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p-redux · 27 days

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Had no idea cherylecheryl was bootsaucepunk but makes perfect sense as both are pathetic, nasty, malicious bullies. Thanks for the interesting info.

Hi, Anon. Sorry it took me a few days to put this together. This post is gonna be a long one. So, grab a beverage and get comfy.

For those who don't know, Tumblr blog Bootsaucepunk has been around for years and has cemented a reputation as a Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe hater. As far as her being the Instagram troll cherylecheryl, well, we know Bootsaucepunk's name is Cheryl. How do we know this? Because she OUTED HERSELF and her FULL NAME, Cheryl N. on her OWN, now deleted Twitter account. Everyone who was around back then knows Cheryl's last name, but I won't post it in its entirety since not everyone may know it. Cheryl doxed HERSELF, and I'll show you how down below, but I won't repost her last name for obvious reasons. After Bootsaucepunk revealed her own identity, of course, people easily found her info, including that she's from New Brunswick, Canada. But this is because SHE HERSELF posted her full name and a pic of herself on her Twitter account. Here's the backstory of how she DOXED HERSELF a few years ago...

Bootsaucepunk gloated that she would repeatedly harass Sam on social media, he would block her, and then she'd create new accounts. She also badmouthed Caitriona Balfe, her husband, Tony McGill, and bragged that Cait blocked her too. On the left side of the screencap below, you can see her as Bootsaucepunk talking about Sam reporting her to Twitter, Twitter suspending her accounts, and then she would create new ones. She even joked that she's playing "whack a mole" with Sam. Harassing Sam and Cait is a GAME to her. On the right side of the screencap, she posts a LONG diatribe talking crap about Cait, after Cait blocked her. 👇

Bootsaucepunk continued to boast that Cait blocked her and showed the proof of this. 👇 I've also attached the PROOF that Bootsaucepunk is Cheryl N., provided by HER. 👇 You can see that Bootsaucepunk is asked by another hater, Cant-Resist-Temptation, what Bootsaucepunk Tweeted that caused Cait to block her on Twitter. And Bootsaucepunk replied by posting what she said to Cait WORD FOR WORD. Basically, Cait blocked her for talking shit about her husband, Tony McGill. The thing is those EXACT words were posted on her real life Twitter account, CherylN_____89 (now defunct). 🤦‍♀️ Either she didn't think people would make the connection, or she was so arrogant she thought no one would call her out. (Click on the screencap to read it better). Oh, and notice in the second paragraph, Bootsaucepunk takes the opportunity to continue to talk negatively about Cait.

Let me show it again so that everyone is VERY CLEAR that Bootsaucepunk posted on Tumblr the Tweet that got her blocked by Caitriona Balfe (she's responding to another hater, its-mootpoint). 👇

And it is VERBATIM what Cheryl N. posted on her then Twitter account! 👇

AND Cheryl/Bootsaucepunk was either dumb enough, or arrogant enough, or both to post it on her Twitter account with her FULL NAME and REAL PICTURE. 🤦‍♀️

After that, everyone in the fandom knew EXACTLY WHO Bootsaucepunk was on Tumblr. Bootsaucepunk tried to say that the pic she used on her Cheryl_____89 Twitter account wasn't really her. But, after she posted her full name, the fandom had no problem finding her on social media. 👇 Obviously, the avi pic on her old Twitter account is from YEARS ago, so she looks younger, but the pic matches her Facebook account. There is NO denying it's the same Cheryl N. And I have other pics of Cheryl N. from N.B., Canada proving this. But Tumblr only lets you post 10 pics or collages total. I'm not posting her full face, she did that all on her own, but trust me, it matches the pic SHE POSTED as her avi on her CherylN_____89 account. Same face, same person, no room for doubt. Bootsaucepunk IS 100% Cheryl N. from New Brunswick, Canada.

Again, this is NOT ME doxing her, SHE handed her identity to the fandom on a silver platter...and MANY other people in the fandom then called her out publicly as Cheryl N., and as a Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe hater. Here is just a small sample. 👇

Cheryl deleted her CherylN_____89 account on Twitter, but we know the approximate date when she posted the Tweet that got her blocked by Cait...because another person responded to her on February 12, 2020, calling her out for the Tweet. And also chastising for touting herself as a journalist. 👇

Guess WHO else was stirring the pot, harassing Sam, right around the SAME TIME on Instagram? 👇 Instagram troll, cherylecheryl commenting on an Instagram post, stating that besides trolling Sam on Instagram, she would also troll Sam on Twitter. That particular cherylecheryl comment was dated March 20, 2020. And CherylN_____89 was called out on Twitter by the account Fans of Sam Heughan on the SAME DAY--March 20, 2020!

Instagram troll cherylecheryl has DIRECTLY harassed and bullied Cait, Tony, Sam, and EVERY woman Sam has ever dated. This is well documented for YEARS. But here's just a small sampling of cherylecheryl harassing Sam's ex, Anna Modler and most recently, the Brazilian fan who got a pic with Sam in London, and inadvertently posted a video of Sam and rumored current date, Sarah Holden. 👇

And those are the MILD comments, she's said some horrible stuff to Sam's ex, Mackenzie Mauzy, Gia Marie, as well as many others.

Something else that's of note. An ex-shipper who got sick of Cheryl's bullying, DMed me and showed me cherylecheryl's Instagram account and something very interesting on it. Here's the content of cheryelcheryl's Instagram account. 👇 It's all faux shippery Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe pics. Fake, fake, fake, fronting as a shipper, yet we KNOW all the crap she's said to Sam and Cait, and about them. The cognitive dissonance is staggering. And she also follows all the hater accounts that mock Sam's dates and Cait's husband, Tony. Her oldest post is dated January 10, 2022, in it, she attacks another fan, she attacks actress Hannah James directly, and boasts the fan blocked her. BUT, if one checks her account info, it shows the account was started in March of 2018! It's not logical that she created an account in 2018 and didn't post anything until 2022. No posts at all for 4 years? NOPE, she obviously posted from 2018 to 2022, and then DELETED posts that would identify her as Cheryl N. This is also why the account shows she's changed her username 2 times. Lemme guess? Was it originally CherylN_____89? 🤔😊 👇

For those saying cherylecheryl isn't Bootsaucepunk, um, I just PROVED to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that Bootsaucepunk IS Cheryl N. And Cheryl N. has an extensively documented history of saying horrible things about Caitriona Balfe, her husband, Tony McGill, Sam Heughan, and EVERY woman he's ever dated. Cherylecheryl on Instagram has an extensively documented history of saying horrible things about Caitriona Balfe, her husband, Tony McGill, Sam Heughan, and EVERY woman he's ever dated. And I showed you in a screencap above that cherylecheryl on Instagram talked about going go harass Sam Heughan on her Twitter account. Just like Cheryl N. aka Bootsaucepunk. Gee, what are the odds that there's another Cheryl who's a horrible troll and isn't Cheryl N. aka Bootsaucepunk? C'mon, now.

Regardless, there is NO doubt WHO Bootsaucepunk is = Cheryl N. And not only is she a Sam hater, but she's also a Cait hater. Let that be known to newbies who aren't aware of the history. I'm shown accounts who claim to be Cait fans but they associate with Sam hater accounts who interact with Bootsaucepunk, comment on her posts, let her comment on their posts, and mutually reblog. In your disdain for Sam, you're inadvertently commiserating with a Caitriona Balfe and Tony McGill hater.

So if the hill you want to die on is proving that Bootsaucepunk on Tumblr isn't cherylecheryl on Instagram, that's on you. BUT, do not forget that Bootsaucepunk IS a PROVEN Cait hater. There are MANY other examples of her hate toward Cait, but the ones I showed you up above should be enough to distance yourself from her. Make NO mistake, Bootsaucepunk hates Sam Heughan AND Caitriona Balfe, and has gloated about her disdain for them BOTH for YEARS. There's no justifying or excusing Bootsaucepunk/Cheryl N.'s behavior and anyone who associates with her is guilty of condoning such behavior.

I rest my case, your honor. Case closed, Edith.

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winterrrnight · 2 months

Text

unravel

PAIRING: frat!soft!rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe has had his eyes set on the girl who isn't falling for his charms the way every girl seems to do.

WARNINGS: college!au; reader is hard to get, an ambivert, reserved; rafe is just frat!rafe in the start but slowly develops into extremely soft!rafe; a lot of comfort; rafe calls reader princess; intentional lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: this was initially just a little concept on rafe pining for a hard to get reader, but it got longer than the usual word count of my concepts so it's now a little fic! i hope this is extremely comforting cause I swear we all need this 💞🥹 just wanna say I'm here for every single one of you 💗💗

please reblog if you liked reading this! feedback is always highly appreciated 🌻

navigation || join my taglist || requests

rafe’s heard it all; hot, sexy, handsome, charming, and boy, does he eat it up each time. he knows he is a 10 out of 10, and when each girl in college is always on her knees for him, it doesn’t help but only boosts his ego.

but when you come around, it is all so different.

you don’t give into his charms the way everyone else seems to give. you aren’t running after him like a lost puppy, you aren’t pining for him, and that sets rafe off.

and that’s exactly why he needs you.

he catches you any moment he can; before class, after class, in the cafeteria, in the huge lawn, outside your dorms; any moment he sees you, he’s coming over to you, and never being able to keep his mouth shut.

