agreeable, if he weren’t still a babe in her eyes.

At least she knew Jace felt the same way. They were not suited to each other.

But they would do whatever was required to win their mother the throne.

“It could be worse,” Aelinor sighed, trying to force some levity into the situation. “I could be marrying a Lannister.”

“At least they have gold,” Rhaena smiled. “What if it were Aegon, or worse, that rogue Aemond? When traders come from King’s Landing, they say that his face is—”

“I know what the traders say,” Aelinor snapped, biting her cheek to keep from cursing aloud. “I would like to bathe alone now, Rhaena. If you please.”

It was a dismissal as plain as any, but Rhaena did not fight it. She just said her farewell, stood, and walked to the door.

She should not have let it bother her so. It had been nine long years, and the rift between their families seemed more insurmountable than ever. But there was still that tiny part of her that sprang to attention whenever she heard even a whisper of Aemond. And too often, it was cruel, malicious whispers that her family seemed to take at face value.

The door creaked open, and Aelinor groaned. Gods be damned. Couldn’t she just have one bath in peace?

“Aelinor? May I come in?”

“Of course, Mother,” Feeling no shame at her own nakedness, Aelinor did not open her eyes as she heard her mother glide into the room and take a seat at her dressing table.

“Did you have a nice flight?” Rhaenyra asked, with almost forced politeness.

Aelinor shrugged. “As good as any. But I can confirm that the sea is quite frigid this morning.”

“Then perhaps you should not be swimming in it.” Her mother laughed.

Aelinor sighed, opening her eyes and moving to rest her chin on the side of the bath tub. “Out with it, Mother. I can see that it’s bothering you.”

Say it. Say that it is finally time for me to do my duty and wed Jacaerys. 

But that was not what Rhaenyra said. “Ser Vaemond moves to challenge Lucerys’ succession to the Driftwood Throne.”

“What?” Aelinor sat back. “But it’s settled. Why is Lord Corlys allowing it?”

“He isn’t. He’s been gravely injured in the Stepstones,” Rhaenyra gave her a sad look, appearing genuinely bereaved by the injury to a man they all admired. “Baela wrote. We must make for King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’ claim before the Iron Throne.”

Aelinor’s mouth dropped open. “When?”

“We will leave tomorrow,” her mother stood. “And Aelinor?”

“Yes?” Already her mind was awhirl with everything that this might mean.

“This is…” She watched as her mother searched for the words. “We need to present a united front. We’ll be bringing our dragons, and I…I ask you to remember who your true family is.”

It was both a warning and a scolding, all wrapped up in one. 

Aelinor nodded, and stared after her mother as she left the room.

She sat there for a long time, stewing in the bathwater. There was so much to think about. On one hand, she was more than a little relieved that she was not yet formally betrothed to her brother. But on the other, there was a genuine twinge of fear. She did not want the legitimacy of her brothers challenged, and she did not want their futures left uncertain. It was a settled succession, and Ser Vaemond was risking everything by drawing it into the open.

Her mother’s ascension to the throne would be questioned if her children were declared illegitimate, and Aelinor knew she would not be immune to that. She might look more Targaryen than Jace and Luc, but it was plain to see that she was not the daughter of Ser Laenor. Gods, this could ruin everything.

But, there was one thing that stood out above all else. 

She was going back to King’s Landing.

She was going back to Aemond.

King’s Landing

“Get up!” Aemond snarled at the squire in front of him. “I thought you were here to train, not lie on your back like a whore!”

The boy scrambled to his feet, wiping mud off of his cheek. “Yes, my Prince.”

Aemond sighed. There were many young lords looking to squire for him, and so far none of them had impressed him at all. Most weren’t even worth using as training fodder. He had to give the Blackwood lad some credit — at least he hadn’t started crying yet.

“Keep your sword up,” Aemond rolled his eyes. “And maybe you’ll be able to stay upright.” It was as close as he would get to offering advice.

“Prince Aemond!” A voice called.

Aemond looked toward the walkway, seeing Ser Criston hurrying down the steps. “What is it, Cole?” He did not have much patience for his mother’s lackey, having always found Ser Criston to be a bit…well, if loyalty could be a fault, then it certainly was in Ser Criston.

Cole stopped, offering a curt nod that could perhaps pass as a bow. “Your mother The Queen bids you attend her. She is in her chambers.”

“Wonderful,” Aemond couldn’t imagine what his mother could have to say. He loved her well enough, and she him, but they never had much use for each other. She often scolded him, calling him too wild, too unruly, and yet he knew he did not get half the scoldings that his brother did. “Take care of this one.”

Ser Criston stared at the Blackwood boy in disdain, but nodded, shedding his white cloak and setting it away from the mud. 

Aemond sheathed his sword, removing his gloves and hurrying toward the stairs. His boots splashed through the dir, and he saw many curious eyes turn his way.

Only once he was inside the castle did he slow to a walk, making his way toward his mother’s chambers. He passed many groups of lords and ladies, all of whom bowed in greeting, but he did not acknowledge them. They weren’t with his time.

A group of ladies-in-waiting gathered by the stairs, meaning he would have to walk straight past them. He recognized one of them by her red hair: the Tully girl. He thought her name might have been Myria or Myra or something like that. She had been presented at court a few months prior, with it plain as day that her family was angling to make a match between the two of them.

Now, as she had when she had first seen him in the receiving hall, she did not meet his gaze, bobbing a curtsy without ever looking him in the eye. He hurried past, hearing them erupt into giggles when they thought he was out of earshot. 

It was always like that. Why shouldn’t they laugh at the maimed prince? He was practically a circus attraction. All he had to look forward to was a future married to some random lady who couldn’t look him in the eye, let alone work up the courage to speak to him. He tried not to let it bother him, after all, they weren’t worth his time.

His chambers were in the same tower as his mother’s, and he passed the closed door of his room as he knocked on her door. “Mother? You sent for me?” A maid swung open the door.

“Yes, Aemond,” his mother was seated on the sofa, his niece and nephew playing with a maid on the floor in front of her. “You can all leave us.”

Aemond stood with his hands behind his back, quirking a smile at his young niece as she was carried from the room.

“Sit, Aemond,” Alicent sighed. “We need to talk.”

“You make it sound very serious,” he dropped into the chair across from her. “How may I help.”

He swallowed nervously. Was this to be it then? Was today the day that he would be officially tied to one of the sycophants roaming around the castle? Gods, don’t let it be the Tully girl. Someone with some backbone, at least.

“I called for you because I think this is something that should be entrusted to your skills. You  know the dragon keepers better than anyone.”

That did catch his attention. “The dragon keepers? Is something wrong with the dragons?”

Alicent sighed again, and he realized suddenly that his mother looked worried. More worried than he could ever recall seeing her, except that day when he had lost his eye. Even his father’s declining health had never caused the dark circles that now surrounded her eyes, and he could see that the skin of her nails had been picked until it bled.

“The Princess Rhaenyra is coming to make a petition,” she said finally. “She brings with her all of her children, and all of their dragons. The Dragon Put must be made ready for her and her hoard, and I must prepare a feast and a ball and all the like.”

Aemond felt his mouth go dry. “Her children? All of them? It couldn’t be. It seemed almost impossible. Nine long years had passed since…since…

“All of them,” his mother confirmed. “Which is the other reason I needed to speak with you.”

More likely, it was the only reason she had asked to speak with him. Subtlety was not his mother’s strong suit, and there was no reason the dragon keepers could not be briefed through a simple message. She had wanted to speak to him about his half-sister’s family, in person, for a reason.

Alicent leaned forward. “Aelinor will be with them, Aemond. But she is not the girl you remember. It has been nearly ten years, and you must remember who she is, and who you are.”

“And who is that, mother?”

“You are the legitimate second son of the King,” Alicent said. “And she is the bastard daughter of a false heir, who has spent nine years being fed their lies and derision, far from any realm of reason. The Aelinor you knew is gone.”

Aemond tensed. “That seems….Father has settled his succession, and we should not—”

“I am not here to argue succession with you, Aemond!” His mother snapped. “I want to be sure that you understand. When they enter this hall, it must be us, and it must be them. The fate of our family may very well depend on it.”

He knew that the succession crisis was constant fodder for the King’s critics, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Blast the Seven Kingdoms, and damn the succession. He didn’t care if his half-sister or her bastards, or his own damn brother ascended the throne. He disliked them all equally. All he cared for was Aelinor.

“Besides,” his mother sat back, fanning herself weakly with her hand. “She is betrothed to Jacaerys.”

“What? Jace?” Aemond spat, unable to contain himself. “Why have I not heard of this?”

“They haven’t been to court to announce it.” Aliecent sighed. “Knowing Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, Jacaerys has almost certainly bedded her already. What better way to secure their line?”

