#even old new york was once new amsterdam
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me defending trans men online: we’re actually oppressed for being women
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mkay so like i had a little fanboy moment cause i was watching the simpsons episode called “mobile homer” and at the end they played istanbul (not constantinople) by tmbg AND I WAS LIKE “😨😨⁉️⁉️ WHAT”
#tmbg my beloved <3#EVEN OLD NEW YORK WAS ONCE NEW AMSTERDAM#WHY THEY CHANGED IT I CANT SAY#PEOPLE JUST LIKED IT BETTER THAT WAAAAAYYYYY#mikes words of wisdom
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Being transphobic is like walking into an airport and demanding a ticket to New Amsterdam only for the workers to tell them that New York hasn't been New Amsterdam since 1664 but they still demand that ticket to New Amsterdam because "it was called New Amsterdam first and that's what it'll always be!"
#trans#transgender#lgbt#lgbtq#ftm#mtf#nonbinary#transphobia#transphobia tw#even old new york was once new amsterdam. why they changed it i can't say (people just liked it better that way)#(the english took over new amsterdam and changed it to new york after the duke of york in 1664 lol)#(the english doing what they do best: taking over shit)
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istanbul was constantinople now its istanbul not constantinople been a long time gone constantinople now its turkish delight on a moonlit night every gal in constantinople lives in istanbul not constantinople so if youve a date in constantinople shell be waiting in istanbul
#even old new york#was once new amsterdam#why they changed it i cant say#people just liked it better that way so#take me back to constantinople no you cant go back to constantinople#been a long time gone constantinople why did constantinople get the works#thats nobodys business but the turks
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you know i rarely see anyone discussing this and its been really bothering me but you all *do* know that even old new york was once new amsterdam? why they changed it, i can't say.... maybe they just liked it better that way.
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Final Destination (Namjoon x OC)
Summary: Namjoon flies down to Amsterdam after the break-in.
Pairing: Namjoon x OC
Genre: Angst
Word count: 7.6 K
Rating: 18+
Warnings: language, breaking and entering, vague descriptions of sex
A/N: Picks up right where Paradise Interrupted ends.
Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @sumzysworld, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)
Listen to: "moonchild" by RM
namjoon masterlist | main masterlist
For a moment, no one speaks. One of the girls places the framed picture on the mantle with a soft thud and takes a couple of steps forward, her mouth open.
Kaya stays frozen, the shock making her blood feel like ice in her veins. The front door behind them is indeed unlocked, but they could have just as easily entered from the balcony as well.
“Who - who the hell are you?” she asks, wincing inwardly when she hears the fear in her own voice.
The same girl, her short hair a brilliant crimson, scoffs in satisfaction. “She’s American,” she states, clapping the other girl on the shoulder. “I told you she didn’t look European.”
“I thought she’d be taller.” The guy tilts his head doubtfully. “Wasn’t the girl in the video also a little…” He makes an exaggerated gesture with both his hands, making his palms face each other and moving them closer, mouthing thinner.
“Damn it, Lance,” swears the girl with the crimson hair, rolling her eyes. “You said you were sure.”
“Ron said she was!”
“Shut up,” the second girl, presumably Ron, hisses at both of them. She’s still watching Kaya, almost hungrily.
Kaya swallows, a gnawing irritation breaking through the paralysing fear. They’re talking about her as though she isn’t even here, right in front of her. She adjusts the pen in her hand when the girl in front, Ron, steps forward slowly. She stares at Kaya with mild wonder and then raises a hand to touch a lock of hair on her shoulder. Kaya flinches and stumbles back.
“Who in God’s name are you?” she repeats through gritted teeth. In front of her, Ron raises her eyebrows in surprise at this reaction and takes a step back.
“You don’t have to look so freaked out,” she says dryly, frowning a little and folding her arms across her chest. “We’re not criminals, we just… we just wanted to see…” Here, she trails off.
“Are you really Namjoon’s girlfriend?” The other girl, slightly taller, asks. Her voice trembles as she does, as though it’s taking every ounce of courage to ask this question.
The answer is instantaneous. “I - no. Of course not.”
The guy, Lance, scoffs while Ron raises her eyebrows again, sceptically this time. The redhead glares. “Really? Then what’s this?” she demands, brandishing the silver framed picture.
Kaya’s heart skips a beat. It’s an expensive frame; Namjoon had bought it for her from a gallery on its opening night the last time they’d been in New York together. “That’s - that’s an old picture. We hooked up once, three years ago. I - I didn’t even know who he was.” The half-lie tumbles out of her mouth instantly.
The girl hesitates, and Kaya can tell she was hoping for this. She stares at the picture and Kaya is overcome with the urge to snatch it back from her. “Then why is it on display in your living room?”
Shit. Kaya’s stomach twists. “Well…” She racks her brain for a suitable fib. “If you had a picture with him… wouldn’t you have it on display in your living room?” she counters, the response sounding ridiculous even to her.
To her immense surprise, this seems to make sense to the girl. She looks doubtfully at Ron, who seems to be the ringleader of this trio. Then she looks up at Kaya, clearly trying to remain calm.
“So, he’s… he’s still single?” she asks hopefully.
“Sure. Probably.”
She sighs hugely in relief, as though this information personally affects her. “I knew it,” she mutters, seemingly to herself, as she looks back down at the picture and her mouth twists into a scowl. “I wonder which stupid fandom started this rumour…”
“So you’re really not dating him?” Ron’s frown deepens. “Then how do you explain the video?”
Kaya shrugs. “What video?”
“The video,” she replies, rolling her eyes, “of him and you, on a balcony or something. You’re really telling us that wasn’t you? So the whole fandom got it wrong?”
The whole fandom. Kaya isn’t sure whether to laugh at that, at the assumption that everyone is secretly a die-hard BTS fan. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen or spoken to Namjoon in three years. How - how did you even find me?” she asks, for the first time realising that someone she knows had to have revealed her identity.
At this, all three of the intruders exchange looks, clearly not wanting to reveal their source. “It’s on Twitter,” says the guy finally, taking a sip of his beer and apparently finding it empty. “Damn it.”
“I can throw that for you,” volunteers Kaya suddenly. “It’s just… the building is big on recycling, so…”
“Oh, of course.” He nods, a little surprised. “Thank you.”
He hands her the bottle and she takes it, using every bit of strength to not roll her eyes in disbelief at the fact that he willingly handed over his fingerprints. Behind him, the redhead is still staring at the picture and lightly stroking it.
“He looks so good in this,” she murmurs, biting her lip. She looks up at Kaya, and for a moment Kaya is afraid she’s going to ask to keep the picture. But a minute later she changes tacks. “Where was this?”
“In Seoul. Near, um, Hannam-dong.”
“Okay, hang on.” The guy, Lance, interrupts, looking rather annoyed. “So you’re not the girl.” Without waiting for a confirmation, he turns to the girls. “If she’s not it, can we leave? We have a paper due tomorrow.”
“You didn’t seem to care about that when you wanted to make it to happy hour.”
“Only because you wanted to come here!”
“Ron said -”
They continue bickering, as though having forgotten where they are. Kaya’s eyes flicker to her bag where she knows her phone is, but she can’t lunge towards it without this Ron person getting in her way. She remains the only one of the intruders to still remain quiet, simply looking around the living room suspiciously with her arms folded across her chest.
“Look, I - I’ve answered all your questions,” ventures Kaya, making all of them abruptly stop their conversations and look at her. “I don’t know who you are -” Lance, Ron, and the other one “- and I think it’s clear that I’m not who you think I am.”
“You’re not Kayla?” Ron finally asks. For the first time, even she starts to seem doubtful.
“No,” she answers honestly. “I’m not. Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave before -”
“Wait, hang on.” Ron holds up a hand and looks a little disgruntled. “We need to be sure of everything before we leave,” she states, sounding unhinged. “Someone is spreading rumours in the fandom and if the person in the photos is really not you, then we need to find out who -”
“Jesus Christ, Ron, they’re obviously fake!” The redhead says loudly, placing the photo frame carelessly back on the shelf. “He’s too busy to date - he’s said that a thousand times and - look!” She strides across the room and reaches the dining table to pick up a cardboard box of a ready-to-eat dish. “Shrimp tacos! We know he hates seafood!”
This time, Kaya can’t resist frowning a little incredulously, but thankfully no one else notices.
“Now can we just leave? Why do you want him to be dating so badly?” The redhead sounds on the verge of tears. Meanwhile, Lance seems to have had enough and is already opening the front door.
“You need to calm down,” says Ron, pointing a finger at her friend. “Lance, shut the door.”
“Bite me, Ron.”
“I said -”
This building, being a student residence, is already small enough that sounds travel. When the door opens and none of the intruders seem to have the sense to lower their voices, Kaya feels her heart race with hope that someone, someone, will realise that something is wrong. While Ron turns around to talk to her friends, Kaya inches towards her bag next to the kitchen.
“I’m leaving!” Lance is halfway out the door when they all hear footsteps outside. All three of the strangers freeze.
“Is someone there?” It’s her neighbour, Mark. Kaya almost stops breathing but realises she has to respond because the next thing he’s likely to say is her name, something she’s sure these people don’t know.
She swallows, her eyes darting towards all three of them. Lance shakes his head with wide eyes, warning her not to make any sound.