“so princess…”

“shut up.”

that’s basically how all your conversations go. you roll your eyes at him each time and just walk away, but he has a smirk pulling on his lips all the damn time, always walking right next to you.

it’s like he’s forgotten about all the other girls in college. the ones who are willingly ready to take him, to give him attention every second of every day; but here he wants you, who doesn’t even make eye contact with him for more than two seconds without you rolling your eyes at him.

he always looks at you as the reserved kind of person. you aren’t seen around with a big group of friends, but just two or three close ones. you aren’t always talking, but you are quite open with your close friends. it’s hard to gather much information about you from around, and he believes that if it was the other way round, information about him would be so easily accessible. oh, and it does not help that your instagram is private and you still haven’t accepted his request.

if anything, that intrigues him even more. he wants to get close to you, to find out more about you, to unravel every thread of your existence till he knows you better than you know yourself.

it’s a nice spring afternoon, and rafe had quite few classes as compared to usual. he decides to head to the library – a place whose exact location he didn’t even know until 5 months into college – to finish this goddamned essay that’s been hanging on his head for the past week now.

as he walks inside, the vexed look on his face is instantly replaced by a quite simpered one when he spots you. he’s already making his way to you, around 20 different one liners in his head he can kick start the conversation with to see that irritated look on your face which he adores with his whole heart. but the coy smile leaves just the next second when he gets a clear look at you.

you’re crying.

your head hangs low as you’re quietly sobbing so absolutely no one else can hear you; but then the library is quite empty. your eyes are shut tight as tears roll down your hot cheeks, and rafe feels his heart physically break.

break in such a way that if you hear carefully, you can hear it shattering.

a frown etches his lips and a deep furrow forms in his brows as he slowly makes his way to you.

“princess…” he mutters softly, keeping a gentle hand on your shoulder. you’re startled at the sudden touch which causes you to gasp and makes you look up, your blurry eyes coming in contact with his warm, blue ones.

“not now rafe…” you whisper, shifting your shoulder which causes rafe’s hand to drop. you move a hand to your face to wipe off your tears, sniffling silently.

“hey talk to me…” he whispers softly, sitting down in the empty chair next to you. he doesn’t touch you in any way, just keeps a soft gaze at you and notices how you still keep your head down, trying your best to not sob as much as you were earlier. he makes a quick note of how your fingers are pulling onto each other, pinching and squeezing the flesh of them.

rafe knows for sure he’s never experienced anything sadder than watching tears roll down your pretty face. he knows it’s the last thing he wants to see. and he knows he wants to be the one who makes sure a tear never falls down your face ever again.

“listen princess…” he whispers, leaning just a bit closer to you, “you can trust me okay? you really can,” he gently places a hand over your snaked fingers, causing you to stop your fidgeting. his hand is warm, and as he gently caresses the back of your hand with his thumb, you can slowly feel your tears dying down.

rafe gently holds one of your hand and brings it up to his chest, placing it right above his heart. you look up to him, your glassy eyes slightly widened at his action. “just feel it okay?” he whispers. “try to match your breathing with it.” you feel the rhythmic thumping of his heart under your palm, and your expression softens as your eyes flutter shut, your breathing starting to match with his.

“good… good…” he whispers gently, moving his other hand to gently wipe your cheeks. his breath gets caught in his throat when he sees you don’t move away, but ever so subtly lean more into his touch.

“talk whenever you feel like, I’m not putting you in any hurry…” he mumbles, his thumb now gently skimming your cheek in a periodic manner, his palm resting against your cheek, and your face nuzzling against the warmth of his hand.

you nod at his words, just letting his soothing words, touch and presence take all over your senses, before you slowly collect your thoughts to talk to him.

if rafe would’ve earlier known that the way to your heart wasn’t dropping a snarky one liner each time he sees you, but to provide you a safe and comforting space to open up in, he would’ve done it way sooner.

because he’s finally doing what he wanted.

unraveling every thread of your existence till he knows you better than you know yourself.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @shores-kayla @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom

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hwaightme · 5 months

Text

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

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 1 month

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Hello, for the event (congratulations) may I request chuuya, kunikida and Nikolai please. Were they are protesting reader (gn adult) from people trying to kill them please

Thank you 💖

If you were not alone

Part VII

Characters: Self-Aware! Chuuya Nakahara, Self-Aware! Doppo Kunikida, Self-Aware! Nikolai Gogol

Reader: GN! Adult! Reader

Warning: English is my second language

🍷🤡📒 Whoever were responsible for getting you four in Teyvat made a terrible job in pinpointing locations. Because, somehow, all of you ended up on Vanessa's tree.

After some struggling, you four were on the ground, unharmed. Unfortunately, someone of you scared Dr. Edith (you aren't sure, if it was the landing itself, Nikolai's jokes, Chuuya's curses, Kunikida's demands of " be serious, you two" or your attempts to make everyone calm down), making her ran away. Your first impression on locals already weren't good.

Still, it wasn't the reason to stay in the wilderness. You four decided to go to Mondstadt, and ask for help.

🍷🤡📒 The walk wasn't that bad. Weather was good, Kunikida was talking about what he knew about survival in the wilderness, just in case, if you need to camp outside.

Then, something strange happened.

You have met Chloris. You thought, that you got lost and wandered too far from Mondstadt. But, the girl bowed before you, and, with "Star born All-Creator, I was ready to go to the Cathedral, and gave you today's offerings! Thank you for gracing me with your presence. Let me gave you my offerings to you right now."

Chloris particularly shoved a bouquet of windwheel asters into your hands, bowed again and skipped away, before any of you can react.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow.

"Mmm... [Y/N], My Symphony... Do you have any idea, what happened?"

You shake your head.

"No... And I have a bad feeling about it."

🍷🤡📒 Good news, you didn't get lost, Chloris simply get too close to Mondstadt, that she usually did in the game. You reached Cider Lake in ten minutes after meeting with the girl. Bad news, you were 'welcomed' with a pitchfork mob, with shouts of "Imposter! You and your sinful servants will be purged with holy fire!"

Kunikida, Chuuya and Nikolai, probably, could ignore the mob's treats, if they were aimed only at them. But, threats towards you were the biggest mistake, people of Mondstadt could have made.

Kunikida stayed near you, while Chuuya and Nikolai were creating chaos in the crowd.

At the end, you four left, and Mondstadt city required a major renovation.

🍷🤡📒 Before you could leave Mondstadt region, Albedo found you. You get a lot of valuable information from him and camp equipment. The journey won't be an easy one. You wanted to left Chloris's bouquet with Albedo, asking him to bring flowers to the church of that mysterious Creator, but the alchemist refused. He insisted, that you should keep it. That that bouquet, prays, everything, that people brought to the church and Ivory Throne should have been yours.

You were sure, that Albedo was mistaken about you. You weren't Creator.

Right?

You will think about it later.

You have an Alice to catch with.

Four of you left Mondstadt.

__________________

Your friends saved you three times...

__________________

🍷You were in Liyue. You four were camping in the wilderness. And everyone were doing their best. You were careful. And you always have either Chuuya, or Nikolai, or Kunikida near you.

You and Chuuya were trying to gather food. While you were trying to catch fishes, Chuuya was trying to catch a boar. You don't know, how far Chuuya went, but, he was far enough to not notice Beidou immediately.

Claymore of Crux's captain was pressed against your neck. She bared her teeth.

"Got you, Sinner..."

Chuuya, with a loud yell, dropped from above, landing close to you. He immediately grabbed you, saving from the crumbled earth under your feet. Beidou wasn't that lucky. She fell down, buried under rubble and earth. You can see, how she tried to claw her way up. Still, it will take her a few hours to get back on the surface.

Chuuya picked you up, running with you towards the camp. The familiar red glow of "Upon the Tainted Sorrow" covered you both.

"Sorry, [Y/N], for being late. Are you okay?"

You nodded, leaning your head on Chuuya's shoulder.

"Yes. Thank you for saving me".

///////////

📒 Beidou's defeat leads her to have a number of serious injuries. It also robs you from the chance of getting to Inazuma. According to Xingqiu, you four had to travel in empty crates, hiding, until the ship reach Inazuma. And Crux's captain will be fine with taking shipping crates without looking into them, if Feiyun Commerce Guild require not to touch them. But, the team refused to sail without Beidou and other ships have stricter rules.

So, you went to Sumeru.

Everything was fine.

Nahida tried to help you. Collei went against Tighnari's orders to help you (Kunikida, as a 'thank you', helped her with mathematic).

And, yet, you were discovered. And gad to flee.

You don't know, in Tighnari supposed to be in Apam Woods.

But he was here, it was raining, and you had to be cautious both of his arrows and Bloom reaction.

You hardly managed to jumped away from the Dendro Core explosion, and Tighnari already had the next arrow ready.

Kunikida, who threw the next forest ranger on the ground, finally had a moment to grab a prepared list from his notebook from his pocket. Kunikida barked.

"Back off from My Ideal! The Matchless Poet: stun gun!"