“That Strong boy will never—”

“Watch yourself, Aemond. Please.” His mother waved him away.

He didn’t want to draw out the conversation longer than necessary, and quickly stormed from the room. His mother had certainly achieved her objective, which was reminding him why he hated Jacaerys Velaryon so deeply. His own chambers were only a few doors away, and once he was there, he flung open the window and screamed into the open air. He didn’t give a damn if everyone in the courtyard could hear him.

For nine long years, he had stared across the sea toward Dragonstone. He had requested this chamber specifically because it faced south. And for the first few years, with decreasing frequency, he had begged his mother to grant him permission to fly that way. To where Aelinor was. To…he wasn’t quite sure what he had wanted to do. But he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone.

And now they had given her to Jace. Jace did not deserve her. That Strong boy did not deserve to breathe the same air as her.

Or, did he?

It had been many years since he had seen Aelinor, and she could have changed. She could be different to how he remembered her.

And she might not…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think about that. The truth was staring him in the face, the rage settling into his bones with every seething breath he took. Jace did not deserve Aelinor, but then, neither did he. He was just the scarred second son, after all, and she should be the lady of some great house. He wasn’t jealous, he was concerned for his childhood friend, who had been treated so carelessly by her family.

Given to Jace. He cursed aloud.

Still, his gaze drifted to his writing desk, and to the small box that sat in the top drawer. It had sat there for almost eight years, waiting.

And it had all been for nothing.

#house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #got #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #lady of the ashes #fanfiction #fanfic

[one-flower-one-sword]

His fingers curled into claws, and he aimed directly for Hua Cheng's right eye!

It all happened in under a second. Hua Cheng dodged just as fast, but the attack still left two bloody scratches on his cheek.

For the first time, Hua Cheng faced an opponent he couldn't overtake in speed. His gaze turned sharp, and he changed tactics on the spot - he called forth millions of wraith butterflies, and they swarmed the man in a frenzy. The myriad butterflies wrapped the white-clad man inside a large, shimmering silver chrysalis, but that likely wouldn't last long. Hua Cheng was about to grab Xie Lian when the silver butterflies shrieked and exploded into sparkling powder!

Seeing the subtle change to Hua Cheng's expression as so many wraith butterflies were destroyed at once, Xie Lian knew that this wasn't good. The white-clad man had blown apart the wraith butterflies, and now he was hidden within the shimmering silver powder that choked the air. His newly grown hand struck out once more, aiming again for Hua Cheng's right eye!

TGCF Volume 6, page 76

In this previous post, I've speculated about the logistics of Hua Cheng being blind on his right side and his usage of the wraith butterflies as a sort of disability aid in some instances. This above scene of his first direct clash against Bai Wuxiang is another one of those moments where the text isn't directly stating something but it's possible to extrapolate from what is described and from what is implied.

Hua Cheng is extremely skilled at direct combat at a very young age already, evidenced by the way he manages to injure several of Qi Rong's lackeys when they capture him as he's only ten years old:

"I called for five or six guys, and they still couldn't catch the brat. He trashed and bit them until they were bloodied all over."

Volume 2, page 351

And then later as a young soldier in the army:

"Although the boy was carrying nothing but a worn sword, he was still highly effective and struck down many of the binu. [...] "You've never used a saber before, right? You use a sword, but the sword is tricky. Although it's fast and extremely aggressive, its range is fairly limited. If you've never used a saber before, try it next time. I think you might be even stronger with it."

Volume 3, page 124-127

(The horrifying thing about this is of course that while Hua Cheng probably possessed natural talent, the reason why he had to learn to defend himself against adults as a mere child was that he was so severely and frequently beaten by them)

Also in my previous post, I speculated that Hua Cheng always keeping his right eye covered likely meant he learned early how to compensate for his blind spot in combat, since that obvious weakness is something his opponents would immediately notice and try to take advantage of. Until Bai Wuxiang, we never witness him fighting anyone who can actually injure him, not since he's become a Supreme Ghost King. He defeats 33 heavenly officials in a row, and even fighting two against one with Feng Xin and Mu Qing, he defeats both of them with ease.

I would argue that, aside from being extremely skilled with a saber and having immense spiritual powers, it can be extrapolated from the above quote about his fight against Bai Wuxiang that it's also Hua Cheng leveraging his superior speed against his opponents that prevents them from taking advantage of his blind spot.

(As an aside, I would assume that even when Hua Cheng is in a fake skin that has both eyes and not in his true form, he's still blind in the right one because it's, well, fake. If the text ever actually contradicts that (I've not read volume 8 yet) I will add corrections)

But now, he's facing Bai Wuxiang, who is just as if not even faster than him. Judging by the fact that Bai Wuxiang aims his attack at Hua Cheng's right eye twice, he's correctly judged his blind spot to be the most vulnerable place to go for, thereby managing to bypass his defense long enough to injure him.

Hua Cheng immediately reasses the situation, realizes he needs to create more distance between himself and his opponent, and switches to use his wraith butterflies as a sort of distract-defend-attack combo. And against everyone else, this would have worked - we see this when he uses them to drive Feng Xin and Mu Qing back after they kidnapped Xie Lian away from him:

The butterfly deluge was blocked by the formless spiritual shield and shattered into shimmering silver light, which rapidly recrystallized into new silver butterflies and attacked once more. The onslaught was completely unstoppable - Feng Xin and Mu Qing gave ground slowly as they kept their shields up, and Hua Cheng steadily advanced step by step.

Volume 6, page 63

And then again to keep Feng Xin away and occupied while he faces Mu Qing with Eming:

Meanwhile, each arrow Feng Xin shot at the butterflies was snapped by their sharp wings. The sheer number of butterflies was ultimately too difficult to deal with!

Volume 6, page 64

But Bai Wuxiang is infinitely more powerful and simply destroys all the wraith butterflies at once, which then gives him the opportunity to immediately go for Hua Cheng's blind spot a second time and aim his attack there again.

If we continue to read the wraith butterflies as not only a weapon but also a disability aid of sorts, these fight scenes demonstrate both the possible uses of them as such and also their limits. While they're feared for good reason and have multiple functions - acting as his eyes and ears like spies, defending like a shield or cutting like a blade - they can help him make up for his blind spot to a certain degree, but they can't erase it. They're an aid for his vision loss, not a replacement.

(Which is a good thing imo, just to make that clear. I feel like it's always such a wasted opportunity when characters sustain a disability and then it's either magically fixed or they continue on as if they're still able-bodied. But Hua Cheng is disabled, and the ways he's found to empower himself and to navigate a world that's pretty hostile to people like him, don't take away from that)

Like I mentioned above I haven't read Volume 8 yet, where as far as I know there'll be more fight scenes, so I might come back to this post in the future to add further observations or correct previous ones!

#tgcf #rereading tgcf #hua cheng #disabled!hua cheng #I'm also gonna screencap ep 5 of the donghua to analyze his fight scenes #because watching him fight is an absolute delight #I'm just like xie lian in that way i love hua cheng and i love sword fights lmao

[queen-of-deans-booty]

New Life's Purpose

Pairing: No Pairing (female!reader)

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey can i request a imagine with both of the Winchester with a tribrid (werewolf, witch, vampire) and half angel daughter of any archangel that is over 600 years old look like 25 and study some many careers and is super intelligent and have a lot of money,  companies, etc and when the Winchesters find out they are surprised and fascinated?

Summary: You've completed your life's mission. You've lived a luxurious lifestyle. You want something more. You want to do something more with your life. Something like a new life's purpose.

Square Filled: “I’m not saying I’m amazing, but sometimes I’m distinctly above average.” (2021) for @spnquotebingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

All these choices yet you don’t know which one you want. The manager gathered everything he had that fit the description you gave but you’re still having a hard time deciding.

“If I may, ma’am, I think this one would look fantastic on you,” he says and points to the necklace.

“It’s not for me. It’s for a friend.”

The store manager is nervous because this is such a high-end store that the only people who come in to shop must have millions to their name--which you do. More like billions, but that’s neither here nor there.

You tap your fingers on the desk rhythmically as you look at all of the options. People pass by the store on their way to other stores that they can afford but none of them interest you. Not until two men walk by that makes you smile.

“Sam! Dean!” Both men stop and look into the store in confusion. “Over here. Come here.” They look at each other in confusion. “Come here. I need you two.” They step inside, unsure of what is going on. You grab the necklace the store manager pointed to and one that you had your eyes on, and you place both necklaces on Sam and Dean’s neck. “Which one would look better?”

“What the hell is going on?” Dean asks.

“It’s hard to say, ma’am. They both compliment their skin tones.”

“I’ll get both,” you shrug and hand the necklaces back to the manager.

“Of course, ma’am,” the manager grins and takes the necklaces back. He rings up the very expensive necklaces and accepts your cash before handing you the bag with them in it. “Have a pleasant day, ma’am.”