“Mark, it’s me! Call the cops!”
“What did you do?” hisses Ron, but the damage is done. There is more than one set of footsteps outside and all three of the intruders immediately run.
“Let’s go! Now! Damn it, Sylvia - leave the picture!” There’s a crash and the sound of glass shattering as Kaya retrieves her phone with shaking fingers and immediately dials 112 for the police as she follows them.
Outside, she sees Mark and his girlfriend, both looking terribly confused at the sight of three strangers running out into the hallway.
“They broke into my apartment!” she exclaims and Mark’s eyes widen for a moment before he runs down the stairs after them.
“Oh, my God, they did what?” His girlfriend, Maya, jogs past her to peer into her apartment before coming back to her. “Are you okay?” she asks, holding her shoulders and frowning in concern.
But words fail Kaya. She shakes her head wordlessly and when the call to the police doesn’t go through, she hangs up and leans against the wall, feeling like she hasn’t breathed in ages. When Maya kneels in front of her and doesn’t push for any more information, only gently convinces her that she shouldn’t stay in her apartment tonight since it’s compromised, Kaya simply nods.
Maya helps her get some of her stuff for the night, stopping only to inform her that the building security seems to have gotten hold of the intruders. Kaya feels like she’s on autopilot, even once the cops show up and she identifies all three of them with ease. They’re taken to the station for questioning while Mark gets his guest bedroom ready and Kaya packs for an overnight stay.
Just before she’s about to leave her apartment, she notices something on the floor by her TV shelf: the picture frame, its glass shattered and a scratch on the corner of the delicate silver frame. The picture inside it stays intact, their smiles from years ago frozen in print. It hurts to see it broken, but Kaya doesn’t know what to do about it right now so she simply takes it with her to Mark’s.
“Let me know if you need anything at all,” says Maya, after showing her to her room.
“You’ve done more than enough, really.” Kaya sets her bag down and looks around. “It’s perfect.” She forces a smile which fades when the door closes and leaves her in silence once more.
Kaya sits on the edge of the bed, the entire evening seeming absurd in hindsight. She waits for it to sink in, closing her eyes and recalling the details, the fear, the entitlement of strangers questioning her relationship.
And then, the panic attack hits.
—
When Kaya wakes the next morning, for a moment she can’t remember where she is. She sits up with a jerk, her mind still swimming with disturbing images of broken glass and hands wrapped around her neck, choking her.
It takes a few seconds but she spots her bag and the silver picture frame next to her on the bed and sighs, burying her head in her hands and trying to get rid of the throbbing.
It had taken hours for her to fall asleep last night. She’d stayed up with the lights on, her eyes wide open as she stared at the ceiling and replayed every moment since she’d set foot in her apartment. As silly and idiotic as those intruders had been, obsessed with a celebrity who didn’t even know them, they still had managed to break in.
Or walk in, as the case may be. Part of her still can’t believe Namjoon had been right, so right about everything. In the midst of all the danger and anxiety, she can’t help but feel irritated at being wrong, enough that she’d hesitated about calling Namjoon at all.
Once she picked up her phone, though, the thought seemed crazy. Suddenly desperate to talk to him, to hear his voice and to know that he was there, she’d called him with shaking hands. He’d cut the call at first, meaning he was busy. The picture of him in the suit with styled hair seemed like days ago; she’d texted him, however, asking him to please, please call her back and hoping he’d know it was important.
He’d called back in under a minute. Kaya had willed herself to sound as normal as possible so as to not worry him but the moment she’d heard his voice, all resolve had broken down. She’d narrated everything to him like word vomit, noting with unease how he heard her out in stone cold silence. He’d only spoken after she was done, and the anger beneath the surface made her hair stand on end.
Are you hurt? Did anyone touch you?
Kaya thought of the way the leader had looked at her - Ron, who had fingered a lock of her hair with impunity, and shuddered.
No. I’m fine.
She wished more than anything that they weren’t having this conversation over the phone, that for this night at least, they weren’t in a relationship where they spent more nights apart than together.
There were some voices in the background then, at which point Namjoon abruptly told her he’d call her back and to stay put at Mark’s.
I love you. The words were heavy with emotion but a moment later he’d hung up, and Kaya had clutched her phone in her hand, trying to remind herself that she wasn’t alone in this.
She’d drifted in and out of sleep all night, alternating between distracting herself with work and scouring the Internet to see if those people were telling the truth, if her identity and address were really public. She couldn’t find anything, though; she tried scrolling through Twitter but after finding nothing apart from snippets of baseless rumours, she didn’t even understand what she was looking for.
It’s well after sunrise now. As much as she’d like to stay inside this room for the foreseeable future, she knows she needs to head back.
“Are you sure?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “You can stay here if you don’t feel ready.”
“No, I - I can’t impose any longer,” she says, shaking her head at Maya’s admonishing hand gesture. “But thank you, though.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Mark still sounds doubtful but doesn’t press. Maya convinces her to have a piece of toast that tastes like cardboard, and Kaya obliges out of sheer gratitude. “I’ll send you the locksmith’s number,” he promises as she leaves.
“Call if you need anything at all!” Maya reminds her as she leaves. She hasn’t met Maya except for in passing over the last year, but there’s something about the instant way in which she’d understood Kaya’s fear that makes Kaya trust her implicitly.
Kaya enters her apartment hesitantly. It looks the way it always does, but it feels like a crime scene. She imagines going to campus today and returning in the evening, looking forward to her inviting sofa and a warm bath, but instead feeling this uncomfortable in her own home.
It takes her a minute, but she quickly snaps into action. She cannot allow her apartment to be this tainted; she drops her bag and the photo frame in her room, texts her thesis advisor that she’s taking a sick day, and gets to work.
By approximately eleven am, the locks have been changed, every inch of the apartment has been cleaned and sanitised, a camera for her hallway has been purchased on Amazon, along with an alarm system for her balcony.
It feels a little better, she has to admit. The empty spot on her TV shelf catches her eye, though, and her heart twitches painfully at the reminder of the broken frame. She’s sitting on Namjoon’s lap in the picture, her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist, the other one resting on her knee. They’re in sweaters during the onset of fall, having reached a milestone in their relationship after Namjoon had officially met her mother.
She has to get the picture fixed. It’s a loose end, a reminder of this hideous night, but before she can start Googling the closest place to get it repaired, she hears a loud sound.
Kaya jumps and freezes, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. It’s the new lock; someone is out there, jiggling a key or a pin or something to try and break in again. Her eyes dart around and she dives for the hockey stick the previous tenant had left here, one she’d just strategically placed by her room for future situations, and she holds it up in preparation.
No, please, no, not again. Would this be the rest of her life? Being on edge constantly and waiting for someone else to break into her apartment?
The lock jiggles for a moment longer, followed by a knock. “Kaya?” A voice travels through the wood, making her heart skip a disbelieving beat. “It’s me!”
Dropping the hockey stick to her side, Kaya races through the living room and unlocks the door, hardly daring to believe it. He’s here, in the flesh, dressed in a black T-shirt and tan cargos, looking both confused and relieved when she opens the door for him.
“My key isn’t working and I thought something was wrong…” Namjoon steps inside and closes the door behind him, frowning at the hockey stick.
She remembers then that she’s still holding it and drops it on the floor, all her remaining grit and forced calm disappearing at the sight of him. She tries to speak, but she’s suddenly afraid that if she opens her mouth, she might start to cry.
Namjoon seems to realise this, for his frown deepens and he drops his duffel bag on the floor before taking a step closer to her.
“Come here,” he says softly, holding out his arms and wrapping them around her when she reaches up to hug him.
“I got the locks changed,” she mumbles into his shoulder, feeling him nod against her head. He’s here, he’s really here…
His arms tighten around her like he’s only just convinced she’s real. “Good girl.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she murmurs, watery and clinging to him as tightly as she can. He smells of soap and aeroplane and she can tell he picked out the first article of clothing he could get his hands on. Clutching the T-shirt fabric in her fist, she breathes it in.
“Of course I’m here.” He’s quiet but his voice shakes, his face buried in her hair. “When you called, I couldn’t believe - I mean, I didn’t…” He trails off and shakes his head, exhaling before pulling away.
“Wait, don’t you have a concert tomorrow night?” she asks, suddenly remembering that the rest of the world hasn’t come to a standstill just because she has.
“Yeah, I - I need to fly out tomorrow.” Namjoon runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, looking unbelievably tired. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer but I had to come, I just couldn’t -“
Kaya silences him with a kiss, so desperate to make him stay, knowing that no words on earth will be enough to communicate to him the world of difference that his presence makes. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she repeats, sniffing and pressing her forehead to his.
Namjoon nods, his hands big and warm on her arms. “Are you okay? Are you - are you hurt?” He steps back and looks at her up and down, as though expecting to see something wrong.
“I’m fine,” she assures him, feeling more vulnerable yet safe since last night. “I got lucky, I think - I had the three biggest idiots in the city break in. They used real names, didn’t cover their faces, carried Leiden University backpacks and left their fingerprints on stuff and -“ She scoffs and gives him a look. “They Ubered over here.”