With one hand, Doppo grabbed you by the collar and yanked behind him, with the second hand, he aimed and fired.

Electricity stan Tighnari, and forest rangers, that stood near him. Nearest Dendro Cores turned into a Sprawling Shot.

The commotion gave you four a good opportunity to ran away.

When you were somewhat safe, Kunikida checked on you.

"You weren't stunned, [Y/N]?" Kunikida was panicking. You reassuringly pet his shoulder.

"I am fine, thanks to you."

////////////

🤡After Sumeru come Fontaine. Melusines were real sweethearts, letting you four stay in Merusea Village. Nikolai with his magic tricks became a new star for melusines. Furina, who, with Navia, helped you with getting here, confessed you, once, that she would like to see Nikolai's performance on Opera Epiclese's stage.

Melusines supposed to keep your stay a secret. Yet, somehow, Lyney, Lynette and Freminet learned about you four.

Were it Freminet, who was diving near the village, who got a glimpse of you?

Were it illusionists duo, who saw, how some melusines tried to re-create Nikolai's tricks?

It doesn't matter "how".

What matters, that you were captured. On Opera Epiclese's stage, with Freminet, Lyney and Lynette not letting you escape. You saw people of Fontaine, sitting in the audience, waiting for your demise, for Arlecchino's and Neuvillette's arrival.

Yet, different people arrived.

In a golden-white tornado, Nikolai appeared. Chuuya and Kunikida, who arrived with him, fall on the stage, still not experienced with traveling by "The Overcoat".

"IT'S SHOWTIME! ASSISTANT DOPPO?" Nikolai's voice echoed through the Opera.

Everyone was stunned. Kunikida stand up, glared at Nikolai, but took a small MP3 Player from his pocket and pressed "Play". Sounds of "Entry of the gladiators" filled the air.

Chuuya tried to release you from your bindings. While Nikolai...

"QUIZ TIME! WHAT MUST BE QUICK RIGHT NOW?"

Nikolai, with a mad grin, disappeared again. With an explosion of confetti and streamers (they were probably made of documents, angry at Neuvillette melusines gave Nikolai), he appeared behind Lynette. He leveled her with a frightful, delightful roundhouse kick that made Nikolai's cape whip about whilst he circled.

"RIGHT! YOUR THINKING!"

Nikolai disappeared again, leaving behind confetti, streamers and a broken jaw.

"HEY, DRIVER BOY, WANNA GO FOR A MARRY-GO-ROUND RIDE?"

Nikolai grabbed Freminet by the legs and swung him at Lyney. Males collide with a terrific meaty smack.

Nikolai, with his makeshift weapon, disappeared. And reappeared in the audience.

Making several three-hundred-and-sixty-degree swipes, Nikolai sent people tumbling all around him, and then he tossed away Freminet on unconscious Lynette, jumping over the heap of bodies that were piled around him.

Nikolai returned to the stage, bowing.

"Ah, what a nice performance..."

Then he immediately grabbed your shoulders, take a good look at you, and hugged you.

"Are you okay, Birdy? They didn't hurt you, right? Should I hit them more?"

You quickly shushed him.

"Everything is fine, Kolya. You made it in time."

_________

And then you sawed them.

_________

🍷📒🤡 You knew, that Neuvillette and Arlecchino were on their way. But you hopped, that you will leave Opera before they arrived.

You weren't that lucky, so you four had to fight again.

Chuuya was a literal tank in your group, dealing with the strongest attacks.

Kunikida's stun gun made a good weapon against Neuvillette's hydro attacks.

Nikolai, with "The Overcoat" and, this time, with unconscious Luney, gave a hard time to Arlecchino.

You were tried. You wanted to go home.

Your emotions reached its peak.

Portal appeared under your feet.

______________

🐾 BSD Cast expected, that you four can be anywhere. They don't expect you four appeared in the barn. With two unconscious people on the floor. With Nikolai, hitting a strange woman with a third unconscious person. With Kunikida, aiming a stun gun at said woman. With Chuuya, protecting you from the said woman. And with a circus music playing.

🐾 It took time to calm everyone down, to find a place to lock Arlecchino and House of Hearth's siblings. And then you four start talking.

🐾 Perhaps, one day, you will return to Teyvat. You have people to help here

__________

Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters @nervousinfluencertidalwave @ayameshu

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girlwithonegoal · 7 months

Text

sorry but the only reason destiel even works is because wincest did it first and also better

i've been thinking a LOT about this and want to get it all out so here it is. if dean was truly in love with cas, he would not have hesitated to tell him so when he literally knew cas was about to DIE. we don't see that. we see shock, grief, disbelief (an angel loves me!), we see him trying desperately to process his best friend is leaving him but nowhere does dean say, or imply, with his eyes, or words, that he's in love with cas. of course he loves cas - cas is family - and cas is not exactly his brother, (closest is brother-in-arms), despite his insistence in an earlier episode - but he's not in the kind of soul-crushing love that cas is with him. he's not in love with cas, and can't be, because he's already in love with sam.

when dean dies, he gets as close as he possibly can to confessing to sam he's in love with him without actually crossing the line. he would never to that to sam - he would never do to sam what cas did to him - because he would NEVER do anything to make sam lose his agency (sidebar: not that cas doesn't respect dean. but his love confession is almost wish fulfillment - i'm going to confess to dean i love him and go out in a blaze of glory and then leave without dean ever even having to reciprocate because i know he doesn't love me back. and he's absolutely right).

dean has already had years and years of not having his own agency from john his whole fucking life! john did whatever he wanted to dean and dean took it because like hell was he going to subject sam to that bullshit. which brings us to sam and dean's childhood - not much is known of their early years before sam went to stanford and that's fully on purpose. we can almost see dean as not only a brother figure to sam but also a father figure. john leaving for weeks maybe even months at a time - how the hell did dean and sam manage to survive? by dean doing whatever he had to do. emphasis on whatever.

you see, john absolutely knows that dean is beautiful. whether you read their relationship as purely abusive or abusive with a sexual component - dean definitely did questionable things to get food on the table for sam, an aspect that's more in fanon that canon but reads true to the heart of the show. sam doesn't know because dean wanted a normal childhood for him. and dean would rather die and go to hell for 800 years than force sam to make a choice, make any choice, of a romantic and/or sexual nature related to him.

back to dean's death. this is again the closest thing to a love confession that dean can make - my baby brother - take out the word brother and it would be not only romantic but stunningly true - he raised sam, this child who grew up to be a man, this child who loves him - waiting outside sam's dorm for hours - can you picture him pacing in the snow, waiting for the one thing he wants but can't have??? why does that sound familiar? oh, right, because that's what cas said but in dean and sam's case it would be actually true. how cruel and unbelievably insane it is to find your soulmate in your brother, the one person you have that you love unconditionally, not just because they are your family but because you are in love with them, and you can never have them as long as you live.

re: american gothic and soulmatism. very different from crimson peak where thomas fully realizes the unhealthiness of the codependent incestuous relationship with his sister and wants to be free and happy with edith. but sam and dean don't want to be free. in their minds, they already are free as long as they have each other and only each other. not getting in all the other romantic relationships that the brothers have with other people bc it would take too long, but they already fulfill that need for each other and don't need anyone else...like i'm sorry i love my sister but i want to get married one day to someone else. if you read their relationship as purely platonic, it doesn't work at ALL.

the kripke early seasons fully leaned into the gothic horror aspect of it all and incest is definitely a part of that...dean and sam literally cannot live without each other. they can't do it! sam dies in dean's arms and dean can't even wait five fucking minutes without making a deal with a demon lmao. he can't eat. he can't sleep. their love is a perpetual resurrection; they keep killing each other and bringing each other back to life. because they don't know how to stop. they are a singular mangled fucked up entity. i read a fic once where the author described sam as hating his own body because it was separate from dean's and dean's whole presence was a phantom pain. and yeah. just yeah. they can't live without each other because they ARE each other.

seasons 1-3 to me are spn at its soul. that's it. cas only works as a side character, if he's a brother (like, purely platonically) to both sam and dean or just unrequited romantic love for dean. the trope of an angel falling in love with a faithless man who can't pray only works if dean hasn't been in love with sam the whole time.

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creature-wizard · 5 months

Note

https://youtu.be/U8NNHmV3QPw?si=6aInyR5QVTAT3z0R Watch if you're bored but you might be surprised 🤷🏻‍♀️.

It's about spirit science

GHJKSD when you said this video was about Spirit Science, I thought you were gonna like, link to a video talking about how the Spirit Science guy Jordan Duchnycz is a rapist or his weird obsession with Emma Watson or his antisemitic claim that Jews come from another planet. I didn't expect you were going to link to like, an actual Spirit Science video.

In brief, what Jordan's putting out here is straight-up baloney. A lot of it's pretty bog-standard New Age pseudohistory based on unsubstantiated conjecture, misinterpretation of various mythological traditions, and shit somebody just pulled straight from their ass. Not only is there no actual evidence to support any of the stuff he's putting out there, the actual evidence we do have inevitably precludes it.

Here are some links that explain why and how we know that people like Jordan are just wrong:

The Sirius Mystery: did the Dogon know about Sirius B?