“I intend to. Thank you, Tony.” You grab the bag and leave the store knowing the Winchesters are going to follow you. You hold the bag to Sam who takes it with a confused look. “Hold this for me, please.”

“What is going on?” Sam mutters to his brother.

“Who are you? How do you know us?” Dean asks.

As you’re walking, you look into the windows of various stores, only interested in ones that have the price tags in the thousands.

“You’re Sam and Dean Winchester, born to Mary Campbell and John Winchester. Mary died when Sam was six months old by Azazel and John died by selling his soul for Dean to the same demon. You two grew up on the road with fun Uncle Bobby who later died by a gunshot wound to the head, courtesy of that dick, Dick. I’m sure I missed an angel or two in there somewhere.”

Dean immediately stops you outside the store you’re looking for.

“Okay, lady, who the hell are you? I won’t ask again. How do you know us?”

“My name is Y/N, and I’m the daughter of the archangel, Michael. I’m a tribrid of a werewolf, vampire, and witch along with angelic grace floating around inside of me. I guess that makes me a quad-brid,” you chuckle at your joke. You walk into the store and look around for some new clothes since your old wardrobe is getting pretty boring to style. “Ooh, this would look good on you, Dean. Feel free to get whatever you want. My treat.”

“Why did you find us? What do you want?” Sam asks.

You take a nice shirt and hold it up against Sam, deciding that this would look good on him. You do the same for Dean and let the younger Winchester hold your purchases.

“I’m six hundred years old, rich, and smart. I’m kind of tired of spending all day every day in stores all around the world spending my money aimlessly. I’m not saying I’m amazing, but sometimes I’m distinctly above average.” You pick out a few shirts you like and toss them to Sam who catches them easily. “A life of luxury isn’t all that glamorous. I want to hunt and that’s why you two are here.”

“Okay, why us?” Sam asks, grunting when you toss two pants at him.

“Why not you?” you scoff. “You’re the best of the best or so I’m told. I haven’t been in touch with Heaven for quite some time now, so if things have changed and you’re not the best anymore, I will go elsewhere.”

Dean steps in your way just as you pick two pairs of pants for both brothers. He crosses his arms trying to make himself look bigger than he is.

“Sweetheart, we’re the best of the best.”

You toss the pants to Sam who scrambles to catch them.

“Thought so,” you smirk. You walk to the cash register and pay for everything that’s in Sam’s arms. You take the bags and hold them out to Sam who takes them from you. “So, can I join you?”

“No offense, Y/N, but we don’t even know you. How can we trust you to know what we do?”

“Quiz me if you want but do it while we eat. I’m starving. You two hungry?”

You leave the store and head to the food court where you order three meals and bring them to an empty table. Sam set all the bags on the empty chair just as Dean dug into his meal.

“Dude,” Sam whispers.

“What? I’m not going to turn down a free meal,” he says with his mouth full.

“Okay,” Sam nods, not yet touching his food, “how do you kill a Djinn?”

“A silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood. Or bash its brains in. Both are very effective.”

“Rugarus?”

“Fire.”

“Shapeshifter?”

“Silver.”

“Vampires?”

“Decapitation.”

“Vetala?”

“Silver to the heart and twist.”

“Okay,” Sam nods, “what about a Phoenix?”

“Iron or the Colt.”

“Dragons?”

“Dragon-killing sword.”

“How about a Jefferson Starship?”

At the name, Dean smirks.

“Silver, decapitation, or just ripping their hearts right out of their chests,” you smile. “Did I pass?”

“I’m impressed,” Sam chuckles.

“My turn,” Dean says and swallows his food. “How do you change the sparkplugs in a car?”

“Seriously?”

Both you and Sam give Dean a weird look to which he shrugs and continues eating.

“Okay, Little Miss Quad-brid. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t fought a day in your life.” You didn’t say anything so he assumes you’re not going to correct him which means he’s right. “How the hell are you supposed to fight a monster?”

You take a bite of your food and stare at Dean in the eyes. Suddenly, every single fluorescent light in the food court explodes and shatters. The only light source is the sun coming from the windows. Two of the food place signs crackle and spark before crumbling to the ground. People scream and run from the place but you continue to eat your food as if nothing happened.

“Like that.”

Sam and Dean are stunned into silence, fascinated by your powers.

“Okay, then why do you want to hunt?” Sam asks.

You sigh and push aside your plate of food.

“I was created for one thing and one thing only. To make new angels. Heaven is dying and Michael wanted new angels to repair the damage Metatron caused when the Angels fell. I did that. I made plenty of new angels and Heaven is now thriving, but I want to do more with my life now that my ‘mission’ is over. I have multiple degrees, mastered skills, and got rich in the six hundred years I’ve been here. I loved the fancy lifestyle before but now I want to try something different. I want to save people and bring meaning back to my life. So, can I hunt with you or not?”

Sam and Dean look at each other and have a silent conversation through their eyes.

“On one condition,” Dean says when they’re done.

“What?”

“Endless supply of alcohol. Like, top-shelf shit.” Sam rolls his eyes and you chuckle. “Oh, and I want spa days.” Dean snaps at his brother before he can say anything. “Shut up.”

“My wealth is yours,” you smile. “Spend it how you’d like.”

“Then you got yourself a deal,” Dean nods.

Maybe this time, you can do something good with your life. Humans are creatures that need to be protected, and this is your way to make sure that happens.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#sam winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fluff

[doyawalker]

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind #1

the intro

Jungkook x fem!reader

college!AU; ex-boyfriendish!AU

contains smut, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of not eating, swearing, heartbreak

chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Two years ago, Jungkook charmed you into loving him and wanting to spend your whole life with him. And when he suddenly ghosted you, your world broke into a million pieces and you swore to yourself to never trust him again. But when you suddenly meet him again as you start your master's degree, he is very keen on proving to you that he made a mistake back then and that he wants you back. Badly. But how can you be sure that he is telling the truth?

__

I Can’t Quit You.

The ringing of your phone interrupted the music playing in your car, making your heart skip a beat. You waited for this. Your eyes darted over the steering wheel to check the time on the display behind it. 12:41 AM. He was fast this time. 

You were on your way home from a spontaneous meet-up with some college friends and he had been there too. You had seen the way his eyes had lingered on your white skirt and your bare legs and it had given you just enough satisfaction that you were willing enough to accept this call. 

Clearing your throat, you grabbed your phone from the center console of your car, putting it on speaker. 

“Hi.”

“Hi, beautiful.” 

His voice was slick and deep as always. You didn’t want to but you couldn’t suppress the faint smile creeping on your face upon hearing his words.

“What do you want?” 

You tried to sound composed. Of course, you already knew what he wanted. It was the only reason he ever called you. 

“Where are you now?” 

“I just passed the Treehouse.” 

“Great. Turn around. Let’s meet there in 10.” 

There was a beat of silence. A mixture of feelings started rumbling in your stomach, your head telling you to play it cool and to say no, but your heart was absolutely unable to. You wanted to see him too after all. Just not for the same reason as him.

A sigh escaped your lips.

“Okay.”

Turning the car around, he didn’t even take the time to respond to anything and just ended the call, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The well-known feeling of regret mixed with excitement washed over you and you immediately started to doubt yourself. 

Why am I doing this? 

Maneuvering the car on the badly kept road that leads up to your usual meeting point, the usual stunning view revealed itself in front of you. The Treehouse was the name you and your friends had given the viewpoint up on a hill, that gave away the look upon your city, which was glowing brightly at this hour. On the left, there was an impressive forest, where people had built treehouses many years ago, which mostly were abandoned by now. Hence the name. 

Your heart was aching at the painfully familiar sight, as you turned off your car, leaning back into your seat. Your eyes wandered over the lit-up city skyline.

How many times have you been up here during the past six or seven months? You couldn’t remember. Too often, probably. Too often at night. In secret. 

Taking a deep breath in, you caught the reflection of a pair of headlights approaching you in your rear mirror. 

The bad feeling in your gut intensified, as you waited for him to come to a stop beside you. 

Turning your head to the side, you were immediately caught in his eye contact and you hated yourself for smiling unconsciously. 

He looked great. His dark hair fell in his face in faint curls, a mischievous look in his eyes, his sharp jawline. He winked at you and you rolled your eyes.

Not even ten minutes later you were bent over the hood of his black BMW, the warm June air whirling up your hair, as his fingers dug deep into the skin of your hips to pull you closer and closer against him. Your skirt was pushed upwards to your stomach, your panties lazily pushed to the sides to give him entrance. Your almost silent moans accompanied the sound of his skin hitting yours rhythmically, as he slowly but surely fucked all doubts out of your mind. Losing yourself in the moment, you let yourself fall and enjoy the one thing he never messed up with you. The sex.