Namjoon says nothing, but it’s clear he doesn’t consider any part of this incident lucky. He licks his lips and it looks like he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head and takes another step closer to her. “I love you,” he says, pulling her into his arms again - and Kaya knows that this hug is for him, for his fear and worry. “I love you, I love you…”
He murmurs the words over and over again until his voice breaks but they don’t let go of each other for a few more minutes, not until her back starts cramping with his weight.
“Tell me everything,” he says seriously, taking a seat on the sofa, legs spread out and feet firmly on the ground. When she hesitates momentarily, he takes her hand and gently pulls her to him, directing her to sit beside him. It’s easier than last night; this time the initial shock has worn off and moreover, he’s here and she can touch him and see his reaction and squeeze his hand whenever he starts to get too antsy.
“So… wait.” Namjoon shakes his head and frowns. “They didn’t threaten you. Or actually want to hurt you?”
“No,” she confirms, resting her elbow on the top of the sofa. “They were… talking. They weren’t even sure if we were together - I don’t think anybody is,” she adds, feeling a strange sense of relief at saying the words out loud. It was true; every single thing she saw on Twitter last night had conflicting information, all the way down to her location and her name. “The moment I told them it wasn’t true - that we weren’t together and I had no idea where you were or what you were doing, they lost all interest.”
He bites his lip. “You really said we weren’t together?” Through the confusion and the worry, she can detect a hint of curiosity.
“Yeah.” She links her fingers with his on his lap. “It felt weird but it was the only thing I could think of to get rid of them. Your fans really want you to be single,” she can’t resist adding wryly, remembering how the redhead - Sylvia, she recalls suddenly - had gazed at their picture in the frame.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “They’re the bad seeds. I hate them,” he adds with feeling. He looks away, as though he can’t meet her eyes, and the guilt is clear in his body language.
Kaya is quiet for a moment, observing his troubled expression, and gently runs her fingers through his blond bangs. She loves the curtain bangs on him. “How did you manage to ask for an off schedule trip so fast?”
“I didn’t ask.” He shrugs. “I would’ve loved to see them try and stop me leaving for this. We’re still people, you know?” he says, squeezing her hand. “We have emergencies.”
She cracks a hollow smile. “It could have been worse. Oh, and -” She exhales. “They broke the frame.”
He frowns. “What frame?”
“The silver Vera Wang one that we got in New York.” She lowers her eyes apologetically. “It was on the shelf by the TV and they - one of them picked it up and when they ran out, it fell -” Unexpectedly, her eyes sting at the image of the broken artefact. “I’m sorry.”
Namjoon sighs and pulls her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her head under his chin. “You really had me worried there for a moment,” he mutters, kissing the top of her head.
“It was a beautiful frame,” she sniffles.
But he shakes his head. “I love you,” he murmurs simply.
He repeats the words throughout the day. Their conversations become sparse, with both of them tired and sleep-deprived, yet staying as physically close as they can. Kaya can’t blame him; on some level, she knows how he feels. Being far away and out of control is nerve-wracking, even in theory, but after something like this, she doesn’t want to downplay his concern.
She joins him in the shower when he visibly hesitates leaving her in the living room. There’s no sex; they simply stay together, quiet and tactile under the running water where he murmurs I love you into her wet hair, saying nothing else. It’s the same while they order lunch and when she shows him the broken frame. He touches the scratched edge and tilts his head at her, as if to let her know this is the least of his worries, before kissing her forehead. I love you.
For the first time in their relationship, she’s on the verge of asking him to stay a little longer, concert be damned. She knows she won’t, but she lets herself imagine that she does, that he might stay back with her so that her studio apartment won’t feel so empty and inviting to strangers looking to break in. By the evening, Kaya has managed to hold her tongue and just make the best of whatever time she has with him, full of gratitude that he took a seven hour flight from New York at a moment’s notice just for her.
She wishes she could tell him that, but he seems far away in his thoughts. He’s quiet for longer periods of time while his hold on her only becomes more pronounced. Kaya isn’t sure how much of it is guilt and how much of it is anxiety, but she lets him process it at his own pace, content for now to simply let him hold her and to be held.
It’s late in the evening when Kaya gets woken by a shrill sound. Her eyes snap open and she jerks up from where her head was on Namjoon’s chest, sighing when he quickly silences his phone.
“Sorry, sorry - go back to sleep…”
“No…” She checks her own phone and groans. “Damn it, I’ve been asleep for an hour?”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, tugging her back to her original position. “You must be tired. I dozed off, too.”
“Yeah, but you’re leaving soon. I don’t want to -” She breaks off and brushes her hair off her face, already recognising the signs of missing him for another handful of weeks.
Namjoon simply purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything more. He looks sad, too; she can’t tell if he wants to talk about it, but she supposes this is just one of those things that mean more when they aren’t uttered out loud.
She squeezes his shoulder before getting off his lap. “I’ll go see what I have for dinner,” she says, gesturing to the kitchen. “Or we may have to order in again.”
“Kaya.”
She turns to see him swing his legs off the couch and sit up straight, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah?”
“We need to talk.” He bites his lip. “About last night. About… what really happened. The root cause of it.”
Kaya folds her arms across her chest, knowing this would come up eventually. In fact, she can’t help but appreciate that he hasn’t brought it up even once yet.
“Yeah, I know,” she sighs and swallows. “The front door. You were right, Namjoon. About everything. In fact -” She shrugs hugely, as though bracing herself for it. “I officially give you permission to say ‘I told you so’.”
To her surprise, Namjoon shakes his head. “Come on, I don’t want to say that. That’s not the root cause I’m talking about.” He pauses. “They broke into your house.”
Kaya frowns. “You - you want me to move?” All of a sudden, her apartment feels like the safest place in the world. “I don’t - I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not like my address is public - plus, this is campus housing. It’s subsidised. I don’t even know if I can afford anything that’s -”
“Kaya, honey -” Namjoon interrupts her, his eyes pleading. “That’s… that’s not the root cause either. You know it’s not.”
She’s stumped now. There’s a nagging voice at the back of her mind that tells her the answer is obvious, that it’s right there, but there’s nothing logical that presents itself to her, not even when he sighs and hangs his head. She’s never seen him this upset; it triggers an automatic surge of concern in her that makes her want to reach for him.
Something stops her, though. Namjoon isn’t speaking anymore, as if he physically can’t voice the words. His eyes are beseeching her to understand and it’s not until she notices how his eyes are filling up that it hits her chest like a cricket ball.
“No,” she mutters, realising only a moment later that she’s spoken out loud. “No. You can’t possibly - no.” Kaya shakes her head and takes a step back, refusing to even entertain this train of thought. “Just… no. I’m going to see what’s for dinner and then we can talk about whatever insane idea you think you’re -”
“Kaya -”
“No!” she interrupts, her lower lip already trembling because he can’t, he can’t be serious. “What is wrong with you? How can you even think of suggesting this? How could you -” But she breaks off because he isn’t arguing back. Why isn’t he arguing back? He doesn’t say a word, simply looking up at her with so much pain, so much sadness and guilt at her reaction that it tears at her insides because he’s serious.
“I love you,” he says quietly, and it sounds like the end.
—
Summer in Amsterdam is sunny, always. Tulips are in full bloom, tourists are taking pictures everywhere, and it’s colourful shorts and bicycles and gelato. The sun is up until late, late in the evening and the weather is dry and warm with just the slightest chill in the night.
Today, in an usual turn of events, it’s raining. It’s April in Amsterdam and it’s raining, hard enough that the clouds have taken over the erstwhile blue sky and the city is a colourless, soulless grey.
Kaya stares at Namjoon, using everything she has in her to keep her composure. “What,” she begins, her voice low and shaking, “the hell are you talking about?”
Namjoon sighs, looking resigned. “I can’t do this,” he whispers. “I can’t be the reason something like this happens to you. What if you’d gotten hurt? I would never be able to forgive myself.”
“So this is about you.”
He doesn’t take the bait. “This is about you. And you’re not safe - and that’s because of me.”
“It is not because of you. It’s because of whoever betrayed my confidence and revealed my identity - how can you take that upon yourself?” she demands.
“Because none of this would’ve happened if you were dating a normal person!” he blurts loudly, and Kaya doesn’t even want to ask how long he’s been thinking this. “Hiding and lying and - and - and now this! Kaya, they broke into your house!” he repeats. “Anything could have happened. I cannot be the reason you get hurt, baby - I just can’t.”
“You are not!” she cries, so scared now because he isn’t backing down. “None of this was your fault - and how in the world is this the answer?”
“You said it yourself,” he points out, clearly ready for this question. “They backed off the moment you told them I was single. They just need confirmation - I can put out a statement and this whole thing can just - just go away!”
“So lie!” she exclaims incredulously. “Just lie! We don’t have to actually break up for that to happen.”
Namjoon gives her a look. “They found out where you live. You think they won’t find out if we’re lying?”
Kaya blinks back tears. “They may not. Shouldn’t we at least try? Instead of relying on a statement that gets put out in a week or - or whenever your PR team decides is the best time for your tour?”
But he shakes his head. “That won’t be a problem. I spoke to them at the airport and they said if I give a go-ahead, they can have it released in twelve hours or maybe even lesser if I tell them in advance -”
“Wait, wait, wait. Hang on.” She holds up a hand, feeling a pit of anger starting to pool in her stomach. “You’ve already spoken to your team?”