The Truth About Atlantis

Atlantis @ Bad Archaeology

The Weird Case of Atlantis-Mu in the Madrid Codex

Lemuria, the weirdest continent that never existed

Naacal @ Wikipedia

Close encounters of the racist kind

The Ancient Astronaut Hypothesis Is Racist And Harmful

Zechariah Sitchin @ Bad Archaeology

"The Emerald Tablets of Thoth": A Lovecraftian Plagiarism

Left- vs. Right-Brained: Why the Brain Laterality Myth Persists

Are the Egyptian pyramids aligned with the stars?

Criticisms of Drunvalo Melchizedek @ Wikipedia

Detailed deconstruction of the "face" and pyramids on Mars claims

"Christ" @ Wiktionary

"Allah" @ Wiktionary

Charles Hapgood @ Wikipedia

It’s better light, not worse behaviour, that explains crimes on a full Moon

Sphinx water erosion hypothesis @ Wikipedia

Egyptian Hieroglyphs @ World History Encyclopedia

Predynastic Period in Egypt @ World History Encyclopedia

Sumer @ World History Encyclopedia

Debunking the Myth: The Council of Nicaea and the Formation of the Biblical Canon

First Council of Nicaea @ Encyclopedia Britannica

Did Jesus Go to India? A Modern Gospel Forgery

Also, the fact that Jordan appeals to channeled information is a massive red flag. Channeling is fun and sometimes produces some interesting things, but a source of reliable information it is not.

He also claims that a pole reversal makes the planet start spinning the other way, which is literally not how pole reversals work at all.

And of course, Jason's claim that thirteen powerful families are controlling the world is that general conspiracy theory shit derived from The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, early modern witch panic, and blood libel. The whole thirteen families thing in particular comes from Fritz Springmeier, a far right conspiracy theorist who proudly cites other hateful kooks like Edith Starr Miller and Alexander Hislop and basically claims anything that isn't good wholesome Christian entertainment is actually Satanic programming.

Basically, Jordan Duchnycz is just another New Age conspiracy theorist pushing the same old garbage as loads of others like him.

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 months

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honestly, Slight Dirtbag Edith supremacy

girl clearly has a touch of NLOG tendencies (though not a critical case- she did befriend the secretary in her father's office, and tries to get close with Lucille at the beginning), and some serious childhood spoiling aftermath in the way she charges into everything headfirst and expects it to go her way

and most of all- EXTREMELY weak morals. oh yes aristocrats are parasites? hm? Edith is very noble and Principled?

what if one or two of them were...hot?

aaaaaand she's off trying to climb that like a blueblooded tree. she's married that. she's made herself a "parasite" for big sad Pre-Raphaelite eyes and a spooky house

#crimson peak #edith cushing #yes she's kind and brave and charmingly nerdy #but she's also just a bit shitty! and I love that for her!

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creative-heart · 2 months

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"My thoughts will echo your name"| Esteban Kukuriczka

Chapter six: “There was something bout that kiss”

Lucia’s Notes: I can’t believe we’re already almost at the end of this series! this has been so fun to write so far!. On another note, this chapter’s gonna be juicy! So buckle up! SORRY ABT THE TIME THIS IS DROPPING FOR SOME OF YOU, BUT I JUST FINISHED AND I COULDN'T GATEKEEP IT 🤭😉

+18 ONLY: MINORS DNI: If you DO NOT want to read the smut part, please stop reading at the first cut, there will be a brief summary at the foot notes of the chapter. You can go back to reading after the second cut.

Playlist:

Those eyes- New West

In case you didn’t know- Brett Young.

Lose control- Teddy Swims.

Green tea & honey- Dane Amar, Jereena Montemayor.

Home- Edith Whiskers.

You’re enough- Sleeping at last

I hear a simphony- Cody Fry.

Content warning: Smut, light praising, some jealousy from the ex and light violence.

Word Count: 2.8k

As the days went by, Y/N and kuku hung out more and more, things were so easy between them, there was a familiarity that couldn’t be explained as if they had known eachother since forever. That night was one of those nights, they had decided when she moved into his place that they would make it a habit to have dinner together at least once a week. She had now moved into a studio apartment, it wasn’t much, but it was enough, this was the first time she would have him over for their dinners and was feeling strangely nervous, they had done this countless times now, why was she feeling this way?

She was wearing an apron over her outfit as to not stain it while she made her stelar carbonara pasta recipe, she was famous for it within her group. When the street doorbell rang she bit her lip as she answered “Yeah?, come on up” she said after hearing Kuku’s voice on the other end. When she hung up she hastily took the apron off fixing her off the shoulder camel kneaded sweater looking at herself in the mirror, her light washed jeans hugging her figure in all the right places well paired with the ankle height camel boots; her hair up in a perfectly messy high ponytail, all which left her collarbones and neck perfectly exposed. When she heard the knock on the door she walked over opening it and smiled seeing the chocolate eyed man standing on the other side holding a wine bottle in one hand and a bag of strawberries and chocolate in the other. Y/N stepped aside and motioned for him to come in “come on in, welcome to my humble abode”.

As the older guy walked past her he kissed her cheek in what tried to be an innocent gesture but landing way too close to the corner of her mouth and Y/N couldn’t help but go back to that night at the club; sure enough, there was that sparkle she had started getting used to when being around Esteban, that fiery spark in the lowest part of her gut that never failed to make her blush. “Brought wine and desert, hope you like strawberries and chocolate” she nodded snapping out of her train of thought as she took in his ever messy locks of light brown-blondish hair that she loved so much. “Oh I looovee that” she smiled sweetly walking back towards the kitchen “I hope you’re hungry Kukuriczka, I made my worldly famous tagliatelle carbonara, and you better eat” she stepped on her tiptoes to get the wine glasses from the cupboard.

Kuku let his sight roam the girl’s body while she had her back turned to him biting his lip softly as he admired the way those jeans hugged her legs and her ass, as he let his eyes roam freely, he landed on the exposed skin on her shoulders and neck, what would I give to kiss those gorgeous shoulders, run my hands down her waist again. He was snapped out of that fantasy by Y/N turning around with the glasses in hand and a bottle opener “will you do the honors?” she smiled sweetly handing them over to the guy before going back to the cooking at hand. She knew, she knew in her heart that Kuku had been staring at her, and she wasn’t gonna lie, she quite enjoyed it to be honest, knowing the effect she had on him was rather alluring.

After dinner was done, and almost the whole wine bottle gone Y/N looked at Kuku as they waited for the chocolate to melt for the strawberries “so…did you like the food?” she smirked softly as the wine had already started going to her head. The elder one nodded softly making his way over to the girl, alcohol giving him a bravery he hadn’t been able to muster just yet on his own, as he rested a hand on her side, half trapping the girl against the counter ”I enjoyed it quite a bit, yeah” his voice coming out surprisingly lower than they both expected it to be. Y/N looked up at him through her lashes biting her lower lip softly “That’s good, I hope you enjoy dessert too….and that the strawberries taste nice as well” she whispered and that was all the invitation Esteban needed, he bent over joining his lips to hers; his hands immediately falling to her hips as she held onto the freckle faced guy’s t-shirt holding him close to her granting his tongue entrance to her mouth, the dance of them perfectly synchronized together as if they had done this a million times.

Esteban deepend the kiss holding the back of her neck as his other hand traveled to Y/N’s ass giving it a gentle squeeze; he was so hungry for her, he had been ever since that night at the club and it felt so good to finally have her in his arms again. He didn’t even notice when the younger turned the stove off so that the chocolate wouldn’t burn, before her hand flew to his hair running through it tugging gently at the roots; when Y/N heard the soft groan emerge from the taller’s throat she smirked against his lips before pulling away just enough to whisper “Chocolate’s ready mr.” and without missing a beat she turned around to get the things ready giggling when she heard Kuku groaning before going to get the fruit and some bowls “Can we watch a movie while we eat?” and after hearing the affirming hum from the guy’s lips she walked over.

“You’re just evil…you know that?” he chuckled his voice still deep with lust, as he could feel his erection half growing in his pants. “Me!? oh I could never…I just didn’t want to waste this perfectly fine chocolate you brought over” Y/N smiled, mastering her best all innocent smile as she walked past him to sit down brushing her ass accidentally against his crotch before sitting on the couch “so, what we watching kukuriczka?” the blonde grabbed a strawberry dipping it in the chocolate and biting into it looking straight at him, knowing exactly what she was doing and enjoying it way too much. Esteban didn’t even pretend not to be staring at her anymore, he was way past that stage, he wanted her too badly, needed her too much and what she was doing, he knew that was absolutely in purpose to make him go crazy, and it was working. His brown eyes fixed on her lips. When Kuku saw some chocolate staining the corner of her mouth he leaned in grabbing her chin strong enough to keep her in place but still with a softness to it and without breaking eye contact with the girl as he moved in, he licked the chocolate off. She didn’t expect that, her eyes following him as he moved, a soft moan escaping her throat when Y/N felt his tongue on her skin.