“Fuck.”

You heard him grunt behind you, his movements becoming sloppier and you knew he was close. And while he didn’t give a single fuck about your orgasm, you began to moan a little louder and moved your hips against him a little harder. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” 

You didn’t respond, trying to remember the way he felt so deep inside you. You knew you would miss it as soon as he was gone again. 

Pulling out quickly, you felt his hot release hit your bare back below your top, his heavy breaths slowly calming down. 

And the horrible feeling from before crashed back down onto you, with an intensity that almost knocked the air out of your lungs. 

The silence made you feel embarrassed, as you realized how vulnerable you looked, making you quickly push down your skirt, walking around his car to grab a tissue from your bag. 

Guilt crept up inside of you, alongside with the very uncomfortable feeling of being used. It was always like that. But somehow it was getting worse and worse every time. 

Cleaning yourself up, your eyes met his again, a grin plastered all over his face. 

“You look hot with your cum on me. Why don’t you keep it there?”

You huffed but didn’t really dare to counter something against him.

Carelessly stuffing the dirty tissue into your bag, you saw him walking over to you. 

Leaning against the door of his car, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, the muscles of his arms stretching the fabric of his shirt. 

“And? How’s it going with you?”

Aha. There was small talk. The 10 minutes of talking after you were done so he wouldn’t get a bad conscience for leaving you there on the spot.

“I’m okay. Uni’s stressful. What about you?”

You stepped back until your back hit the side of your own car, mirroring his position. 

The distance felt weird. It was almost awkward, given the fact that he was buried inside of you just minutes ago.

“Why stressful? You’ve got exams already?” 

“No, but I got presentations coming up and stuff.”, you said, shrugging your shoulders, letting your eyes fall back onto the city lights. His eyes followed your sight. 

“Yeah, me too. I’m working on this project with a few friends and it’s not going too well.” 

He grinned smugly, putting his hands in the pockets of his loose sweats. 

He continued talking about things that didn’t really concern you but you were just content with listening to him. Just happy that he was there, spending time with you. It helped to soothe the bad feeling in your stomach because it made it seem that somewhere inside him there was a part that truly cared about you and was not only here because of the sex. But how could you be sure after all?

“You wanna play some Uno?”, he proposed after a while, pointing to the inside of his car. 

You couldn’t stop your face from lighting up at his suggestion, as you nodded enthusiastically. 

“But don’t be mad if I beat you.”, he grinned, as you both sat down into the leather seats, the Uno cards still stacked on his dashboard from the last time you two had played. 

You grabbed them and started to shuffle.

“As if I would let you win.”, you said, smiling widely. 

These were the moments where hope flamed up inside you. Because as you played, the awkward air between you finally dissolved and you found yourself laughing loudly at his stupid jokes and his sinful swearing as he kept drawing shitty cards and ultimately losing against you. These were the moments that kept you with him, that made you want to be with him more, that made you wish that there was more between you two than what it was. But those were also the moments that had you up at night, crying yourself to sleep as you tried to recall the memories with him.

Because as you sat there in his car, beating him in Uno and forgetting about your worries for a moment, you had no idea that this would be the last time you would see him. 

I’ll call you. That was what he had said to you before driving off and leaving you behind in the night. You had sat back into your car, soaking up the view one more time, tears already dwelling up in the corners of your eyes. Because how could you be sure that he would call you again? It was always what plagued your mind after seeing him. When would you see him again? You missed him the second he was gone, but you never dared to reach out to him first. You surrendered to his mercy. 

And he didn’t call again. 

The first week was normal, sometimes he took longer to reach out. You tried to not pay it a lot of attention. The second week you got anxious, opening his chat to check if he was online, going through old messages to see where you may have messed up, trying to recall if you did something wrong sometime somewhere. Because of course, in your mind it couldn’t be his fault, it had to be yours. Week three, had you spiraling hard into self-doubt, heartbreak, and pure pain as you cried day to night, your heart aching to see him, talk to him, and be with him. You typed and deleted endless amounts of messages, tears blurring your sight as you read through old texts from him over and over again. And when one of your friends texted you that Jungkook was in a new relationship in week four, the world crumbled and fell around you. 

You knew Jungkook for quite some time as the two of you went to the same high and middle school and later on the same uni. But it wasn’t until your second year of uni that the two of you started talking for real. He immediately swept you off your feet at the birthday party of a friend, his almost offensive flirting having you giggling and laughing all night. You couldn’t deny how hot he had been getting, hitting the gym regularly, his hair growing out. And when shortly after the party he hit you up, asking you to meet up again and again, you couldn’t help but fall for him fast. Too fast.

Because he didn’t fall for you. 

And when that imbalance became obvious to him, the power play began. He started to become more distant sometimes, leaving you wondering what you did wrong. But then he was back to his old, caring self, always keeping you on your toes by switching between hot and cold. And you were so blinded by your love for him that you didn’t even see the way he played with you. You wanted him in your life badly, and every time he drew back from you, your heart wanted him more. He was a blessing and a curse for you, making you feel the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. In the beginning, you were confident about your feelings, even talking about scenarios where the two of you would end up in a relationship. But he always used to tense up in that conversation, giving you the old “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship at the moment”-bullshit and you accepted that. And then he started to reach out to you less and less, and you lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, missing him so much, it hurt physically. But he always came back again. Of course. He couldn’t leave you alone, enjoying the power he had over you way too much. The way you broke and bent for him, any way he wanted. You quickly learned that sex was one of the best ways to get his attention and when you were desperate for it, you started to send him naughty texts that slowly evolved into full-on nudes. 

Your mind was full of him. Everything revolved around him for you, you were completely addicted. Full-on blind to reality. 

And it took you a long time to realize how fucked up it all had been. After a few months of crying, not eating, isolating in your room, and falling apart to sad songs and the memories left of him, the pain finally subsided. It was like going through rehab, as you had to learn to live without him. And when the pain went away, the anger came and took its place. Your mind finally opened up to the ways he had manipulated you, pieces falling together to form the puzzle of his web of lies, his gaslighting techniques, his stupid excuses. 

You felt ashamed. Ashamed of yourself that someone could’ve used you like that, make use of you like that. And it took another few months until you finally started to forgive yourself for it. Healing from heartbreak always seemed like an impossible task to do while going through it. But as the sun finally started shining again, the air becoming warmer and June made its way around a year later, you noticed how far you’d come.

And while it still felt impossible to open up and trust someone new ever again, you knew that you were on the right path. 

Time went on and your bachelor’s degree flew by you, the ending far more enjoyable than the start. You cut off your old friends from before, who you knew still spent time with Jungkook. Not only were you unable to see him again, but you also found out that the girl Jungkook entered a relationship with shortly after ghosting you, had been your best friend at that time, who had been perfectly aware of how much you were suffering because of him.

Choosing mental peace over the sake of simply saying “I’ve known them for so long, how can I cut them off?”, you were able to make new connections and when it was finally time to apply for your master’s degree, you had evolved into a new you, feeling healed from all the trauma of the past. 

And you kept believing that until you were sitting in your first class of the new semester, ready to take on the new challenge of getting another degree, and your healing process was put to the test.

Because while you were expecting to see a few familiar faces from your bachelor’s courses, you really weren’t expecting him to walk through the open doors to the lecture hall. 

Not only because he had studied a different major during his bachelor’s, but most importantly because you couldn’t believe that out of all the available courses, out of all the universities he could have chosen from, out of all the masters he could have chosen from, he ended up in your class. 

And as you saw him for the first time after two and a half years, something deeply buried inside your chest started to come back to life. 

He looked even better than you had remembered him, his dark hair now even longer, falling over the nape of his neck in soft curls, his body frame even bigger and more muscular, the features of his face even more mature and sharp. 

And you couldn’t help but stare, as the reality of the situation slowly dawned on you. 

Jungkook was in your class. 

__

#jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook ff #bts ff #bts fic rec

[foreverindreamlandd]

Awake My Soul • Epilogue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

WC: 4.7k

Summary: It’s been 5 years since zombies first began their invasion, and despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve managed to survive up until this point. Now it’s time to face your most dangerous challenge yet….the grumpy, untrusting, fiercely protective Bucky Barnes.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of needles, shots, syringes, blood, stitches. I think that's it???

A/N: Welp :,) We finally made it to the end!!! It was a fucking year ago that I first had the idea to write a zombie apocalypse enemies to lovers fic...and I cannot believe it's finished. Thank you everyone for the MONTHS (I posted the first chapter freaking six months ago this Thursday) of love, patience, and support while writing this fic. It was a beast, but I would go through all of the hard moments again to experience the amazing reactions and kind words you shared with me. A million thank yous and I love yous <3 Oh and thanks for letting me talk about Twilight a fucking LOT.