Namjoon pauses. “I -” He looks taken off guard. “I mean… I had to ask before I -”
“Oh, my God,” she whispers, taking a step back, away from him. “You came here to break up with me?”
“No! No - God, Kaya, I came here because -”
“I thought you came here for me,” she interrupts, a horrible, terrible realisation washing over her. “I thought you came here because you were worried - but you just came here to break up with me?”
“Of course I came here for you,” he states firmly, walking over to her now. “You have no idea what kind of things went through my mind when you called me last night. Kaya, I will drop everything for you in a second - you know that. But that includes us, too,” he says after a moment, softer this time. “If it’s to keep you safe.”
“You are so full of it,” she mutters, avoiding his hand reaching for her and stepping back again. “That’s such bullshit. Tell me - how many people knew about our break-up before I did? If you’ve been planning this since before you even got here?”
“It’s not like that. This wasn’t an easy decision for me either, but I don’t know what else to do!”
But Kaya shakes her head. Her initial shock and desperation has been replaced with anger - pure and simple anger at him, for spending all day with her when he knew this entire time that this was what he was intending to do.
“Fine.” She shrugs, clenching her jaw to stop herself from crying. “Do what you have to. But if you’re expecting me to - to beg you to stay, that is not happening.”
“I don’t want you to beg -” Namjoon looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly and swallowing before meeting her eyes again. “I just want you to understand why I’m doing this because it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, baby,” he implores, reaching for her face. “I don’t know how else to fix this except to leave and let you live your life -”
“Then, go.” She knocks his hands away and pushes him back by the shoulders. He barely moves but his expression is stung. She knows he’s holding back tears, too, but she’s so angry and so hurt and she hates him so she doesn’t bother caring about his pain right now.
“Kaya -”
“What are you waiting for? Pack your shit and leave, now!” She pushes him back again, sniffing. When he doesn’t move, she pushes him back again, harder. “Go!” she cries, her voice trembling.
Namjoon looks as though he’s about to say something but evidently decides against it. His eyes fall to the floor and he rubs at his eyes before turning around and going back into her room where he’d dragged his duffel bag earlier in the day. He shuts the door behind him, although whether it’s to give himself privacy or her, she isn’t sure.
The sound of the door closing reverberates within her, though, and she stares after him, wanting to hold on to the anger and rage at how he’s giving up on them but it doesn’t last. She sits down on the sofa in a daze, absently bringing onto her lap the cushion on which Namjoon had been resting his head just a little while ago.
Without thinking, she brings it to her face and she’s met instantly with his scent, of his shampoo and his cologne and him. With the silence in the living room and the sound of the rain outside, it suddenly hits her like a punch in the stomach that this will be the last time her apartment will ever smell of him.
The first sob comes out of nowhere but once it’s out, she’s crying. She’s careful not to be loud but burying her face in her hands, she feels her shoulders shake and her heart ache like it hasn’t in her life. It feels unreal that he would even suggest this, that he would go so far as to make arrangements - all weighed against the alternative of just staying. It hadn’t occurred to her that she was ever afraid of this, but it feels like her worst fear come true, that finally, finally, Namjoon has made his choice and she’s more stress than she’s worth.
Part of her knows it isn’t true; the image of his face when he’d silently begged her to understand what he was asking without having to say it is burned into her mind. But there’s no sympathy in her for him, not when he’s willing to give up everything including their shared future over this.
At some point, the bedroom door opens again and Kaya can hear footsteps come towards her. She looks away, resolutely staring in the opposite direction, this time not even bothering to hide her puffy face and wet eyes from him when Namjoon kneels down next to her.
“Listen,” he begins, then halts. His tone has a forced calm quality to it, as though he’s had to talk himself into keeping his composure. She isn’t fooled; he was inside her room for a long time for someone who’s barely unpacked in the half a day that he’s been here. He places one hand on her knee and the other on her back and tries again.
“Kaya, sweetheart,” he ventures, sniffing slightly and deliberately keeping his eyes on her. “Listen, you know - you know why I have to do this, right? You know I love you, you know this is not about… that, but I just -“
Kaya bites her lip, hard enough to draw blood but to keep from breaking down in front of him. She continues to look away, closing her eyes at his touch in spite of herself, feeling the tears roll down her face and doing nothing to stop them.
“I love you. Tell me you know that.” He squeezes her knee and reaches for her face again, trying to meet her eyes. “Tell me you know that, baby, because I can’t do this without you understanding why I have to.”
She can barely hear him. She thinks of the last time they’d broken up and all the things he’d promised her when they’d gotten back together, and feels her resolve break. “Oh, my God,” she whispers, dropping her face in her hands again. It’s over, she thinks. It’s all over.
“No - don’t - don’t cry - Kaya, I can’t do this without you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I love you, I love you so much…”
“I never should’ve told you,” she whispers, shaking her head. If she’d just kept her mouth shut instead of running to him the moment something went wrong…
“No,” he says immediately. “No, come on, that’s not the answer…” He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to her temple. His hair brushes her cheek and the moment his lips touch her face, Kaya pushes him away and struggles out of his arms. Ignoring his pleas, she goes in the only direction available to her and storms out the front door, slamming it behind her.
Eyes blurred with tears, Kaya runs down the stairs and towards the gate when she looks ahead and halts abruptly. It’s pouring. The rain is a wall of grey before her. She’s barefoot, she doesn’t have her phone and it’s night time.
Despite everything, she thinks of how desperately worried Namjoon will be if she disappears right now and her stomach twists painfully. He can’t leave. He cannot; she can’t let him. There’s never going to be another one of him - another one of them.
Before she knows it, Kaya is running back up the stairs. For a moment outside her front door, she considers the possibility that it might not work, that Namjoon might not stay. Three years of a relationship, braving cross-country distances and timezones and the stress brought about their jobs - all to come to an end in one night.
She opens the door and steps inside to see Namjoon exactly where she’d left him, but standing up now. She just about registers the look of relief on his face before looking away again; it’s so hard to meet his eyes.
He comes to her, taking her wrists and trying, again, to make her look at him, but she resists and he keeps trying and she steps closer to him and tilts her head up and kisses him because despite it all, despite all the anger and the hurt and betrayal she loves him so, so much and she doesn’t know how else to tell him apart from pulling him closer by his T-shirt that this is it, this is everything so please, please, to just stay because there’s nowhere else for them to go but to each other.
It’s working, she thinks when he pulls her close, so close that it feels like he might never let her go. He kisses her so deeply and so desperately, his hands moving down every bit of her body that they can, from her face, to her arms, to her back and to her hair; he needs her just as much, and she can see it - he can see it. He has to know - and it’s seeming like he does.
Kaya doesn’t let up, not for a single second, not when they stumble into her bedroom or when their clothes come off in a chaotic mess. Every time he kisses her, every inch of skin he presses his lips to is with a fervour, with a hunger that gives her hope that he gets it now. He kisses every inch of her, not leaving a single bit untouched, silent but passionate. I’m not going to beg. She isn’t and besides, there are no words left to say. This is the only way she can think of asking him to stay.
But something starts feeling wrong, somewhere down the line when they’re naked and pressed against each other and his lips are on hers and he pulls away but says nothing, doesn’t whisper a single word while being inside her that she realises with a sinking heart that makes her want to cry at the ceiling that it isn’t working, that the reason he’s savouring her isn’t because he’s staying but because he’s not staying - because he thinks it’s the last time they’ll ever be together.
They lie in the darkness, too tired, too afraid to move. Namjoon’s arms are around her and his nose is pressed up against her hair. Kaya can’t see his face; she’s not sure she wants to. She suspects he may have finally broken down and if she happens to witness that, she has no faith in her own ability to stay strong.
But it’s happened anyway. It’s too late and there’s nothing else left at her disposal.
“Don’t go,” she whispers, so quiet that she’s surprised when he stiffens against her. “Please, Namjoon. Don’t do this, please,” she repeats, not caring anymore if she cries in front of him. “I love you… I love you, so please, please…”
Namjoon pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her so she’s surrounded by his skin, his scent, his love and guilt for the last time. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, and she can hear it now, clearly. He’s crying and she has no idea how to comfort him. “I love you, too much. And I can’t… I can’t…”
Kaya wraps her hands around his neck and stays there, determined to hold him because if she doesn’t let him go, how will he ever leave? The weak logic keeps her going, along with his lips against her hair and the feel of his touch against her body.
But it’s late and despite her best efforts, the stress of the day and all the lack of sleep catches up and her eyes close of their own accord and she falls asleep against him.
When Kaya wakes up the next morning, the bed is cold and she’s alone.
Her eyes flutter open and a moment later her heart stops and she sits up with a jerk. It’s as though her mind knows exactly what to look for, even if she’s not consciously searching for it. His duffel bag is gone and so are his shoes. There’s a note on her bedside table and she can recognise his English scrawl even from here.
No. It can’t be. But it is, and deep down in her heart she knows what he’s done and why he’s done it the way he has. Pulling the sheets up to her chest, suddenly feeling terribly exposed in her nakedness, Kaya reaches for her phone, still unsure what she’s looking for until she sees the notification for the Google alert for his name and feels her heart break all over again.
Amidst dating rumours, BTS RM confirms he’s single.