Screw desert, she thought as she straddled the older guy’s lap, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss much needier and hungrier than the last, his fingertips traced the curve of her jaw, his touch igniting a fire within her pulling her closer, the warmth of his body enveloping her as their tongues intertwined in a passionate dance. Y/N felt herself melting against him on the spot, her hands frantically roaming over his shoulders and chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat underneath her touch.

With gentle urgency he picked her up with their lips never parting making his way to the bed, hands on her ass while she wrapped her legs around his waist, and all he could think when she did that, was how he wanted them to be wrapped around his head. As soon as he placed her down her hands were swift to take his t-shirt off taking a second to admire his body, it was even better than she had ever dreamt about, and dreaming she had done on this topic. While Y/N was still taking in his chest, Esteban took the opportunity to take her sweater top off as well and while it was still going over her head he let his brown eyes graze over her wonderful chest “fuck” he muttered under his breath leaning in as soon as he took the top off connecting his lips to the girl’s neck taking his time to savor every inch of her skin looking for those especially sensitive spots that made her breath hitch on the back of her throat.

Without any more time to loose, Y/N worked at kuku’s jeans to get them off, her hands trembling slightly as she moaned softly eyes fluttering closed as he grazed his lips over the spot right below her ear that always made her knees go weak. Once he had stepped out of his pants she took hers off and before she could react, her feet were off the ground, she giggled with a small squeak as the older man literally swept her off her feet and tossed her playfully yet commanding onto the bed. She looked at his eyes, the darkest shade of brown she had ever seen them. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous babygirl” he praised her quitely taking in the image before him. Y/N looked up at him biting her lip suddenly feeling a bit selfconcious under his eyes.

Esteban smirked getting on the bed and crawling over to her kissing down her jaw and to her neck, leaving soft nibbles here and there while he made his way down, hooking his index fingers into her underwear all but ripping it off her, he had waited way too long to have her this way and he wanted her now, kuku wanted to taste her, he needed to taste her. As he spread her legs and looked up at her he smirked biting his lip “but baby, so ready for me, haven’t even touched you properly yet” as he placed a kiss on the inside of Y/N’s knee he looked up at her through hooded eyes hearing her breath getting heavier and a bit more erratic already. Y/N looked at him moaning softly “I just haven’t stopped thinking about the club” she whispered cheekly, the need in her making all the filters fade in her mind. Esteban raised an eyebrow quizzically as he softly ran a finger along her slick folds, a hum of approval leaving his mouth as he brought his digit up to his lips tasting her off it before leaning down placing a chaste kiss on the tiny throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Fuck” Y/N’s high pitched moan plus her hands flying to his hair tangling into his unruly strands cheered him on as he kept lapping and sucking at her folds and clit, a single finger slowly sliding in her a low groan leaving his lips without parting with her body sending an electric jolt erupting from the deepest center of her body up her spine and Y/N was gone, she coudln’t even think straight anymore, the lust clouded her brain and her senses and all she could think about was how good it felt to have kuku’s face buried deep against her center, she could die right there and then and wouldn’t even mind. She tugged at his hair pushing him closer “God sake baby, you feel so good” she muttered through moans as she could feel the tension building inside her body. Just as the string was about to snap, Esteban pulled away depriving her of all the much needed touch and friction and she whined. “Oh, easy babygirl” he smirked “I love how eager you are, but not yet” he winked before reaching over to his jeans grabbing a condom from his pocket rolling it on “I bet you’re gonna take my cock so well” he mumbled as he rolled the rubber out on his shaft before he held himself up over her their lips joining again, the kiss now sloppy and frantic. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. With trembling hands, Esteban guided himself inside her, their gasps mingling in the air, she felt so tight around his cock, so kuku gave her a little to adjust to it before starting to build the perfect pace. Their bodies seemed to know exactly how to move with one another, Y/N’s hands roamed freely down his back and up his sides wanting to explore every inch of his body. When his thrusts changed angles hitting that perfect spot on her insides, Y/N threw her head back letting a loud moan escape as she dug her nails on kuku’s shoulders.

Not long after, the brunette could feel the girls walls tightening around his cock and her heavy erratic breath and he knew, sure enough, Y/N looked at him and whispered “I’m….babe…. I’m gonna” she muttered through moans; he kissed her and whispered against her lips “cum sweetie, cum” and his low raspy voice was all it took to take the blonde girl over the edge, she let herself go, feeling wave after wave of pleasure run through her, shortly after joined by his own orgasm erupting and washing over him, with a long trembling groan kuku let himself fall on the bed next to her. Lazy fingers tracing senseless patterns over his chest as they both laid in bed. He placed a soft kiss on top of her head eyes closed as he tried to bring his breathing back down.

And that’s exactly how the next few months went by, sneaky rende-vouz at either apartments, silly little movie date nights and sweet escapades for the weekend just the two of them. Without even trying, they had kind of kept their relationship underwraps, not that they needed to hide, it had mostly began after Y/N and Lucas had broken up, but there was something inside them that unconsciously made them keep it a secret.

That little unplanned plan would have worked if hadn’t been for social media posts of them at the same places at the same times, slowly the rumour of them being together ran like wildfire until it got back to Amelia’s ears, who one night, without thinking much of it brought it up in front of Lucas, the girl had never seen her brother so enraged, she could even say she was a little scared when he grabbed his keys making his way to Kuku’s place. Just as Esteban and Y/N were settling in for the night there was a knock on the door “that’s weird, it’s really late” the tall guy said heading over to the door and as soon as he opened, without even a word, Lucas swung at him hitting him square in the nose “Why the fuck would you go for my girlfriend Esteban!? weren’t there enough single women out there that you had to go for mine!?” he yelled at him.

Esteban held his hand up to his face groaning from the pain “first of, fuck off man!, second, Y/N’s not an object for you to talk about her like that, and maybe if you hadn’t treated her like absolut shit when she’s a remarakable young woman, she wouldn’t have dumped you. You’re one to talk tho, when you and me both know what you did with Alma all through out your relationship with Y/N/N. Not that this fucking matters anyway, but I didn’t even try anything with her until she dumped your ass, not my fault I’m a bigger man than you, in all senses it seems”. The brunette smirked smugly and just as Lucas was about to swing at him again Y/N stepped in between them.

“That’s enough….you never were or will be half the man kuku is, you should be embarrassed to even show up here Lucas, you treated me like shit for years, and this man treated me the way I deserved well before we even looked at eachother in a romantic way, I’m gonna count to three and you’re gonna leave this place and never come near me or him in this way again or I’m gonna file a restraining order against you. You think I don’t know you went about fucking that whore while we were together? or that you were with me for my trustfund? well…. guess what, I love myself too much now to ever look at you like that again” She slammed the door shut in his face shaking and took a deep breath trying to steady herself before turning on her heels to look at Esteban “I’m so sorry love, let’s take a look at what that animal did” she walked in to the bathroom to get the freckled guy cleaned up.

Lucia’s notes: Summary for the smut, basically lots of steamy making out, and sex. Thinking back almost half the chapter is smut 🤭🤭 Also, if you wanna be tagged in upcoming works, please leave a comment down below. 💗

Tag List: @madame-fear @cyliarys-starlight @castawaycherry @luceracastro @espinasrubi @lastflowrr @koiibiito @candycanes19 @nperoconelcositoarriba @lxdyred @deepinsideyourbeing

#esteban kukuriczka fic #esteban kukuriczka x reader #esteban kukuriczka fanfic #esteban kukuriczka smut #esteban x reader #kuku #kuku x reader #esteban kukuriczka #lsdln cast x reader #lsdln cast fanfic #lsdln cast smut #lsdln cast #smut #+18 #MDNI #fanfiction #fanfic

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angelswing236 · 8 months

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"No, you won't understand, ever."

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

‘Mary, would you mind judging the best cake at the parish fair on Saturday?’ Cora asked as she took tea with her daughters one late May afternoon.

‘Me?’ Mary asked, looking distinctly unenthused.

‘Yes, I did ask Sybil to do it, but she’ll be close to her due date by then, so we thought you might not feel up to it, didn’t we, darling?’ Cora said, reaching out to pat her youngest daughter’s arm as Sybil fanned herself.

Edith turned away from the window, looking towards her mother. ‘I can do it.’

Cora exchanged glances with Mary and Sybil. ‘Oh, well, that’s kind of you to offer, darling, but I think Mary can do it, can’t you, Mary?’

‘Yes, of course, I can,’ Mary said, painting a smile on her face but still managing to look less than thrilled at the prospect.

Edith regarded them, taking in the quick looks, the concern and – worst of all – the pity.

‘Mary doesn’t want to do it,’ she said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘So, why didn’t you ask me?’

Cora shifted uncomfortably on her chair. ‘Well, you, er, you weren’t supposed to be here for the fair. You were supposed to be on your…’

‘Honeymoon. You can say it, Mama. I was supposed to be on my honeymoon. But I’m not on my honeymoon, am I? So, I can do it.' Edith surveyed her family feeling her temper quicken. 'Unless, of course, only married women are considered capable of judging the quality of cakes. In which case, obviously, I’m not suited to the job.’

There was an awkward silence for a moment until Cora spoke again, adopting a soothing tone.