Series Masterlist

**There is a playlist for this fic, but linking it here messes up the tags so feel free to check it out in the series masterlist!

“‘Don’t turn her into a squirrel. I can’t bear to watch it.’ Claudia grasped Lucinda’s wrist.”

The children giggled, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the ground in front of you.

“‘You can’t know squirrels lead charming, contented lives. I’m sure she prefers to be a human maiden.’”

“A squirrel!, Ella thought. I had to keep her from making a squirrel of me.”

More laughter. You moved your eyes to the chair next to yours, where a giggling child sat, attention totally on you as Shuri took hold of their arm, syringe in hand. 

You kept reading, maintaining the child’s attention on the story while Shuri injected the purple serum. They only winced a tiny bit, but continued laughing as Ella tried to convince Lucinda not to turn her into a squirrel.

Once the child was all set, Shuri dismissed them to go back to their seat, and the boy sitting next to them got up for their turn.

He looked a lot more nervous, hands trembling as they sat in the chair, biting his lip to keep it from quivering.

You took his hand, pausing your spot in the book to meet his gaze to give them a quick wink and reassuring smile.

He smiled back, squeezing your hand.

With that, you kept reading, and before he knew it, he was returning to his seat.

“Alright,” Shuri said a few children later, clapping her hands together. “That’s everyone. Can we all give Miss Y/n a mighty thank you for reading to you all?”

The kids grumbled out thank you’s and Shuri scoffed. “That was so lame, guys!”

“Can she keep reading?” one of the kids begged. “We wanna know if Lucinda breaks Ella’s curse!”

They all erupted in cheers, and you laughed. Shuri looked over at you with a shrug.

You held the book up. “I’m happy to keep going if you all are.”

They cheered some more, and you continued on for the next hour.

At one point, you looked up to the back of the outdoor space to see Bucky leaning against a tree, arms crossed in front of him, a small, content smile on his face.

As your eyes met, he scrunched his nose at you, smile widening, and you felt the same butterflies form in your stomach as you had when you first met him a year ago.

The morning after your grossly romantic Twilight date, you and Bucky headed over to the lab to meet with Bruce, where he and Peter proposed their crazy idea to you.

To pass on the cure to as many camps as you could.

When the bite mark on Bucky’s neck proved that the serum Bruce had created work, the scientists got straight to work on the next phase of the project: mass distribution. To turn the serum into something that could be administered to any and everyone, so that you could finally be rid of this world-ending virus.

That morning in the lab, Bruce opened up a metal briefcase containing what had to have been hundreds of small vials of purple liquid, a glimmer in his eyes that could only be described as hopeful.

“We could send you out to a couple of camps at a time. You’d get to know their leaders, make them feel comfortable and help show them that what we’ve created works. They could even help spread the word, distribute it to more people. There’s the potential to have everyone cured within the next five years.”

Five years. The same amount of time you had been in this mess in order to fix it.

What would the world even look like in five years? Would it be something worth fighting for, or would it be a lost, desolate place?

You looked up at Bucky by your side, squeezing his hand to get his gaze to meet yours.

When you saw the expression on his face, one a perfect mixture of skepticism and hope, you knew your answer.

Even if the world wasn’t worth fighting for, Bucky was. Your Shield family was.

So with a shrug, you looked back at Bruce.

“When do we start, Doc?”

It started off with Asgard, the home of Thor and Loki, two brothers who had met their untimely end shortly after you and Bucky met them.

You, Bucky, Steve, Bruce, Yelena and Kate set out a few days after developing a plan of execution.

Their leader, Valkyrie, was obviously skeptical. But when you and Bucky relayed the story of your brief encounter with her fallen friends, and with some fancy science jargon from Bruce - and a thorough inspection of the bite marks you and Bucky shared on your necks - she was a bit more willing to participate.

The group stayed there a few days, getting acquainted with the members of camp, allowing them to grow comfortable enough to realize none of you were a threat.

Then came administration. Bruce worked with Valkyrie and their medic Jane to teach them how to properly inject the antidote, bringing the adults up first to ease into the concept of being poked with a needle for the kids.

When it was finally time for the kids, there were still some who threw a fit when Jane tried to coax them into the seat, wailing and crying and creating way too much noise and attention to yourselves.

“We gotta do something,” Yelena muttered, eyes scanning the trees that bordered the camp. “If these kids keep screaming over a damn needle we’re going to be swarmed by walkers before nightfall.”

Bucky, who was on your other side, leaned down till his lips were by your ear.

“Remember what you did that time AJ scraped up his leg so bad he needed stitches? And he was freaking out, not letting Bruce anywhere near him?” You turned to face him and he shrugged in a couldn’t hurt to try way.

Without a second thought, you walked over to the kid, crouching down to get to their level.

“This feels really scary, doesn’t it?” you asked, taking their hands. They nodded. “I hate doing things that scare me, too, even when I know that doing the scary thing will help me or help the people that I love. You know what I try to think of whenever I feel afraid?”

The kid’s bottom lip jutted out and they nodded again. You smiled.

“I think about a man named Bilbo Baggins, who was a very small person.” You raised one hand just below the child’s head to display Bilbo’s height and they giggled. “Bilbo had to leave his home where he felt safe to go on a long, terrifying adventure with a bunch of strange - and very smelly dwarves - to go fight a dragon. Now, he absolutely did not want to go on this adventure, because he had never done something so scary in his life. And he not only had to try and defeat a dragon, but he fought trolls, giant spiders, and many other monsters along the way, and each time he fought those things he was terrified. There were many times he wanted to cry and run home where he felt safe. But you know what?”

“What?” the kid immediately responded, eyes now wide and excited, free of tears.

You squeezed their hands. “He found the courage he needed to save those smelly dwarves who had become his friends. And the more courage he had, the less scary all of the monsters became.” You cocked your right brow up. “Do you think you could be brave like Bilbo right now?”

The child bit their bottom lip, chest rising as they took in a deep breath. On the exhale, they nodded.

Your smile widened. “There we go. I know you can handle this, and I’ll be right here, okay? I won’t leave unless you want me to.”

Jane took a step forward, needle in hand and the kid’s hands tightened around yours. “Stay please.”

You nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Their eyes shut tightly, and Jane moved quickly as she injected the serum into their arm.

“Look at that,” you said softly. “All done.” The kid opened one eye. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

They nodded, a smile forming on their lips. “Was I brave?”

“The bravest. No dragon would ever dare to mess with you.” You winked and they giggled, letting go of your hands and walking away.

You were about to stand up and return to Yelena’s side, when a young girl ran up in front of you for their turn, eyes wide.

“Can you talk more about Bilbo? How big were the spiders he had to fight?”

You looked up at Jane, who simply shrugged before grabbing a new syringe.

“They were massive,” you replied, extending your arms out wide. “So big, in fact, you could probably ride one of them…”

Not even thirty minutes had passed, and now all of the kids were huddled beside you, eager to hear more of your recollection of The Hobbit, eyes bright with excitement, barely even registering that they were here to get a shot.

You made a mental note to bring a book with you wherever you went, just like you used to when you first were on the run with your parents.

“You’re amazing, you know that right?” Bucky asked when everyone was done and you walked over to him.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Beefcake,” you joked, winking at him.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “Seriously, though. That just changed the entire mood in the camp. Not just the kids, but the adults who were relieved to see them so relaxed.”

“Well, it was all thanks to you,” you reminded him, chin resting on his chest. “I wouldn’t have thought to do that unless you said something.”

He smiled. “Guess we make a good team.” 

You wiggled your brows. “Hashtag dream team.”

Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes and crushing you within his hold and you wheezed out a laugh.

When you left Asgard, an extremely grateful Valkyrie expressed that any member of Shield was welcome back anytime, and if you ever needed aid, they would answer your call.

“I can’t believe we did it,” Yelena muttered as you started your journey home.

“Neither can I,” Bruce mumbled, and you all whipped your heads at him, shocked. He shrugged. “What? I suggested we try, I didn’t know if it would actually work out this well!”

Your next destination was a smaller, nomadic camp, led by Hope Van Dyne. It was her, her parents, her partner Scott Lang and his daughter, Cassie. Hope and her parents were also scientists, and were intrigued by Bruce’s development of the antidote.

“We have our own mobile lab,” Hope’s dad, Hank, said, “We could recreate this serum and help distribute it, since we travel around so much anyways.”

“You’d do that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Anything to help undo what those Hydra bastards did.”

It didn’t take long for Bruce to teach them how to recreate the serum, and the rest of you spent that time working with Hope and Scott to work out the locations of other camps you could travel to.

“There’s a guy called Strange, who has a network of people all over. He’s based in New York, though, so you’d have to travel a ways to get there. That area is still largely populated with unturned though so it would be a great spot to get this to.”