---
Thanks for reading. Don’t forget to leave a review :)
#namjoon x oc#namjoon fanfic#rm fanfic#thebtswritersclub#bangtanwhq#micdropnet#k-vanity#houseofddaeng#wkcnet#hyunglinenetwork#namjoon angst#bts rm fanfic
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Dance AU + Criminal AU for any fic involving nico?
Thanks for asking! I enjoyed writing this a lot. Vague angsty past brocedes and a bit of Nico/Mick
**
There’s a painting in Nico’s office in Nice, above the desk so he doesn’t have to look at it very often; first thing in the morning and again in the evening when he leaves. A small reminder of where he began. A little needle of what might have been, and what didn’t come to pass. It keeps him honest, that memory.
It isn’t his own exact likeness, the painting, although people always assume it is and Nico lets them. A beautiful boy, eighteen, nineteen maybe, backstage at a theatre perhaps, en pointe, arms outstretched, angel wings folded on his back. In the corner of the painting there’s a mirror, the reflection of a demon’s face, flared in red, eyes glittering. It had been a gift from one of his father’s friends, the summer before he took up his place at Juilliard.
“You are the dancer,” Michael had said, grinning at him as Nico had stared, transfixed, at the image in the frame. “And who will be your demon?”
Nico had felt honoured, and unsettled, the way he always did when Michael gave him gifts. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the nature of his father’s business, of Michael’s, and wanted nothing to do with either.
Later he’d found out the painting was a long vanished Wyeth; but he’d already discovered his demon by then.
Or was Lewis the angel?
He’s stared at that painting for hours across the years and still never been able to make up his mind. Sometimes he thinks Michael only gave it to him as a punishment for turning him down, or because Keke broke their business ties, as if he thought Nico would be stupid enough to display it and get arrested or something.
He hadn’t displayed it, not for years. But it’s different now; there’s enough security staff in the building, cameras he can dial into on his phone. If Lewis or another one of his colleagues from Interpol were to somehow make it through to Nico’s office the Wyeth would already be in the vault by then, something legitimate in its place.
He checks his schedule. It’s been a quiet few months, a lull of the sort that he likes to engineer in between big scores. The buyer in Qatar he thought he’d found for the Brancusi had fallen through and now he’s stuck with a quite identifiable sizable brass cock in a warehouse in Amsterdam that he needs to figure out how to sell. He leans back in his leather Eames office chair, hands clasped as he considers his latest distraction.
*
It’s salt in the wound, always, returning to New York, to Juilliard. That’s partly why Nico does it. Scene of his dreams before they dissolved. No one in his life now knows why he walks with a cane, just that something happened once upon a time in New York and that when Keke’s prodigal son had returned to Europe all dreams of dancing had been abandoned, the fancy forced aside allowing Nico to take up his mantle in the family business.
He’s made it his own since then, even branching out. The forgery arm that he’d created has proved more lucrative than his dad’s old fashioned brand of thievery; easier to find someone who’s good at painting than it is to break a team of men into the Uffizi in the middle of the night. Still, sometimes he gets lucky with that. Sometimes there are boys who will do anything because they believe Nico might love them, that he even knows what love is, anymore.
The jet touches down, a car waiting to take him to the opening night of the New York City Ballet’s fall gala. It’s not really Nico’s type of ballet, this one tonight, he prefers the classics but the dancers are undoubtedly skilled. When he was young, having two men dance a pas-de-deux for an actual public performance was unheard of. There’s something about it that twists in his stomach, a memory that he allows only because he knows it makes him stronger.
Mick is part of the ensemble, talented enough, yet miles away from the skill of the leads, Nico can see it. He watches them again, the principal dancers, the hypnotic motion of their bodies, the love story played out in the fluidity of their limbs. He sees himself, who he was before. Himself…Lewis. The Lewis he thought he knew, not the Lewis who was his enemy.
His ankle throbs. A gunshot to the achilles does that to you, even so many years later.
“Can I ask you about this,” Mick says, later that evening when they’re splayed out naked atop the sheets, bodies damp with perspiration. Nico's hotel room of course, not Mick's student digs, no matter how nice they are now.
Fucking Mick is a delight heightened by just how much Nico knows Michael would hate it. Giving to the son what he had denied the father. Mick rubs his big toe over the scarred mess of Nico’s right heel. None of his other lovers has ever dared to ask that question. Nico admires the bravura. He turns onto his back, sliding a hand down Mick’s taut stomach. Oh to be so young. Nico is in shape, he eats healthily, goes to the gym four times a week, but still Mick’s twenty years feels like a lifetime away, both physically and mentally.
“My dance partner put a bullet in me,” Nico says, matter of factly. “He wasn’t who I thought he was.” They were learning each other, not the choreography. All along. Learning how to unravel, searching out any weak spots. Maimed but not caught, though. Nico has never seen the inside of a cell.
Mick winces, rolls over to look at him. “That’s rough.”
“Tell me about it. But I guess, in some ways we’re still dancing.” He pauses. “So there’s another reason I came to visit you, actually. Do you know the Whitney Museum? There’s something I’d like you to do for me.”
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ISTANBUL (NOT CONSTANINOPLE) - THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS
. yandere platonic fyolai DOA + ADA x reader fic NOTES (part 3 : spoilers for future part :3)
. possible spoilers for ch. 57+, ep. 42+, and kamui identity
part one | part two
❝even old new york, was once new amsterdam...❞
reader jumps off building and starts doing sm crazy parkour shi from balcony to balcony (learned from time w agency)
reaches floor n SPEEDS AWAY like a PUSSY /j
fyodorat and nikolalallala come too late n they see reader speeding off wo sparing them another glance
get very angrye
two bfs have angrery doa meeting
reader has some plot bullshit sense of direction and finds ranpo (yippee >< !!)
ranpo + poe + reader save dilf man
while this happen other doa member get obsessed w reader too (oof sucks to suck LSOERR)
sigma > mutual feeling of being trapped w crazy homosexuals makes him bond w u despite never once have spoken to u
bram > idfk pretend he sees shi thru the vamps n he sees u n u remind him of liek some long time friend reincarnation shit like w aya idfk
kamui/fu(c)kuchi > ermm well so like yeah idk ill make sm bs up later
reader meets up w kunikissdaman n liek idk fluff moment yay
disaster😱!!!
reader = kidnapped by vampire
ada = chaos
fyodor = jail
dazai = jail
dazai v fyodor evil discussion ovr reader
ermmm reader get dragged to leik merusault bc fukuchi n bram wanna meet them
sigma finds them halfway
gains readers trust via half-truths
reader gets dragged awya AGAON
meets bram > seems cool
meet fukuchi > hates but hifes it bcc no wanna die
thats all i got for now JSJSJ
❝...why they changed it, i can't say, people just liked it better that way!❞
#{ uhhh in progress !! }#bsd x reader#bsd#platonic bsd x reader#platonic nikolai x reader#platonic yandere x reader#platonic yandere#platonic x reader#yandere bsd#yandere platonic#yandere platonic x reader#yandere fyolai x reader#platonic fyodor x reader#platonic fyolai x reader#fyodor dostoevsky bsd#yandere nikolai x reader#x reader#yandere hcs#dies#its sooo late
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CHERIK FIC RECS
Angst (multiple levels of angst)
too close to the sun, by joshriku: 3, 683 words, charles pov, canon compliant to Jean Grey #1 (2023) (i think it's better to read the issue first, but it's not really necessary)
Jean Grey erases Magneto's mind - or so she thinks. When Charles finds his body, he brings it back to the mansion, and begins the arduous task of putting Erik's mind together. Of course, when it comes to Erik and persevering, it's always a lot more effective than he expects.
To Breathe Again (Impossibilities Remix), by Unforgotten: Erik's pov from the original movies timeline. The old men are old!!! It's a 3,879 words oneshot and it's beautiful
After Liberty Island, you think you must have burned that bridge at last. After Alkali Lake, you're even more certain. What once seemed so easy is now an impossibility, and the dream that once plagued you no longer comes.
Then Charles dies and you know: Going home was never truly impossible until now.
This is not easily described by a single genre methinks
superposition, by borninsideatornado: The racer car driver au! This one has some angst yes, but it didn't feel right to put it in the angst category bc there's so much more to it! This story is about healing. It's also about racing cars. And it's also a romance ! Charles and Erik have an amazing dynamic, but then so does Erik and Emma, Erik and Pietro (the father and son are father and son'ing!) and the entire team tbh. Really fun to read!
erik is a race car driver coming off the worst year of his life. charles xavier may be his last hope.
Time to Grow, by zarah5: 20K oneshot, Charles pov. Fluffy fix-it
In which you'll find chess dates which aren't dates (or maybe Charles is wrong about that). -- Based on First Class, this turns (slightly) AU during the beach scene.
Comedy
Fathers and sons, by M_Leigh: 6K oneshot, Hank pov. So fucking funny
“I have an – interest – in Peter Maximoff,” Erik said, somewhat grudgingly, glaring. “A – familial – interest –”
Everybody stared at him.
“In that – mutantkind is one – large – family –” Erik said valiantly, if pathetically.