‘Of course not, darling. I just wasn’t sure if you were ready for…’

‘For what? Facing the villagers after they all saw me being jilted at the altar?’ Edith snapped, perilously close to either losing her temper or bursting into tears. It was a toss-up between which would be most likely to happen.

‘Well… yes,’ Cora admitted, looking at her daughter with sympathetic eyes.

‘They already witnessed the main event, so I daresay the sight of me judging cakes won’t draw too much of a crowd. And I have to make myself useful, don’t I? Isn’t that what spinsters do?’ Edith asked bitterly, watching her sisters and her mother exchange more none-too-subtle glances. ‘Or would you rather just hide me away? The family disappointment nobody wants to acknowledge?’

Mary narrowed her eyes, annoyance overtaking the pity she felt for her sister. ‘Look, Edith, we understand that this is a difficult time for you, but – ’

‘Understand? You think you understand?’ Edith interrupted, feeling everything bubbling up inside her. ‘No, you won’t understand, ever. How could you? Were you humiliated on what should have been the happiest day of your life? No!’

‘Edith, we – ’ Sybil started, a concerned look on her face.

‘No! Look at you! Sitting there all smug because you have husbands! It’s all right for you, isn’t it? You’ve got your lives all sorted out, haven’t you? Mama, married for thirty years, surrounded by her daughters! Sybil and Mary married to the men they love! Sybil about to have a baby, Mary probably going to do the same! How can any of you possibly understand?’

Cora rose, walking towards her middle daughter, her hand outstretched. ‘Edith, my darling.’

Edith stepped away, shaking her head, losing control of all the emotions tumbling around inside her.

‘Every one of you has everything you want! I have nothing! Nothing! No husband! No prospects of getting one now I’ve been jilted! Everyone will think it was my fault! That there’s something wrong with me and that’s why Anthony wouldn’t marry me at the last minute! And if I don’t have a husband, I’ll never have children! I’ll be one of those women that people point at and whisper about! The one they'll use as a cautionary tale! You’d better be good, or you’ll end up like Edith Crawley, all alone without a single person to love her!’

Cora reached out, pulling Edith into her arms as the tears broke free. ‘I love you.’

‘It’s not the same, Mama!’ Edith sobbed, fighting against her mother’s embrace. ‘It’s not the same!’

‘I know, darling,’ Cora soothed, stroking Edith’s hair.

‘I want what you’ve all got! I want someone to love me! Me! I want someone who thinks of me first every day.’

‘And you’ll find him, you will.’

‘No, I won’t!’ Edith cried, crumpling into her mother’s arms.

‘Well, you won’t find him judging cakes,’ Mary put in.

Edith glared at her.

‘Give out prizes to the livestock farmers instead. There are more men there,’ Mary concluded with a smile.

There was a tense silence and then, despite herself, Edith began to laugh.

#fictober23 #downton abbey #edith crawley #mary crawley #sybil crawley #cora crawley #fanfiction #writing prompt #writing challenge

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scotianostra · 1 month

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The 1st May marks the anniversary of the death of a remarkable Scottish born woman.

She is known to us by the Norman-French title “Matilda of Scotland” born around 1080 at Dunfermline and Christened with the name Edith,one of the eight children of King Malcolm III of Scotland and his second wife Saint Margaret. At her christening were her godfather Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy and the eldest son of King William I of England (the Conqueror) and her godmother, Matilda of Flanders, the wife of King William I of England (the Conqueror). The infant Matilda pulled at Queen Matilda’s headdress, which was seen as an omen that the younger Matilda would be a queen one day. In fact, she would marry Queen Matilda’ s son and Robert Curthose’s brother, King Henry I of England.

Thus with links to three different cultures, Anglo-Saxon, Scottish and Norman French, Edith was a marriageable prospect, but her eventual betrothal to Henry I of England seems, by all accounts, to have been a love match as much as a dynastic union. She was free to marry only after a court case at which she had to prove that her stay in a convent was for purposes of protection and that she never formally took the veil of a nun, such were the religious complexities at the time.

The character, education and birthright of Matilda of Scotland seem to have given her a high degree of autonomy at Henry’s court. She also had her separate sources of income, her own retinue of staff and was frequently left in virtual charge of the realm during his regular absences in Normandy. Her charters cover a wide range of issues and she was particularly interested in architecture, being responsible for several abbey building projects as well as bridge construction and the provision of England’s first public toilets, attached to a bath complex near at Queenhithe, a small and ancient ward of the City of London.

It is possible that in 1114 she sent masons north with her brother Alexander when he returned to Scotland after fighting alongside Henry in Wales. She herself was said to have “fluent honeyed speech” by Marbodius of Rennes and she filled her court with poets and musicians. She was responsible for commissioning a biography of her mother Margaret who was also renowned in Scotland for bringing light and colour to the Scottish Royal Court.

It is believed that Matilda (Edith) only returned once to Scotland during her lifetime and, due to the lack of surviving documentary evidence, her influence in Scotland is unknown. However, she is believed to have had a close relationship with her brothers, three of whom were kings north of the border.

Also absent from our history books, she may just possibly be better known to us as the “fair lady” in the nursery rhyme “London Bridge is falling down”. Her works of charity made her a queen beloved of all Londoners who also probably claimed her as a Wessex girl despite her Scottish birthplace.

Matilda of Scotland fulfilled her dynastic duty by giving birth to both a daughter, also called Matilda, and a son, William. William died in a tragic boat disaster shortly after Matilda’s own early death in 1118. She was only 38. Her daughter Matilda married the German Emperor Henry V and is known to us today as the Holy Roman Empress Matilda, the princess who became embroiled in a bitter English Civil War.

There is loads more about our forgotten English Queen here http://garethrussellcidevant.blogspot.com/.../daughter-of...

#scotland #scottish #history #England #Normandy #royalty

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p-redux · 9 months

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From Submit Option:

_______

"Alliance Tasting video

It looks like the Alliance tasting video where they talk about the gin winning gold was in the same suite as Susie’s selfie. You can do a virtual tour of the suite and yo can see the desk,coffee table and photo all the same. Thanks."

____________

Thanks, Anon! Well, this is PROOF POSITIVE Sam Heughan was staying in The Beach House Suite at Shutters On The Beach Hotel in Santa Monica. The SAME suite where Susie Evans posted the selfie on her Instagram stories during the same days Sam was there.

Take a look...

Same sitting area as The Beach House Suite. 👇

This video was filmed in The Beach House Suite. 👇

Same coffee table, side table, painting in the background, French door to the left, air conditioning vent above Sam. 👇 they simply moved the one striped chair out of the way to film.

You can take a virtual tour of the whole suite here. 👇

And just a reminder of what Susie posted on her IG story. She posted from The Beach House Suite dining room area. 👇

Extreme Shippers and assorted haters can try to refute it, but I'd say that's a "case closed, Edith." 🤷‍♀️😚

#submission #samheughan #sam heughan #samusie #susie evans #susie nicole evans #susie ev #susie_ev #beach house suite #the beach house suite #shutters on the beach #santa monica #los angeles #the tasting alliance #case closed #case closed edith

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stargazeraldroth · 3 months

Text

I will never be normal about the family of the First Humans in my Hazbin Hotel AU. I will never be normal about it. I really took this AU and said "Family angst to the MAX". Also this may or may not contain spoilers about Hazbin Hotel, so be warned about that when reading this.

Since we don't know much of anything about Eve in Hazbin Hotel's canon universe, the Eve included in this post is obviously how I imagine her character. Also, there are some major changes to the relationships between some of the characters. For starters, Vaggie and Lute are sisters, but they're also direct creations of Adam's.

Let me explain.

So in this AU, Adam and Eve became a thing shortly after Lilith ran away to be with Lucifer. And in this AU, they were only able to have Cain and Abel before Eve ate the Forbidden Fruit and ultimately died (I might elaborate on the whole Garden of Eden story in another post). But they'd talked about having daughters and Eve was especially excited to have little girls. Clearly, that never ended up happening. So how does this tie into the story? Because Adam made Vaggie and Lute with the idea of them being the daughters he and Eve were never able to have.