“You could show me your old stomping grounds, Beefcake,” you said, bumping his shoulder with yours.

He chuckled, looking over at Steve. “We can go back to Coney Island, Stevie.”

Steve groaned. “I still get nauseous thinking of that place.”

After leaving Hope’s camp, Bruce decided to return to Shield to keep working on creating more antidotes, leaving the rest of you to continue traveling from camp to camp.

You asked Steve if he was going to go back, since he was technically Shield’s leader again now that he’d returned from the dead.

Steve shook his head. “Sam and I talked about it a while back, and he’s going to remain in charge. He’s so much better at it than I was, and honestly? I never really enjoyed it. Doing this, going out and helping others with you and Bucky, this feels right.”

You smiled, wrapping your arm around him for a side hug. “Well, I’m more than happy to have you tag along. I need to hear all the embarrassing stories about Beefcake.”

You heard Bucky groan behind you. 

After a few months, you had reached dozens of camps. Each one made you feel more and more hopeful, knowing that so many were still surviving after so many years. You had even run into people that Shield saved from Hydra when they came to rescue you. They welcomed you with open arms and tear-filled eyes.

Now, you were at the settlement known as Wakanda, by far the most established and advanced camp you had been to yet. Their sassy, smart as hell leader Shuri scoffed when you showed her one of the antidote vials.

“Dammit! I was so close to figuring it out.” She lifted her arm, tapping the screen of her watch until a holographic DNA strand circled above it. “I was at, like, a 76% rate as of this morning!”

You and Kate exchanged glances after gaping at the crazy device on the woman’s wrist.

“Is all of your tech this advanced?”

Shuri smirked. “You have no idea.”

“We gotta get Banner and Parker here,” you muttered, and all Kate could do was nod.

Once Shuri was done administering the antidote to all of the kids and they had finally relieved you from reading Ella Enchanted, she told you that a celebration was being held in your group’s honor. A way of thanking you for helping their community, as well as welcoming you into their family.

She led you over to four massive, long wooden tables that had been set up and dressed up in various shades of purples and gold, with jars of fireflies lighting the space in a dim, hypnotic glow.

The food was by far the best you ever had in your life, even compared to the meals you ate in the before times. The vegetables were perfectly ripe, the meat was tender and coated with spices you had never tasted, and the bread.

“I’m taking a hundred loaves of these back with us,” Bucky murmured to you, mouth full of sweet rolls. The moan he let out after taking the first bite was sinful. “I never want to eat anything else for the rest of my life.”

“I hope you intend to share with your one true love, Beefcake,” you replied, shoving your own face with the warm, delicious bread.

“Sorry, Sweetheart, but you’ve officially been replaced.” You punched his flesh arm and he tried to laugh through a grimace. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Everything I have is yours or whatever the hell they say.”

You gave him a rueful grin, taking another bite of your roll.

The two of you nearly shit your pants when men and women started grabbing instruments and playing music with reckless abandon, pounding on drum heads and singing their hearts out.

“Relax,” Okoye, Wakanda’s general, chided, patting your back in mock comfort as she bit back a laugh. “Shuri has this place soundproofed. Nothing can be heard outside our borders.”

Bucky looked around. “So we’re….safe?”

Okoye rolled her eyes. “You guys. So paranoid. What is there to be afraid of? It’s not like their are flesh-eating monsters swarming the earth or anything.”

The three of you paused for a beat before bursting into a fit of laughter. Okoye patted your shoulder once more and then went over to join others who had now begun dancing to the music.

You turned to find Bucky smiling at you, a suspicious light in his eyes.

You frowned. “What?”

He held out a hand. “Wanna dance?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What? Since when do you dance?” you asked incredulously.

“Since I was fuckin’ four years old. Ma’ was big into 40s music. She had Becs, Stevie and I dancing all the damn time.” His hand extended out further. “So?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I got some bad news, Beefcake.”

His brows furrowed and you sighed. 

“Ya girl can’t dance.”

You expected Bucky to frown, to feel disappointed in your lack of skill in something he apparently loved.

Instead, his smile widened, reaching out to grab your hand and dragging you to the newly formed dancefloor. 

“That is going to make things way more entertaining for me,” he said, stopping short so that you crashed into him, your hands pressing against his chest so that you didn’t break your nose in the collision.

Before you had a chance to regain your balance, Bucky was pushing you away, expression mischievous as he began a string of maneuvers, alternating between twirling you around, spinning you in the air, stepping in directions you didn’t think possible.

He was an unrelenting machine.

“Bucky, the moment you lose momentum,” you gasped, unable to catch your breath in all of the commotion, “I’m going to do the Yelena leg thing and kick your fucking ass.”

His grin widened, and he pulled you into him, hand resting on your back as you dipped down. You nearly let out a yelp at the feeling of falling backward, but Bucky kept a secure hold on you, nose rubbing against yours. Instead of falling, you felt as if you were floating mid-air.

“Baby, when I’m done with you, you’re going to need to be carried to bed.” he growled in a low, husky voice.

You blinked a few times in response.

He kissed you. “That’s what I thought.” 

The next morning, you and the gang packed up your things and got the horses settled for the journey home.

You snuck a piece of sweet roll to Hades, who nuzzled you immediately after in an attempt to find more somewhere on your person.

“Sorry, buddy,” you laughed, stroking his nose. “That’s all I got.”

He snorted in dissatisfaction.

“I can’t believe you gave the horse that last sweet roll instead of me,” Bucky pouted, massaging Alpine’s front legs.

You glared at him. “That’s because Hades is the one carrying me home since my legs are in so much pain from last night thanks to you torturing me!”

Bucky scoffed. “You had a fuckin’ blast, Sweetheart. Admit it.”

“Don’t worry, Y/n,” Steve said as he approached. “I’ll show you a few dance moves that will put Bucky on his ass in no time.”

Bucky groaned at the smug look that formed on your face. “I’m stealing your best friend, Beefcake. He’s mine now.”

“Hey,” both Bucky and Yelena said in unison while you and Steve laughed.

Shuri approached then, brow quizzical from the commotion. “Sounds like you all are in high spirits this morning. Happy to finally be leaving this wretched place?”

You rolled your eyes. “As if. Being here has been amazing. I thought Shield had nailed apocalyptic living, but you all blew us out of the water.”

The young scientist laughed. “You all are welcome back anytime. And don’t forget to bring your friend Banner along so I can harass him to dish his secrets on using your crazy blood to create a cure. I still consider that cheating, you know.”

Just as you were about to respond, Nakia walked over with a group of children with grins that threatened to split their faces in two. They each carried flower crowns in their hands.

Enough for the group.

“The children made these for you,” Nakia said, her usual angelic smile on her face as she watched them approach you all, extending the crowns out. Yelena, Kate, Steve, Bucky and yourself bent forward so that they could place them on your heads. “As a token of your kindness and friendship.”

You pulled the young girl in front of you in for a hug, trying to fight back tears as you squeezed them tightly. “Thank you,” you whispered.

You walked over to hug the rest of the children, then Nakia and finally Shuri.

When all of the goodbyes were complete, the gang mounted their horses.

Bucky looked over at you and you beamed. “You look so pretty in that flower crown, Beefcake.”

He blushed, quickly turning his attention to Alpine’s mane and trying to force a scowl on his face, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

“So, where are you headed now?” Shuri asked.

“Home for a bit to rest and restock on antidotes,” you replied. “Then we’re off to a camp up north called the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Shuri’s chin lowered as she stared up at you with an are you fucking serious expression. “Guardians of the Galaxy? You’re kidding me. Sounds like a bunch of assholes.”

“I said the same thing!” Yelena and Bucky exclaimed in unison…again.

You were still laughing as Hades trotted off into the woods.

“Baby,” a low, grumbly angel spoke to you in your dreams. Calloused, gentle hands stroked your cheek. “Wake up, Sweetheart.”

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, focusing in on Bucky and the dark forest behind him. Once your brain processed that you were not in the safety of your bedroom at camp, your eyes widened and you shot up.

You were in the middle of the woods, still on your way back to Shield from Wakanda.

So why was Bucky waking you up at this hour?

“What is it?” you asked. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, resting a hand on your shoulder in comfort. “It’s fine,” he whispered, eyes scanning the ground where the others slept. His hand moved down to grab yours, moving the both of you to standing. “Come follow me?”

Your eyes narrowed now, fingers interlacing with his as he led you East. “What’s going on, Buck?”

He looked over his shoulder, and the moonlight peeked through the canopy of trees above just perfectly enough for the smile on his face to glow.

“Wanna show you something.”

The two of you walked in silence for a few miles, the soft crinkling of leaves below your feet the only sound made in your vicinity.

Eventually, Bucky’s gate slowed to a stop, and you looked up to find yourself standing at the bottom of a cliff.

One that looked vaguely familiar.