“Oh, shit,” Alex said. “No way. No way.”
i guess i should say thanks or some shit: au but they do have powers, 17K oneshot, charles pov
believe it or not, charles has a well-thought-out moral philosophy. he doesn’t follow it. but he has thought it out.
alternatively: charles and erik douche it up in amsterdam
Frosted hearts, by aesc & palalife: 29K oneshot, multipov, the main focus is cherik, and it comes with art!
Emma Frost has 99 problems, but a date ain't one. Specifically, she has no time to play the dating game--which is fine with her, because she'd much rather run it instead. From a set of sleek, silver and white offices on Fifth Avenue and with her trusty, stylish, and silent partner Janos Quested, Emma has built Frosted Hearts into New York City's premiere dating service, built on the principle that money, and a sufficiently rigorous psionic scan, can, in fact, buy you love.
Somewhere in Frosted Hearts's server is one Charles Xavier, genius and geneticist, with the kind of nicely-starched good looks that sell well on brochures for New England prep schools. He's also a telepath who's decided to give up pursuing serious relationships and instead spend his thirties doing what he should have done as a teenager: have a lot of sex with random people. Fortunately for him, Erik Lehnsherr, metallokinetic and engineering executive, has absolutely no time in his heart or his schedule for anything more serious than... well, absolutely nothing romantic at all.
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Pokemon Incorrect Quotes: Sinnoh Edition
Team Galactic Grunt:AAAAAAaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaaaAAAAaaaaaaHHHHhhhhh!
Looker: Why are you running? WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?
Dawn: I'm in me mum's car, vroom vroom.
Johanna: Get out of me car!
Dawn: Aww.
Barry: *handing out Drifloons* I have no soul. Have a nice day!
Cyrus: I don't have one either.
Dawn: *filming*
Professor Rowan, walking into his lab every day:
"Hello."
"Hello."
"Hello."
"Hello."
"Hello."
Lucas: See this man? He’s a magic man. He’s gonna touch this hot fire.
Flint: *touches electric fireplace*
Lucas: Oh man, he’s a magic man.
Looker: Why don’t we just relax, or turn on the radio? WOULD YOU LIKE HAM, OR—
Fantina: Hi, I'm Fantina and I'm your freestyle dance teacher.
Looker: *slides down a ramp* Good evening.
Dawn, Lucas, and Barry (gathered around a lettuce): Cabbasu, cabbasu, cab-a-su, LETTASU, LETTASU, LETTASUUUUUU!
Barry: We actually have the chip reader now.
Lucas: Oh yeah? *pulls out Dorito* hmmmm….
Barry: Oh it’s not gonna work with that kind of chiiiiii…….
Transaction completed.
Barry: I go to Home Depot
Barry: I eat the tools
Palmer: Stop it
Barry: Crumch
Cynthia: I swear, the next one of you to say "weird flex, but okay" is going to regret it.
Bertha: …
Flint: …
Aaron: …
Lucian: Preposterous boast, but alas.
Cynthia: *facepalm*
Lucas: Early to bed, early to rise, Burger King burger with Burger King fries
Dawn: Later to rise, later to bed, Burger King burger on Burger King bread
Barry: Eat at morning, eat at night, I participate in a Burger King fight
Volkner: Normalize replying to emails with "what."
Lucas: Hey did you hear that Joe contracted ligma? They had to do a surgery on his updog.
Professor Rowan: Who’s Joe? What’s ligma? What’s updog?
Lucas: *inhales*
Dawn: Non-binary people don't owe you androgyny.
Barry: One does owe me money, though.
Dawn: No offense but…
Istanbul was Constantinople
Now it’s Istanbul, not Constantinople
Been a long time gone, oh Constantinople
Now it’s Turkish delight on a moonlit night
Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you’ve a date in Constantinople
She’ll be waiting in Istanbul
Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can’t say
People just liked it better that way
Lucas: asadsfjdsglgjlks
Professor Rowan: What is that?
Lucas: It's a keyboard smash
Rowan: How do I do that?
Lucas: Just press any key lol
Rowan: 7
Barry: How long does someone have to be dead before it's considered archaeology and not grave robbing?
Cynthia: As an archaeologist, I find this a VERY AWKWARD QUESTION.
Barry: Answer the question, grave robber.
Barry: Before you leave the house, think of the acronym "WOWEE:"
Wallet
phOne
Wkeys
Egg
Egg (backup)
Volkner: You don’t have to "ship" things… just a reminder.
Lucas: Yeah, you could deliver them inste94q0ugpwsb nglsjki/rrhxbijbvnldkzOLHLNF>O(PJFVD
Volkner: Poor thing… walked right into an electrical fence while speaking…
Looker: *banging on door* OPEN UP, IT’S THE POLICE!
Lucas: It’s okay, I’m innocent.
Looker: THE FASHION POLICE!
Lucas: *looking down at sandals over socks* Oh no.
Fantina: Spirits, if you are here, speak to us.
Roark: JUST A CITY BOY, BORN AND RAISED—
Volkner: *reading AA battery label* Aaahh.
Volkner: *reading AAA batteries: AAAAAHHHH.
Volkner: *reading AAAA batteries:* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Palmer: Barry, go put those popsicles back.
Barry, grabbing all the popsicles and sliding away: YOU CAN'T MAKE ME DO ANYTHIIIIIING
Cyrus: We all die someday. You either kill yourself or you get killed. Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do?
Barry: Really? EVERYBODY was kung fu fighting? I find that hard to believe. Stop feeding me these lies.
Lucas: Well it was really hard to see if it was everyone, you see they were as fast as lightning.
Dawn: And to be honest, it was a little bit frightening.
Lucian: Coca Cola can remove rust from metal, imagine what it’s doing to your body.
Byron: Pfff, getting rid of the rust, idiot.
Lucian: THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS!
Byron: Hmm... I've been drinking cola and my body's rust free... not sure where you're getting your facts from...
Cyrus: Team Plasma is going to change the world.
Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars: For the better?
Cyrus:
Jupiter, Saturn, and Mars: . . . For the better, right?
Flint: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes, or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute.
Cynthia: No, that's not how you make cookies.
Volkner, zipping into the room: FLOOR IT!
Flint: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!
Cynthia: You're GOING to burn the building down.
Flint: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE SUN TO MAKE THESE COOKIES!
Volkner: DO IT!
Cynthia: NO.
Roark, in front of a fence with Cranidos behind it: Even the babies are some of the most dangerous animals in the world, so I built this cage to keep them secure and there's no possible- OH MY ARCEUS
Byron: *hands Barry a harmonica*
Byron: you play it, you get a million Pokedollars, but a million people will die-
Barry: *furiously plays harmonica*
Byron: BARRY NO-
#pokemon#pokemon incorrect quotes#sinnoh#trainer dawn#trainer lucas#professor rowan#tower tycoon palmer#trainer barry#gym leader roark#gym leader fantina#gym leader byron#gym leader volkner#elite four flint#elite four bertha#elite four aaron#elite four cynthia#champion cynthia#pokemon johanna#detective looker#team galactic cyrus#team galactic mars#team galactic jupiter#team galactic saturn
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in that post abt the gender unicorn graphic, in the comments the idea of the “split attraction model” is brought up and you say you dont want to litigate that. however, im really curious what your opinion is bc i have some ideas abt it too. i feel like its sort of an incomplete analysis? like, people feel different ways about others and that cant really be flattened into like two modes of attraction. but i personally would call myself aromantic and bisexual so obviously i have some level of investment of the idea. anyways i just ask because in general i find your analysis and opinions compelling
thank you! re: this graphic
My issue with splitting “physical attraction” and “emotional attraction” is that it does the same naturalising trick that the chromosomes-as-the-symbol-of-sex does - by splitting the emotional from the physical, this implies that physical attraction is natural, without emotion, and by the same token that emotion can exist completely detached from the physical body of the person you emotionally desire. Like I just don’t think this is true! For example, the idea of “casual sex,” ie sex that is devoid of emotion/emotional investment, is a social construction, it is a sexual act that is being contrasted against societal norms of “serious sex” or “invested sex” or whatever you want to call it - sex that is being done in the context of a monogamous, married relationship, or an otherwise exclusive long-term one. the base social unit of much of western society is the nuclear family, and the nuclear family is “ideally” produced by monogamous, cis-heterosexual, racially homogeneous reproductive sex. That is the norm by which all other sexual behaviour and activity is judged by.
and to be clear I’m not using “emotional” in an idealistic or moral sense, I am not using it as a shorthand for romantic feelings, I am purposefully using the language the graphic is using - I mean any emotion. Like just to be super clear, I’m not suggesting that people who have casual sex all secretly love the people they fuck, or that sex has to always be a serious emotional endeavour, or that people who do not feel sexual attraction to the people they have romantic feelings for are secretly lying, but that I don’t think sex is something that can be devoid of emotionality entirely. Like I think we are engaging in this Cartesian body/mind dualism where the physical acts we perform are somehow wholly separate from our emotional states. Pleasure has an emotional component to it, I don’t know how to articulate my experiences with pleasure that do not involve some level of emotionality, and emotionality has a physical character to it. Like in fact I think this graphic is treating emotions as ideal states - it reminds me of like old misogynistic psychological theory that described rationality as an absence of emotion, that to engage in rationality is to move away from emotion. It treats rationality as “out there,” objective, natural, detached from social influence, and emotion as “in here,” in our hearts, ruled by the social. And this distinction is made on the idea that the social world is detached from the physical world, which is pure idealism.