(To take this a step further, this AU started as a Reimagine series where I went over how I would've done it all, so there were also name changes. Vaggie and Lute were two characters who got their names changed; Vaggie's name became Evelyn [originally Evangeline but I thought that too long and didn't roll off the tongue as well] and Lute's became Edith, with Vaggie being named after Eve and Lute being named after the Garden of Eden. And if you want even MORE angst with that idea, Adam sometimes called Vaggie "Eve" as a nickname because of how much she reminded him of her. There's nothing romantic there, I just wanna clarify that in case anyone jumps to conclusions. The changed names aren't important to the post, I just wanted to mention this little background fun fact from before I decided to make it a regular AU)

I may not have diddly squat about Cain and Abel in this aside from the fact that they exist(ed), but BOY do I have a lot to say about these four. First, let me just start with the parallels between Eve and Vaggie in this AU:

Both someone Adam swore to himself that he'd protect at all costs

Both fell from grace and are in Hell

Both of them are on the opposing side (for Eve this'll rely on the post I eventually make about the GoE story, but the gist is that she was completely unwilling; Vaggie saw no other way)

Both of them fell in love with demons

Like... Vaggie reminds Adam of Eve so much that sometimes, it physically hurts. In this AU, Vaggie wasn't left to die in Hell, she got attacked and left behind. Adam thought she was dead, which was part of why he pushed to move up the date of the next Extermination and why Lute is so set on revenge, wants to kill ALL demons, etc. And Adam doesn't care about sexuality- he doesn't care if Vaggie's bi, pan, lesbian, ace, etc. In this AU, he only cares because Charlie's a demon (and the daughter of Lucifer, but that's another thing). The way Adam sees it, he's been losing everyone he loves to temptation and sin. He believes he lost Lilith to Lucifer's seduction (even if he was an angel at the time, he eventually became a demon), he lost Eve to both Lilith & Lucifer and the Apple, he lost Abel to Cain's jealousy and wrath, he lost Cain to his inner darkness, he originally thought he lost Vaggie to the demons, and then he thought he lost her to seduction (even though Charlie didn't do anything like that). And this- this is why Adam's both so close to Lute and why he smiles when he dies in this AU. He died believing that he failed everyone he cared about except Lute, even though- in the back of his mind- he told himself he still failed her. Because he wasn't going to be able to make it back to Heaven and stay with her.

Y'all. I don't know WHAT made me decide to focus so much on these four... but this is what I got. This is what happened. They're devouring my brain.

#hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel lute #my heart breaks for this whole family in this AU #especially eve because i feel like her story is very tragic #and adam is meant to be very flawed #but still someone who is trying and he does care #like even though eve's a demon he still loves her and he wanted to see her again #i just #why did i do this to myself #there just needed to be background lore #and this is what happened

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grucylover · 2 months

Text

.………………………………………

So I wrote a fanfic (my first ever one). I’m writing others a lot longer with chapters but yeah. I was inspired by Margo covered in glitter and Gru in a pink shirt from the DM4 trailor. It nice to see them spending time together as father and daughter. I don’t think this would obviously ever happen but I just wrote it, never really wrote a fanfic before so I would appreciate if you could comment and let me know what you think. Thanks. ☺️

Like Father, Like Daughter.

On the way back from a grocery run to the safe house, which the family were staying in for their own protection, Gru went to pick up Margo from her 'temporary' high school.

When she got into the car, Gru noticed something was very different about his daughter and it was pretty obvious. 'Wtf happened'. He was a little horrified to be honest.

'Margo was covered from head to toe in...glitter?'.

"Hey hunny...how was your day at sch-...woah...um, Margo?, Why 're yu covered in de glitter?. Who did dis?, Do I need to freeze ray anybody?..", Gru said slightly in near panic and was just being the overprotective father we all know and love.

"Uh no Gru it's fine, just...a school project that went wrong...it was so embarrassing though..". Margo said now pouting and crossing her arms after doing her seat belt up so they could be on their way.

Grus moment of agitation softened. Atleast he didn't need to sort anyone out, for now atleast.

Gru and Margo shared a rare car ride alone together as father and daughter. It was quite unknown for them to spend any one and one time together anymore, as the 'normal family house hold' was always busy with the younger sisters and now Gru Jr, but when they could, it really meant a lot to Margo, and to Gru in fact. Margo was after all Grus eldest child and he almost felt like she was his first born, regardless of whether he had adopted her.

With the trees rolling by a bit gloomily outside of Margo's window, she had a burning question to ask her adoptive father that had been sitting in her mind for quite a while. It had been troubling her for a long time and she knew right now would be the only chance she'd ever get to ask him, so she took up the inhibition.

"Um Gru, can I..ask you something.."?".

'Uh oh! ..'.

"Erm yeah sure sweetie, anythink..".

"Do you ever think about sending me, Edith and Agnes back to Miss Hattie...?".

Gru frowned in confusion. Where on earth had this come from?. This was very unexpected or maybe Gru should have prepared himself for these types of questions to be asked one day.

"What?! No, no, no way! What makes yu think dat? I mean... even if I wanted tu, which I don't!, EVER! Do yu honestly think I would send yu gorls back to that crazed nut job? No, not over my dead body, no, NO WAY, case closed..", Gru said firmly gripping the steering wheel whilst still concentrating on the road ahead.

Oh wow!

"Well... it's just, I was thinking aswell, you have Gru Jr now and who wants three orphan girls after you get your own kid, ya know?...".

Grus eyes widened as he shook his head in disapproval. He also found himself gripping the wheel even tighter now that he almost felt like he could rip it off in an instant. Gru then, all of a sudden, slammed the breaks to a holt on the car whilst he parked up on a side walk. It caused the vehicle to jolt a bit and for them to both jump a little in their seats.

"GRU!..". Margo shouted.

Uh oh, had she pissed Gru off? Was this the straw that finally broke the camels back and he was going to send the trio back to that evil, dreadful place? I mean, did it even still exist? It shouldn't do under child protection anyway.

Gru could feel the temperature rising within him like a pressure cooker, though the anger wasn't directed at Margo, it was more of a 'protective dad thing'. He just never wanted his daughter to ever feel that way, EVER!.

Gru switched off the engine of the car and bit his lip so he could repress the emotions he was feeling in front of his her though he hadn't done that very well.

In his mind, he went back to when he felt he became the girls actual adoptive father at 'Super Silly Fun Land'. These three orphan girls had rearranged his home and everything suddenly lost its worth to him, he loved them more than anything he owned. Even proceeding to steal the moon at the time wasn't really appealing to him anymore like he was planning to do. These girls gave Gru the redemption he desperately needed and he couldn't be more thankful for it to this day.

Gru suddenly came out of his flashback and turned to Margo. She was looking at him a bit startled from his sudden stop of the car. He took a deep sigh of breath.

'Sometimes parenting really had its surprises and this was one of them'.

"Listen Margo, when yu become a parent hunny, yu will understand...though I don't want tu think of yu ever doing dat...EVER!...Anyway, it's not how it works ok. I love yu, Edith, Agnes and Jr all da same. Whatever dhe storm, whatever dhe cost, yu are my gorls and Jr is my son and like I promised, it was the worst mistake I ever made and I will never let yu go again...now... does that answer yor question sweetie?". Gru said softly. He hoped that had somehow reassured her.

'Wow!'.

"Yeah, I mean wow... I guess so". Margo said now bewildered by his answer, but another question was still consuming her.

"But...how can you love us when we're not even like...yours?".

Gru frowned in confusion though he knew what she meant. She wasn't his biologically and Margo knew biology now?, Well, one day she would have to, but she will always be twelve years old forever in Grus mind.

At the end of the day, the bond these girls had with Gru was unbreakable and mirrored any biological parents love, even more so in fact. Margo was his and Lucy's and would always be his and Lucy's child.

"Margo, yu are mine and Lucy's daughter and anyway...it's not 'bout dat, I just love yu three gorls, that's it, it's just love. Me and Lucy and even Jr couldn't imagine dhe house without yu three and.. Jr needs his big sistas. Now, do I have to be anymore cheesy, bleh". Gru said rolling his eyes now and nearly chuckling at the fact that he had to share he's, 'feelings'.

"Ok, ok Gru, chill. That was a little cheesy... even by your standards" Margo replied smirking.

It was so nice hearing her father say all these tender things. They didn't usually share these 'deep down feelings' with one another and maybe they needed to do it more often. 'Loves yous' were always expressed and actions that contained a lot of 'family fun days' together were shared as acts of affection, but not 'deep meaningful conversations' as this.

"V'ell I'm geettin' kinda worried myself now with all dhis lovey-dovey stuff... blegh, hehe...Seriously sweetheart, I couldn't imagine life without yu gorls and oh hey...Who else is gonna draw on my walls and stick girly stickers on the kitchen cupboards now, eh?!"..

"Well, that was Edith and Anges, not me by the way". Margo said pouting and rolling her eyes once again.

'Ugh teenagers'.

"Ehehe, blaming your sisters now...I taught yu v'ell. Hehehe...I wouldn't change you three for anything. Now, let's geet back to de safe house so we can try and clean this glitter garbage off yu...ugh!..". Gru said now starting the car engine back up again.

……………………………………………….

BACK ON THE ROAD

Now back on the road, a comfortable silence filled the air between them both for a few moments.

"You know...you are pretty embarrassing though Gru, when you were playing tennis with Lucy and when you waved at the neighbours in your pink shirt...". Margo said squinting her face at the very thought of it. They were embarrassing but adorable, loving parents and she couldn't ask for anything more.

A smirk painted Grus face and a relaxed sigh left his lips.

"V'ell...I'm ur Dad hunny, it's my job to be embarrassing... ehehe".

"...Gru, can you do me one favour?..Can you not wear that pink shirt anymore?, please?..."

"Are you kidding hunny?, I was thinkin' pink is more of my color, Edith's happy about it, heheh..but ok, just for you, I will stop wearing de pink shirt..".

Luckily, Margo and Gru had a mutual understanding of their witty sense of humours and where each other was coming from. Nothing could affend Gru in the slightest from whatever one of his daughters or even Jr ever said as after all, that was the job description that came with being a parent. Most of the time, you just had to deal with whatever your child asked or said with a pinch of salt, even if they spoke the most hurtful things.