You let out a small gasp. “Is this…?”

Bucky nodded. “This is the cliff where you and I first met.”

The cliff that you had found as a refuge for you and the two young, scared boys you had found lost in the woods, running away from a hoard of zombies. 

Two boys you debated even helping, since you were so used to being on your own and not having others to look after.

It was impossible to imagine a world where you hadn’t helped them, where those boys wouldn’t have a claim on a piece of your heart forever, just as their mother did, their uncle, and everyone else in Shield.

Still, you knew that the old you, who had stumbled upon AJ and Cass, could never have dreamed of what would follow after helping them find their way back to their mom.

You wouldn’t have a home. You wouldn’t have a family.

You wouldn’t have found your soulmate.

A small snort escaped you. “Is that what you would call it? You pinning me against the wall and threatening to kill me?”

A sheepish expression covered his face, and you knew he was blushing. “Would it be weird to say that even then - when I wasn’t sure if you were a danger to us - I kind of wanted to kiss you?”

There were those dang butterflies again. “Not at all. With the way you were displaying your strength, and your voice all growly and dangerous? That was super hot, Beefcake. Even if you had actually killed me, I would have been more than fine with a parting kiss before you took my life.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Oh really?”

Suddenly, his hands were gripping your arms, and he was just barely using enough force to guide you to the cliff wall, pinning your back against it.

When he let out a low, threatening growl, you responded with a high-pitched wine.

And then, he leaned forward and crushed your lips to his, his tongue colliding with yours.

If he hadn’t killed you that night a year ago, he was definitely going to tonight.

His hold on you softened, one hand moving to wrap around your waist. But first, his thumb tucked itself under your shirt and grazed along the rigid scar of the first zombie bite you got on your stomach, tenderly feeling along it until his fingers squeezed the soft fleshy part of your hip. 

You used your now free arm to wrap around his neck for support as your head grew dizzy.

Eventually, time forced you to pull away for air, your foreheads pressed against one another, chests moving up and down as you both worked to catch your breath.

“I should have done that night one,” he gasped, kissing the bridge of your nose. “Would have saved myself a lot of mental turmoil.”

You giggled. “True, but I gotta admit that watching you switch from Mr. Beefcake Grumpypants to soft mushy lovey dovey Beefcake was an absolute delight. And besides…” you caged his face between your hands, eyes boring into his, “I wouldn’t trade any part of our story for anything.”

His jaw clenched beneath your hands. 

You continued, “Every experience, every hardship, all the shit we went through, I’d go through it all again to have the good moments found in between, to get us to this point, right now. And every time, I’d fall in love with you.”

Bucky kissed you again, soft and slow this time, and you knew he was telling you that he felt exactly the same. That he’d fight heaven and earth for you over and over again, just as you would for him. 

When he pulled away, he kept his lips close enough to graze yours as he responded.

“And you call me a softie.”

You giggled, pretending to squirm out of his now tight hold as he peppered your face and neck with kisses.

“I love you, Sweetheart. Forever.”

“And I love you, Beefcake. Always.”

The gate started opening before you could officially make out the ragged Brookfield Boarding School for Girls sign.

Your pace quickened the moment you walked into the camp, eyes locking onto AJ and Cass as they ran toward you.

AJ lept into your arms, his small limbs wrapping around your neck as you embraced him. You looked to your left just in time to see Cass do the same thing to Bucky.

Sarah and the others took their time heading over to you, smiles on their faces at your return and the heartwarming reaction from the boys.

When AJ finally loosened his hold, you lowered him to the ground. His arms shifted to circle around your waist, not ready for the hug to end just yet.

“Welcome home, Y/n!” he cheered, body jumping up and down in excitement as he clung to you.

Bucky - after also putting Cass down - reached out to put an arm around your shoulder, tucking your body into his.

You looked down at AJ, scrunching your nose at him, then looked over at Cass.

Then to Sarah and Sam.

To Laura and Clint.

Pepper, Morgan and Dum Dum.

Bruce and Peter.

Wanda, Vision, Billy and Tommy.

Sersi, Druig and Makari.

Yelena, Kate, and Steve.

Each one of them meeting your gaze with as much love and care as you gave them.

Bucky kissed your temple, and when you looked up at his bright crystalline irises, you found your entire world. 

Your true home.

You smiled.

The End.

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes and y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #zombie apocolypse au #zombie au #awake my soul #completed series

[runabout-river]

Sukuna's Fingers

Now that we know that Yuji was born with (or created with or being fed) a sealed finger from Sukuna, what does that say about the finger count?

First, being sealed means that the power of the finger was inaccesable to Sukuna and even its presence was hidden from him and anyone else. We can directly compare this with other humans who had been fed the cursed objects of the past sorcerers, especially Tsumiki.

From what we know, Gojo was never able to figure out how Tsumiki was cursed, in other words, even with the Six-Eyes the cursed object inside of her was invisible to him, which was definitely intended that way by Kenjaku. If he had met Yuji before he ate the finger from the school, then Gojo wouldn't have seen the first finger in him either.

(It would be interesting to know if Toji and Maki, people who can see souls, would've been able to see the cursed object.)

Still, the sealed cursed objects can have an effect on the hosts otherwise Tsumiki wouldn't have fallen into a coma no one managed to wake her up from for 1 and half years. The popular theory that I like that Megumi felt that sealed finger during his first encounter with Yuji can still work as well by assuming that Megumi (the 1 in a million chance at surviving Sukuna's finger) has a special compatibility with the King of Curses.

The count of the fingers in terms of strength stays the same as it was told in the story. When Sukuna fought Megumi he was 3 fingers strong, when he fought Jogo and Makora he was 15 fingers strong. Only after Kenjaku broke the seal of all the cursed objects he had given people, did the strength of that very first finger count towards the others.

Yuji did not react in that moment even though it would've made great forshadowing. It's logical that he didn't react though because Sukuna's strength is completely irrelevant to Yuji suppressing him. But Sukuna definitely felt the additional finger and used it later.

So when Sukuna took over Megumi it was with 16 fingers and their full strength. Consequently, Yuji, Maki, Ryo and Yorozu fought against a 16 finger Sukuna as well. When Uraume gave Sukuna the fingers she collected, we were only shown 3 with the remark that 1 finger was missing.

Sukuna compensated the strength of that last finger (somehow) by eating his past body's head (eating his own flesh and blood is a favourite pastime of him as we learned last chapter.) He was then 19 + 1 fingers strong. He said that Gojo probably hid the last finger to postpone Yuji's execution indefinitely and in his fight against Yuta that was confirmed.

So how and why did Kenjaku do this to Yuji? What were his plans for him? Most likely he wanted to own Sukuna in some way and him changing to Megumi probably derailed his plans somewhat. It also seems strange how callous he acted about Yuji's survival this whole time but that might be explained by

having replacement Yuji's walking around (secret Yuji twin anyone) but they would lack a Sukuna finger, or

having a plan to use Yuji as his next vessel so he would be able to suppress Sukuna on his own.

It was already said Geto appearing made Kenjaku change his plans in some way, so that might've saved Yuji from being killed and possessed by his mother.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna #fushiguro megumi #gojo satoru #yuji itadori #itadori yuuji #kenjaku #ryomen sukuna #meta #theory

[fratboykate]

If you really want to know more about what our lives our like as professional television and film writers, why we’re striking, and why this myth that being a writer is easy, glamorous, and profitable is the biggest fucking lie then read this:

[x]

This is our reality. We spend YEARS working for free only to eventually be paid pennies and subsequently disrespected by suits who only see us as monkeys who press keys on a computer.

And this is just the process for features. For a film you have to figure out ONE story. I've never gone out to pitch a show that I didn't have 3-4 full seasons broken down because no one will buy a show if they don't know where it's going. They typically also require the pilot to be written which is six months to a year of work in itself. So to sell a show you normally need to have a written first episode, every single character arc figured out for the first season, and then multiple subsequent seasons.

If you're lucky enough, at some point you finally sell your baby...this thing you've spent years on, and six months later you're on food stamps because the check you got was miserable and the buyer decided to shelve the show because they didn't like it anymore. But, plot twist, now they own it because they paid you money for it and you signed it away so you can't do anything else with it since it's theirs. Now it's fated to sit in some metaphorical vault forever. You just wasted three years of your life and have nothing to show for it. Now your best hope for another check is to sell one of the other fifty things you've been developing for free for years, but you're broke and while you wait to see if that happens, you - a writer with probably years of experiences under their belt - has to start driving Uber to be able to afford basic necessities. All this while the last show you worked on as part of the writing team in the writer's room is making some streamer millions and winning them awards that the CEOs who didn't do an ounce of work then get bonuses on.

THIS is the reality of being a film and TV writer. And THIS is why we're striking.