this is not a dismissal or denial of anyone who feels a disconnect between their sexual and romantic desires, such as asexual or aromantic people - while I am neither of those things, I have experienced intense physical desire for the person I’m fucking while actively dissociating during sex as a result of dysphoria/heteronormativity/etc etc. by the same token I have also felt emotionally compelled to be physically attracted to someone without actually feeling physical desire. These are both emotional states that were in conflict with my physical desires, or rather my physical desires as I understood them at the time. our ability to interpret and understand our desires is itself social! otherwise heteronormativity wouldn’t be a thing. We don’t have unmediated, unemotional access to physical desire, which I think this graphic is arguing, intentionally or not.
so having complicated, contradictory, disconnected, or otherwise ‘non-normative’ relationships to our emotional states vis a vis physical desire is obviously very real, and the reason they are real is because physical desire is also socially mediated and constructed. What and who we find attractive, why types of bodies, physical and character traits, etc are attractive to us are all part of (joker voice) society.
now, idk how you easily communicate this in graphic format. perhaps these things are unsuited to the medium of easily digestible graphics, or perhaps I’m limited in my imagination. either way I don’t think bifurcating emotional-desire-as-social and physical-desire-as-natural is particularly helpful
#asks#disabling reblogs because um. well you know what tumblr is like#this is not ‘ace discourse’ or whatever the fuck I’m not doing that shit and if you start on here I’m gonna block you#even old new york was once new amsterdam
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"If it's occupied Palestine, why do people call it the state of Israel?"
I mean... Even old New York was once New Amsterdam.
Why'd they changed it? I can't say.
The British just liked it better that way.
So take me back to Constantinople.
... No you can't go back to Constantinople.
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Let’s talk traveling! In your opinion, which city would each of the main five YR characters most enjoy visiting?
Oooh thanks for one i can answer, because some others I've got will require 3-5 business days of soul searching and/or research. So!
August - Beijing - he's impressed by power, but also by tradition and heritage. this would be like trying to visit the site of new and old power at once.
Felice - somewhere big and vibrant where she can blend in and not be so noticeable all the time, but also where she doesn't have to worry about needing to be noticed ... London? New Orleans? Mexico City?
Sara - I can't see her loving huge cities, but i can see her loving things that are slower, beautiful, human-scaled ... i'm thinking ... somewhere like Delft in the Netherlands or Lyon in France.
Simon - New York, that's obvious based on what is on his wall in his room.
Wilhelm - Berlin or Amsterdam. it's big enough he could blend in, even though he is so tall and pale. he just wants to be invisible, and it is full of art museums he could lose himself in.
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Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 31
Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.
Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.
It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.
Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters
Author's Note: I cannot overstate how self-indulgent the writing of this chapter has been. I absolutely adore it and I hope you do, as well!
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Chapter 31
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The flight from New Amsterdam to California would take fourteen hours. When booking, Stephen had paid for one of the airship's coveted private cabins, wanting both the convenience and to ensure Peter would have fond memories of his first time on one of the zeppelins he was so interested in.
Peter's excitement over finally getting to ride in a zeppelin had been apparent all week. He was less excited about the need to wake up at three in the morning so they could make it to the hangar in Upper York and fly out at five in the morning. Even with Stephen making sure the Buick was loaded the night before, there was still a feeling of being rushed which neither of them enjoyed.
"You are insufferable when you're cranky from lack of sleep," Stephen told him while driving.
"I've been told," Peter said through a yawn. "Sorry about that. My Aunt May hated trying to wake me up."
"When we board, the flight staff will have their safety presentation that we'll have to sit through. Then, you'll have the chance to sleep in the cabin once we're airborne and stable." He'd sat through the safety lecture many times.
"And you'll make sure I don't sleep the whole time?"
"It's a fourteen hour flight; you'll be awake for the majority of it, I promise."
Peter nodded and dozed off with his head against the window.
He roused Peter once they pulled into the parking garage for the hangar and they made their way to the security checkpoint where their tickets and identification was checked. The attendant at the counter frowned at him when he provided Peter's identification but passed them through.
"What was that about?" Peter asked.
Ah. Peter had noticed.
"I believe she took exception with the fact that your identification was issued by the Bureau and that I'm a selecting spouse."
That had Peter offering up a frown of his own. "Well, that's just dumb," he said. "Lots of people have BCSS marriages."
Was he reading too much into Peter's words? Or was Peter just still grumpy from lack of sleep?
"Luckily a sour expression was all we had to deal with," he soothed. "And her sour expression is basically a smile compared to the charge nurse at Sanctum General's ER."
Peter grinned. "You've made Nurse Temple angry before, haven't you?"
"Only once. It wasn't on purpose, and I've learned to tread carefully since," he admitted. He'd rather swallow rocks than risk incurring Nurse Temple's wrath again. Her ire had not been fun to be the recipient of and she had a stressful enough job as it was.
"Aw, he's human just like the rest of us!"
"You're such a brat."
Tired as he was, Peter looked around the bustling hangar - one of eight on the edge of Upper York - with interest. He'd been here once before, but he'd been too excited about meeting Tony Stark! to pay much attention in and around the massive structure. The zeppelin he and Stephen would be flying out on was the third ship to leave the assigned hangar that morning. There was a fourth airship behind them.
Peter knew zeppelins were so much larger than many realized, but seeing the size of the passenger gondola and how it was dwarfed by the sheer size of the envelope of the ship was truly awe-inspiring. Obviously the airship was huge - the hangars were each thirty stories tall and three football pitches wide, after all - but seeing it in-person was a whole new experience. Even the mobile mooring masts that steered the zeppelins in and out of the hangars were impressive.
"This is the Cessna LTA 2-4026 model," he rattled off while they stood waiting to board. "It was officially approved to fly two years ago and so far there are thirteen hundred all over the globe, and they make up thirty percent of the zeppelins flying today."
Stephen listened patiently as they progressed through the line and up the ramp. He handed the attendant the top copy of their tickets, reserving the canary and pink copies for the lunch check during the flight and luggage retrieval once they arrived in New Angeles. Peter's excitement at something as mundane as air travel was enjoyable to witness. He himself had flown multiple times and did fine the science and grandeur of it interesting, but Peter's enthusiasm lent a new view of it all, somehow. He also found it adorable that Peter kept yawning through his recitations.
They were escorted to their cabin where they stowed their carry-ons. Stephen locked the cabin and slipped the key in the interior pocket of his blazer. Then he and Peter took two of the unassigned seats. Peter looked around, taking in every detail he could. Stephen could see him practically vibrating with the desire to move over to the side of the gondola where the windows provided a currently unimpressive view.
"You can go look once we're in the air and the flight staff have given us leave to move around."
In less than half an hour, everyone had boarded and took their seats.
A voice came on over the speakers.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Captain Seagrum and assisting me on this fourteen hour flight to New Angeles, California is Captain Ayers. We're in the process of completing our pre-flight checks and will start our steering out of the hangar once given the green light by Hangar Control. In the meantime, our dedicated flight staff will brief you on the safety procedures of this airship."
The flight staff ran through their presentation and while many of the passengers had obviously heard it before, Peter made sure to pay attention. Logically he knew where was an almost zero percent chance of a water landing, but surely knowing what would be expected was better than not knowing. What if they were forced to land on a lake and it was up to him to save everyone?
Captain Seagrum came back on the speakers after the fight staff finished. "We've been given the green light so please remain seated as we steer out of the hangar and begin our ascent."
Slowly, the zeppelin began moving through the hangar until they were steered outside where the sun was beginning to rise, painting the horizon orange and pink. There was a pause wherein Peter assumed the hangar ground crew were detaching the mooring mast and then there was the curious and gentle sensation of the ship rising.
"We are beginning our ascent, and we expect to cruise at an altitude of approximately three thousand meters."
Peter leaned into Stephen. "Cessna is currently doing research and development into pressurized gondolas. The thought is that that pressurizing will allow the zeppelins to reach higher altitudes. But if they do, they'll have to address making the shell and envelope of the ship stronger." Then he yawned, causing Stephen to chuckle.
"Looks like you'll be going down for a nap shortly," Stephen told him. When Peter opened his mouth to complain, Stephen cut him off. "You'll be awake for plenty of this flight and I'm not going to listen to you struggling to stay awake when you'll have a comfortable place to rest."
"Can I at least look out the promenade windows first?"
"Yes, of course."
The all-clear to move around the gondola was given and Peter fairly launched himself out of his seat and over to the starboard promenade area. Stephen joined him at much more dignified pace, though he enjoyed seeing Peter so excited. Peter looked out one of the floor to ceiling windows, taking in the view of what was turning out to be a magnificent New Amsterdam morning in late spring.
Stephen let Peter take in the view for a few minutes before he tried to stifle a large yawn. "Okay, to the cabin with you."
He guided Peter to their private cabin and unlocked the door.
The cabin itself held a queen bed, a small built in chest of drawers, and an armchair. There were also windows with retracting shades.
"Are you going to stay here?" Peter asked after removing his shoes, his blazer, and tie. He started unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt.
"Would like for me to stay?" Stephen asked. "And if your answer is dependent on whether or not I intend the ravish you at three thousand meters, the answer is no. The soundproofing of these cabins is quite lacking, I'm afraid. I'd rather keep your delightful noises to myself."