"You know, I never told you Gru but...thank you for giving me, Edith and Agnes a home". Margo said now smiling gracefully at her adoptive Dad. She really was thankful to this middle aged man that wasnt even her 'blood' Father for taking the trio in and providing her and her sisters with everything they needed. Gru and Lucy were the parents the girls always longed for.

From the corner of Grus eye, he could see Margo almost beaming at him. It made him feel a sense of pride and he almost felt like he was doing a good job when it came to parenting, almost, no parent was perfection after all.

"It will always be yor home for yu and yor sistas..always".

"I do love you though...Dad". Margo said, over pronouncing the last word. She never really called Gru, 'Dad'. The girls never really did as they just always knew him as, 'Gru' since day one and Gru would never force them to call him the tittle, it was up to them at the end of the day but secretly, when they did, it always made his heart melt like butter.

"And I love yu tu hunny, to de moon and back...".

THE END

#minions #feloniousgru #grucy #lucywilde #despicable me #gru and lucy #fandom #fanfic

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the-offside-rule · 1 year

Text

Pierre Gasly (Alpine) - L'hymne a L'amour

Requested: on wattpad

Prompt: L'hymne a L'amour by Edith Piaf

Warnings: It's just very sad and I'm very sorry in advance

Y/n sat looking at herslf in the large mirror, as the beautiful white wedding dress reached to the floor. She swore she was about to cry but no, her mascara was too expensive for that to happen. "You look beautiful." Y/n's mother said through tears. Her baby was all grown up. "Mum, please don't cry. Then I'm going to cry." Y/n smiled, engulfing her in a huge hug. "I know. I just can't believe it's finally happening." She cried. "Well, finally. We've been through a lot to finally get here but we're here!" Y/n chirped. Her mother nodded her head and reached into her purse. "Just before I go, I have a gift for you and when I say 'I'-" she paused and handed Y/n a letter, an old looking letter by the look of it. There were a few stains on it, presumably from tea or coffee which smudged the ink but she could still make out what it said. To Y/n, on her wedding day. She looked up to her mother, after recognising the writing and already felt the tears pricking her eyes. "He wrote it before he passed on and told me not to elt you have it until your wedding day." Y/n's head dropped down to the letter once again. "I'll leave you alone darling." her mother said before walking out to join the rest of the Church. Y/n just stared at it. Sje didn't want to open it but yet here her hands were, shakily ripping the seal open to look at the paper inside. Y/n gasped as some confetti spilled out but quickly laughed at her dad's sense of humour. She began reading. There was no going back now.

My little princess,

You better be reading this on your wedding day, or else your mother can't hide anything even if I left her instructions. I've long awaited for this day to come but just in case I didn't make it, enjoy your wedding day my darling. Its about time that driver Pierre got down on one knee and proposed! He used to talk so me about marrying you, so much so that I thought I'd live to see the day. Listen, before you're let walk down the aisle, I told Pierre to do something before I passed away and it's something I'm sure you will absolutely love. You'll notice it immediately darling, I promise so do me a favour. Go and marryg the love of your life, love like your life depends on it and don't ever, ever forget that you'll always be my little girl, no matter how old you get.

I love you my darling,

Dad

Y/n felt the tears behind her eyes as sje read the words in her mind. A lot had happened since he died. For one, she wasn't with Pierre anymore. They both lost the spark and Pierre was always away so they just decided to go seperate ways but not a day went by without her thinking of him and vice versa. Y/n folded the letter and stuffed it into her bouquet of flowers, making sure to keep it close to her and walked out. Y/n smiled to herrself, but it soon disappeared once her eyes met the bouncing blue eyes of the man she once loved. "Pierre?" Y/n whispered. Pierre smiled at her lightheartedly and nodded. "It's me princesse. I have to admit, I'm a little sad I didn't get an invitation." Y/n's lips curled into a small smile. "I didn't think you'd waste your time." she chuckled. "I would never count this as wasting my time princesse." The two were silent for a minute, neither knowing what to say. "Who's the lucky guy?" Pierre asked first, breaking the silence. "His name is Joshua. He's a really nice guy." Y/n replied. "That's nice. You always deserved the best."

"So why are you here?" she asked, cutting straight to the point. Pierre's eyes fell onto her. Oh how gorgeous she looked in white. Just a shame it wasn't for him. "Don't you remember my promise?" Y/n shook her head. What promise? "I promised I'd walk by your side on your wedding day. I always keep my promises princesse."

"You really do. Don't you?" Pierre hummed and looked away from her. It was paining him a little to see her ready to walk down the aisle to her future husband. He always thought it would be him, even when they broke up he always had that little voice telling him they would get back together at some stage but no. All that hope was simply crushed in the church. "Well, we're going to be late. Are you ready to walk down the aisle?" Y/n looked at him. His smile was completely fake and his once bubbly blue eyes had now grown cold. "Pierre, you don't have to walk me down." She reassured him. "No princesse, there's something I have to do. Not only did I promise you this but I also promised your father this too." Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. "I promised I'd always take care of you so here I am Y/n, pledging, promising that no matter the occasion, no matter the reason, no matter the weather, day, year, no matter what, I'll always be here for you." Y/n finally let a few tears drop down her cheek. "I know you will. He said in his letter there'll be something I will understand but I still don't get it." She admitted.

Pierre looked down at the cuffs of his suit and lifted them up to show her two beautiful silver cufflinks. "He asked me to wear his cufflings on your wedding day. He had a lot of requests, that being the last princesse." Y/n's face softened as she looked towards the door. "So now are we ready?" he asked. Y/n linked her arm with his and nodded confidently. "Always with you by my side."

"Always."

#f1 oneshots #f1 oneshot #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly

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valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn · 8 months

Note

This particular sub is a fucking goldmine for terrible MCU takes.

Oh man, so much crap in one place 🤦‍♀️

There is a strange subset of people that are convinced Wanda did nothing wrong

Are they convinced she did nothing wrong or are they trying to contextualize and explain her actions and you're taking that as them justifying what she did?

The military guy saying (rightfully) that she is imprisoning and puppeteering hundreds if not thousands of people

Do these fans seriously think Hayward gave a damn about those people? His beef was with Wanda. He tried to provoke her at Sword's HQ and when that didn't work he kept trying to go after her with the armed drones + his words during Woo's introduction to the Sword agents + when he entered the Hex and started firing at kids. Not to mention this guy was turning Vision's body into a weapon. Hayward was many things but 'good' was never one of them.

90% of people that didn't vote for Wanda never saw WandaVision, MoM or AoU

Wanda was corrupted by Waldron the Darkhold in MoM. She enslaved Westview, yes, and she also let them escape in the end. And she tried to get the Avengers hurt in AoU and joined Ultron, but she also ran away the moment she found out what Ultron wanted to do and she teamed up with the Avengers instead to save innocent lives.

If you don't want us to focus on the good she's done in order to claim Wanda is good, then don't focus only on her mistakes to call her evil. She's a complex, morally grey character. Face that and stop searching for a black/white reading of her, ffs.

She enslaves a town to live out a perverted fantasy with her dead robot boyfriend and her non-existent children

Oh, the dehumanization of Vision and her kids. A classic. Also, didn't these stans love BARF? What Wanda did was pretty much that except she has such power that she could make it real. (In case it's not clear, I'm not defending her actions in Westview. But if we can understand Stark's trauma then I assume we can understand hers.)

Tony fights for his belief the same as Cap does

Fighting for your beliefs doesn't automatically make you a good person. You know who else fought for what he believed in? Thanos.

Stark spent years mistaking safety for control, and since no one in Marvel was ever allowed to call him out or correct him, he kept on doing that over and over again first by helping with the helicarriers of Project Insight, and later with Ultron and Edith. Wanda was only a few seconds in his head and she saw it so clearly.

He tries to save as many people as possible

That sounds like a line said in CW... oh, but it's Steve's, not Stark's. Funny that. But I'll say this again, controlling is not saving. Oh, and saving isn't just showing up during a battle and kicking ass. Saving is so much more than that and Stark's actions hurt a lot of people - the difference is that, unlike WandaVision, those victims were never part of the story so you don't care about them.

Cap and the others were criminals, he couldn't just release them from the Raft, they broke the law he's trying to enforce

I don't understand, where is Stark's authority to even attempt to release them anyway? He had retired from the team, he was a civilian throughout the entirety of CW. He couldn't have released them, only broken them out like Steve and Nat did. And... I got a question: was he trying to enforce the Accords when he broke them to fly to Siberia?

And if he didn't want to break them out of the Raft, he could have at least told Steve that they were there. But he said nothing and let them rot there.

When did he ever do anything close to what Wanda did in WV and MoM, she is straight up evil

And he made a fortune out of selling weapons for war, and he refused to tell the team about Ultron and that robot ended up destroying an entire country, and he signed and I'm pretty sure he also promoted the Accords even though he knew they would violate the civil rights of all the enhanced in the world, and he built Edith with full access to satellites and missiles upon request.

Sigh. This is what happens when a character has full narrative protection for so long. People start thinking he never did anything wrong.

#wanda maximoff #anti tony stark #pro wanda maximoff

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