#rants #Hollywood #wga strike #writer's strike #myposts

[imightgetbetter]

interviews

this is matty being protective of his family and matty messing around with his family and an introduction to baby number two and just a bunch of sweet stuff, in my humble opinion. if you don't like it, don't read it! if you do like it, if you do read it, please like and reblog and comment and send me messages and all the things you already do. thanks for all your support. you're the kindest <3

Matty is standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom, his hands brushing through his hair and patting his aftershave and cologne on his skin. He turns around for a moment, leaning against the sink and taking in the sight before him. On your bed, you and your daughters are playing, Attie reading aloud and Lennon giggling loudly as you tickle her belly. Matty has to be out the door soon, but all he wants to do is stay with you. Attie is off from school, today, and once this interview is done, he’ll be all yours all day to do something worthwhile, but he has to leave now if he’s ever going to make it home. Matty pushes off the counter and walks into the bedroom, leaning down to place kisses on Lennon’s cheeks and give you a swift kiss before walking to the other side of the bed to say goodbye to Attie.

“Daddy, did you hear me reading? Mummy is helping me get all the words.”

“I did, lovey, I did. You sound so good. Can you read for me some more when I get home?” Attie nods excitedly, setting the children’s book that he’s read to her a million times since she was born down on the comforter and leaning up to wrap her arms around him. “Ah, I didn’t even have to ask for a hug. Already knew!”

“Knew you were going to ask, Daddy,” she says surely, hiding her face in his neck as he kisses her sweetly and rubs her back. “Mummy says you don’t leave the house without hugging her either.”

“Mummy’s right,” Matty says, smiling at you as you shake your head. He playfully plops Attie on the mattress, kissing her forehead amidst her giggling, and walks back to you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you tightly. “Love you, darling.”

“Love you,” you say, tilting your head slightly to meet where he’s waiting to kiss you. “Keep your cool today, okay? Don’t let this guy get under your skin.”

“I’ll try.”

“Matty.”

“I’m serious! I’ll try!”

“Attie, tell Daddy to be nice, today,” you say, reaching for your youngest daughter and sitting her upright against your chest. Lennon is nearly four months old already, the time passing all too quickly, and you know that that’s partly why Matty is dreading this interview – it’s the start of a new cycle, which means more time away from you and the girls.

“Daddy, you heard Mummy,” Attie says sternly, looking at him very directly and squinting her eyes just enough that they’re nearly closed. “Be nice.”

“You be nice to Lennon, Attie James.”

“I’m always nice, Lennon!” Matty looks at Attie and quirks his eyebrow suggestively, earning a huff from your six-year-old and a sigh, “Fine, I’ll be nice, Daddy.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll see you later, I love you,” Matty says, grabbing his keys, his wallet, and his phone and quickly making his way out the door. He knows that if he stalls any longer, he’ll miss the interview and everyone will have his head on a platter, which would inevitably delay him getting home even longer. None of which Matty really wants.

George, Ross, and Hann are all in the studio where the interview will be taking place when Matty arrives. He checks the time on his phone, on time with three minutes to spare. Jamie smiles at him and waves him over, going over what the supposed talking points for the interview would be. The 1975’s sixth studio album would be coming soon and a tour following shortly after, and that is meant to be the topic of today’s conversation. Matty felt good about the album, even better about what they created. However, there was a looming nervousness from everyone, in and including Matty, who would be talking a majority of the time.

Matty made it quite clear from the beginning that speaking about you or your daughters in this interview was off limits. He’s heard about this interviewer, and he didn’t want to subject your names – in whatever capacity – to whatever this person would have to say, and he especially didn’t want to become overbearing with his protective nature for you three. Jamie made this clear to the producers, and Matty walked into the studio with his best friends under the presumption that this would be respected. Quickly, however, the four men noted that this is not how the day would be going, simply by the way the interviewer was speaking in regard to their band, and especially the predominately female fanbase. Matty attempted to regulate his emotions about the situation, tried to be nice, and silently hoped that his family would not be topic of conversation.

George’s laughter quiets as the interview says, “Matty, you’ve just welcomed a new baby into the world, haven’t you?”

As annoyed as Matty is by the entire interview, thus far, it’s impossible to bite back the smile that curves at his lips. Matty can feel his heart swell two sizes bigger at the thought of his daughters at home waiting for him, and for you, patiently listening to the interview. “I have,” Matty starts, quickly changing his language. “My missus and I have, yeah.”

Matty can feel the tension in the air beside him from his friends, George coughing uncomfortably behind him and Ross standing a bit taller as the interview continues, “Anyone that knows you talks about how great of a father you are. Have you found the transition hard?”

“Into being a father? I mean, it’s been nearly seven years, now, so I don’t think so. Do you mean one child to two?” Matty questions, already feeling the tick in his voice and trying to level himself out.

“Into being a father, yeah. That must’ve been a hard transition, coming from all the tours and partying and sleeping around and whatnot, to having to settle down with a wife and child.”

Adam rolls his eyes behind Matty, and Ross’ head tilts to his chest. “I’ve been with my wife since I was twenty-three. I kind of skipped the whole ‘sleeping around on tour’ thing. Not to mention, I don’t find settling down as a bad thing. I love being a father. My daughters are singlehandedly one of the best things to ever happen to me. I would spend all of my time with them if I could.”

Matty can tell that the interviewer is trying to pull him into a bite-worthy clip, and his frustration is coming to the surface. “How do you think the transition will be from being home the last few months to touring again? Do you prefer one or the other?”

“Are you asking me if I prefer being away from my children or being with my children?”

“I mean, it has to be tough, you know? Going from the studio all day to going home to two young children who want your attention. Going from an arena of thousands screaming your name to going to home sleeping children. It’s different! It must be.”

“I’ll never complain that my daughters want me to spend time with them when I get home from the studio or a tour. If I could spend my entire day doing things with my girls, I would, in a heartbeat. Not to mention, my wife is doing this every single day, without any complaints or hesitation. My wife works and takes care of our daughters when I’m away. I chose to have children just as much as she did, so why would I not be part of it?”

“Goes to show how true everyone’s reflections of you are as a father. I think it’s really wonderful to see someone as successful as you are not hesitating to jump back in at home.”

“Not hesitate? I’m just doing my job as a father.”

Matty’s annoyance is too much for him after that, and he slowly has to work himself out of the idea of leaving the room and explaining to Jamie why he’s walked out so suddenly. George, graciously, takes the lead talking about production and the instrumental making of the songs, leaving Matty to calm down before they would perform the next single from the upcoming album. Adam and Ross give him a hug before heading out, George staying back for a minute to talk to Jamie. Matty excuses himself fairly quickly, trying to get home as soon as possible.

Attie is waiting for him at the front door. Attie is usually waiting for him at the front door, but today, she is sporting her black cowboy boots and a pair of his sunglasses, her tiny curls tied into two pigtails at the crown of her head. Matty immediately scoops her up into his arms, giving her a kiss to her cheek before toeing off his shoes and walking into the kitchen, smiling widely as he sees you dancing with Lennon in your arms, your playlist playing off the tiny speaker in the corner of the kitchen counter.

“Oh! You’re home already! I thought you’d be back a bit later,” you smile, turning off the music and walking over to him, leaning onto your toes and pressing your lips to his. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” he hums, kissing you once more before kissing Lennon’s forehead, soaking in the giggles the echo around you. Attie pokes Matty’s cheek for his attention, “Yes?”

“Daddy, were you nice at work today? I was extra nice to Lennon. I even let her have my blanket when she was all drooly over it.”

Matty laughs breathily, kissing her temple and says, “I was as nice as I could be. I’m very proud of you for being nice to your sister.”

“I would be nicer if she stopped drooling on my toys, Daddy,” Attie grumbles, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head and grabbing his cheeks, their eyes looking into each other’s. “Are we still going to go up to Nana’s today? Nana promised me we’d make cookies.”

“Yes, lovey. I just need to talk to Mummy and then we can go.”

“Okay.” Attie wiggles her way down Matty’s body and shuffles into the living room, taking a seat next to her coloring book and making herself busy.

“Nice save on the air, baby,” you say, turning your body towards him and patting his cheek. “I know you must’ve been angry. I’m proud of you for how you reacted, though. Very manly. Very respectful of me and your daughters.”

“They’re all wankers.”

“I know,” you smirk, leaning up and kissing his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”

“Oh yeah?” Matty hums, turning his head slightly to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, muttering against you, “How proud?”

“Can you behave, please? I just gave you a compliment!”

Matty laughs, stealing Lennon from your arms and calling for Attie, whisking you all into the car. He knows he can’t control how other people think or say, but as long as the people in his life knew who he was and what’s important to him, then that’s all he could really care about.

#matty healy #matty healy fic #the 1975 #the 1975 fic #love it if we made it series