Peter blushed but nodded. "Yeah, that makes sense. In our home is one thing, but in a public zeppelin is another."
"Precisely."
"Isn't there a dining lounge a level down?" Peter asked.
"There is."
"You should have breakfast, then," he said. "It'll be seven before long."
"Alright. I'll lock the door behind me; no one should bother you. Get some sleep and I'll wake you up in time for luncheon."
He waited until Peter drifted off and then left, doing as he said and locking the door behind him. He didn't linger in the dining lounge, content to eat a bagel with cream cheese and lox - Peter was on to something there - a small bowl of cut fruit, and wash down breakfast with a cup of coffee. His fellow passengers were even less inclined to talk at the early hour than he was so luckily, no one approached.
There wasn't much else to do but content himself with one of the books he'd brought. He chose a seat on the port side promenade and started reading. It was a medical murder thriller - one highly recommended by Clea he'd agreed to try. He found himself enjoying it tremendously, even if the man in charge of solving the gruesome and convoluted murder was no Rex Gladstone. He could even appreciate that author had clearly done her research; the doctors, nurses, and medical examiner she'd written knew their stuff. Probably an hour later, one of the flight staff pushed her cart through the promenade and Stephen accepted the offer of a cherry fizzy water and a small bag of crisps before turning his attention back to the book. He needed to know if he'd correctly guessed who the killer was and their motive.
(He was right.)
He started on another book and was half-way through it when he noticed that some of the other passengers were leaving the promenade. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost time to wake Peter.
His young husband was curled up on the bed, chest rising and falling softly. He looked so peaceful that Stephen almost hated to wake him up. However, Peter needed to eat and letting him get too much sleep before acclimating to a new time zone once they reached California would only lead to his husband being cranky, which Stephen had no desire to deal with.
He shook Peter awake gently. "Peter, it's time to wake up."
Peter's eyes fluttered open and he stretched. "It's time already?"
"They'll start serving luncheon in about thirty minutes."
Peter nodded and sat up. "There should be food I'll be able to eat, right?"
"Yes, I informed the ship line when I bought our tickets. Your canary copy has your dietary note on it."
"Oh! Great!" He started to re-button his cuffs and the top three of his shirt. He took the tie Stephen handed him and pulled it tighter after slipping it around his neck. His shoes were next and then he shrugged into the light-weight blazer. "Will I do?"
"I'll be the envy of many, for sure," Stephen said with a smile.
Peter's cheeks went pink.
"Come, I don't believe in being fashionably late."
Peter barely resisted pinching himself over the course of luncheon. He couldn't believe that he, Peter Strange, poor guy from Midtown, was actually eating a fancy luncheon on a zeppelin! He always imagined that if he ever got to take a ride on one, it would be one of the smaller commercial zeppelins, where seats were assigned and passengers only served a small snack and refreshment.
Instead he sat across from Stephen enjoying a bowl of hot tomato basil soup with a perfectly cooked grilled cheese on sourdough. There was also a bowl of fruit and his favorite brand of lemon fizzy water. Stephen's lunch was an arugula salad topped with radishes, cherry tomatoes, pine nuts, feta cheese, a balsamic vinaigrette, and sliced steak cooked to a medium rare. He forewent the offered fizzy water and instead had a glass of red wine.
"Is it good?" he asked Stephen.
"It is. Yours?"
"Oh, it's wonderful," Peter assured him. "Simple can be good." It was simple, yes, but the soup was flavorful and the grilled cheese had a delightful mix of cheeses that elevated it far above what he himself would usually make.
"How was your nap?"
"The bed is far more comfortable than I thought it would be," Peter said. "What did you end up doing?"
Stephen wiped his mouth and smiled. "I sat on the promenade and read. I finished the copy of A Hush at Stillsong General Clea loaned me and started Mutiny of the Spaceborn."
"No wild parties, then?"
"No wild parties."
"What did you think of Stillsong?" Peter asked eagerly.
"It was a good read," Stephen admitted. "I can always appreciate when an author does their research and the medical aspect was handled very well."
"Did you guess who the killer was?"
"And the motive," Stephen confirmed. "It was a good read; I enjoyed it."
One of the staff wheeled over a dessert cart and they each selected what they preferred. Stephen chose a warm apple crumble tart and Peter, knowing he was being quite predictable, chose a chocolate pudding parfait.
"I knew that's what you'd pick," Stephen teased after the young man wheeling the cart moved on.
"I've always had a weakness for chocolate," Peter said simply, digging into his parfait.
The view from the promenade was spectacular and Stephen glanced from his book to the windows every now and again. Peter had finally settled down with a book of his own - another gruesome murder mystery loaned to him by Clea. It was an enjoyable afternoon and he spent as much time people-watching as he did reading and looking out of the floor to ceiling windows.
"What time will it be when we arrive in Malibu?" he asked Stephen when they returned to the dining lounge for supper.
Stephen checked his watch and presumably did some quick math in his head. "It will be around four pm because of the time difference. We'll most likely arrive at the mansion around five-thirty."
Peter shook his head. "Time zones are so weird."
Stephen chuckled. "They are and they have confounded and exhausted many a traveler. Our mobiles will update when we land so we'll be oriented."
"Is Tony picking us up from the hangar?"
"He's sending a car service," Stephen said. "Given her delicate condition he's hesitant to leave Sharon alone at home and he's even less inclined to let her leave their mansion."
"No wonder she sounded so annoyed when I spoke with her the other day," Peter said. "She kept muttering about how she was going to slip a sleeping tonic into his drink so she could get some peace and quiet."
Stephen laughed harder.
"You don't sound very sympathetic to her plight," Peter chided playfully.
"Hey, I tried to warn her off when they first met," Stephen said, still laughing.
"I'm glad they found each other," Peter said. "I know I never met them before they got married, but they just seem to work, you know?"
Stephen nodded. "I do. I had my reservations, but now I can't imagine either of them with someone else. True happiness like theirs is rare."
They continued reading, only stopping when yet another of the flight staff wheeled a cart in with fizzy waters, bottled sodas, and a selection of light snacks.
"I could get used to this," Peter commented as he enjoyed a lemon fizzy water and small plate of apple slices with peanut butter.
"I don't know," Stephen said. "I find myself missing the snacks you packed for me the last time I flew."
It was absurd, but Peter was ridiculously pleased to hear it.
The descent to the New Angeles International Hangar was smooth and Peter hardly felt the airship connect with the mobile mooring mast that begin to steer it into the awaiting hangar - one of twelve!
Stephen didn't seem to be in any rush to disembark, guiding Peter back to their cabin to collect their things and ensure they had their pink tickets for the luggage claim. Peter gave the zeppelin one last look around before following Stephen and joining the throng of people in the arrivals bay.
"Was it everything you hoped it would be?" Stephen asked once they claimed their luggage and went to the passenger pick up bay.
"It was!" Peter assured him. "It was perfect! Even if I did have to nap for part of it."
There was a chauffeur waiting with a small sign that read 'Strange'. Stephen confirmed with the man that he was indeed employed by Stark Industries and showed his own identification. Peter didn't see why the man had to store their luggage in the trunk of the gleaming Cadillac, but followed Stephen's lead. Stephen helped him into the back of the car and then joined him.
"How long of a drive is it?" Peter asked.
The chauffeur, Klaus, answered before Stephen could. "It will be around an hour," he said. "We'll use the pooling lane to avoid most of the outgoing rush hour traffic."
While Stephen and Klaus made light conversation, Peter spent the ride leaning against Stephen, content with the easy-listening radio station Klaus had happily turned on. It had been such a long day and he was looking forward to going to bed later that evening almost as much as he was looking forward to seeing Sharon and Tony again.
"Not much longer," Stephen assured him quietly. "We'll visit, have dinner, visit some more, and then I'll take you to bed."
Peter eyed him. "Planning on returning the favor from their last visit?"
Stephen smirked. "Oh, you have no idea."
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#couldntbedamned fic#spiderstrange#spideystrange#stephen strange x peter parker#peter parker x stephen strange#1950s modern fusion au#1950s au#read the tags and warnings#no seriously read them#peter parker#stephen strange
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Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
#art#culture#comics#bandcamp#tumblr milestone#illustration#photography#museums#dracula#vampire#vampire art#vampiric#dark fantasy#vampirism#vampirecore
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Dooku: aha! I shall simply look through the bond bestowed to me by my dyad in the force to obtain information. After all, it’s not betrayal if I’m not kidnapping or deceiving someone and I just happen to hear it!
Inside Aurelia’s head: istanbul was constantinople now it's istanbul, not constantinople been a long time gone, constantinople now it's turkish delight on a moonlit night every gal in constantinople lives in istanbul, not constantinople so if you've a date in constantinople she'll be waiting in istanbul even old new york was once new amsterdam why they changed it i can't say people just liked it better that way so take me back to constantinople no you can't go back to constantinople been a long time gone constantinople why did constantinople get the works that's nobody's business but the turks
Dooku:
#meme : these bad habits they die so slow#// I have a bit of an ear worm rn#// might make this a comic-#sithsjedi#yan dooku / aurelia pta’hoa : two halves of a whole share one split soul [sithsjedi]
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