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hwaightme · 6 months

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Impressionism

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🩸 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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1indigoisles · 1 month

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"Love means you see someone. That's all." - Julian Blackthorn, Lady Midnight

Alec was very still for a moment, barely breathing. Then, to Jace’s surprise, he reached out and ruffled Jace’s hair, the way an older brother might ruffle his younger sibling’s hair. His smile was cautious, but it was full of real affection. “Thanks for seeing me,” he said, and walked off down the tunnel.

Jace and Alec, City of Heavenly Fire.

"I didn't see you—you were this boy, following me around at school, and then I met you in Paris and you'd grown up and turned into Michelangelo's David. I thought you were beautiful."

Alastair and Thomas, Chain of Iron

“I never thought it would matter,” he said. “I thought by the time you were old enough to ask questions and demand answers, you wouldn’t be able to see me anymore.” Lucie felt as if a cold hand had been placed on her back. “Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

Lucie and Jesse, Chain of Gold (also, Idk if this is actually symbolic; it just feels like it)

Time is not fast or slow where I am. And yet it was long enough for me to feel like the whole world was disappearing, like there was nothing else in it except Kit and Ty looking at each other.

Livvy about Kit and Ty, Secrets of Blackthorn Hall

There may be more, but I went through a lot of TSC books just to get these few parallels, so tell me what I've missed.

Tagging @wikitpowers just because I like her name.

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55sturn · 4 months

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please can u do dad/husband chris hcs??

i love ur writing 🫶🏾🫶🏾

omg i love this !!!

✮HUSBAND + DAD!CHRIS WHO…/ HEADCANONS

husband!chris headcanons

HUSBAND!CHRIS who is using every chance he can to tell people that you’re his wife, there is absolutely no hiding the marriage.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who proposes the idea of getting eloped about a month and a half after proposing because he genuinely can’t wait to be married to you.

after first you feel bad because you want your friends and family to be part of the big day but then you say fuck it, and the two of you are running to city hall as soon as it opens the next day.

after the elopement, you don’t really tell anyone aside from close family and then you guys take your honeymoon, i feel like chris would fly you to somewhere like greece or paris or london because it’s romantic and he wants you to have that movie-esque honeymoon.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who fucks you on every surface in your hotel room during the honeymoon.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who decides to help you throw a big informal wedding type-party with all your friends x family and announce the elopement publicly for the first time.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who treats the entire marriage as if it’s the newlywed stage, like he’s the type of husband who still flirts with you and pursued you as if he literally didn’t lock it down with a ring. he never wants you to feel like he doesn’t want or love you.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who decides that once you guys are married, that he wants to move into a house with you and begin the new chapter and try for a family.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who, once again, constantly tries to consummate the marriage everywhere in the new house. matt and nick refuse to visit until you and chris have hired a cleaning service to “disinfect” the house.

HUSBAND!CHRIS who is a very big believer of the saying “happy wife, happy life.” which means he’s giving and getting you everything you want without hesitation and refuses to let you decline anything.

dad!chris headcanons!

DAD!CHRIS who is a boy dad without question, but that’s not to say he wouldn’t adore his future daughter, that little girl would have him wrapped around her finger.

DAD!CHRIS who brings up the idea of trying for a family after about a month of living together and you’re relieved because you had found out you were pregnant two weeks prior, you just weren’t ready to say anything yet.

DAD!CHRIS who, the second you tell him you’re pregnant, is on his knees pressing kisses to your stomach before he’s resting his head against it with his arms tightly wrapped around you and he’s nearly sobbing, he’s just excited and unbelievably happy that his dreams of having his own little family are coming true.

DAD!CHRIS who is with you at every appointment and cries again when you find out you’re having a baby boy.

DAD!CHRIS who is getting the baby his first pair of jordans without question.

DAD!CHRIS who lets you design the nursery entirely on your own and how you want, because he feels a bit bad that he took wedding planning away from you when you guys got eloped.

DAD!CHRIS who decides that he and matt will build the dresser, changing table, crib, rocking chair, everything while you’re out with mary-lou, nick, and your mom buying baby clothes.

when you see that all the furniture is put together, the pregnancy hormones kick in and you’re sobbing in his arms, thanking him for it and he’s shushing you and telling you that you don’t need to thank him for doing the bare minimum.

DAD!CHRIS who had the to-go bags packed the day after you told him you were pregnant, he had everything you need and want in yours, and completely overpacked the baby’s to-go bag because he couldn’t sleep the night you told him.

DAD!CHRIS who, the moment you go into labour, has the car ready to go and is calling nick and matt as soon as you’ve been checked into the hospital.

DAD!CHRIS who, while you’re waiting until you’re fully dilated, is getting you ice, wiping your forehead, holding your hand, he’s very doting while you’re sitting there waiting to give birth because he feels bad that you’re in pain because he did that to you.

DAD!CHRIS who has tears streaming down his face the second he hears his baby’s first cries. once you and the baby are cleaned up and decently rested, he’s running out to the waiting room and collapses in his brothers’ arms saying “we’ve got a healthy baby boy.”

DAD!CHRIS who refuses to wear a shirt when holding his son, because he’s a full believer in skin to skin contact being an important bonding factor.

DAD!CHRIS who is so incredibly helpful, he refuses to be one of those dads that doesn’t get up when the baby cries and he’s doing a lot of the midnight feedings if you’re not breastfeeding.

if you are breastfeeding, he’s doing everything he can to make you comfortable and he’s always going to grab your son from the bassinet at the foot of your bed.

DAD!CHRIS who feels so heartbroken when the baby is teething because he knows his son is uncomfortable and in pain and there’s not much to be done about it.

DAD!CHRIS who is so interested in the types of foods that the baby is trying out once he’s weaned off milk.

DAD!CHRIS who he gets his brothers to do a baby food challenge on their channel and it’s one of the only times that your son is featured on the channel because he loves his uncles and they make him laugh.

DAD!CHRIS and UNCLE!NICK + MATT who are completely wrapped around the baby’s finger. he gets whatever he wants from all of you because he is the first baby out of the group and everyone spoils him.

he grows up with the coolest family, he’s always sporting some sort of merch from his parents’ and uncles favourite artists to sturniolo merch and fresh love that the triplets created as the announcement of chris being a father.

all in all, chris’ baby would be so incredibly loved, spoiled, well mannered, respectful, and all around the coolest baby in the fucking world.

taglist: @dylsdunbar @verosivy @soursturniolo @4sturns @sturnsclutter @spencerstits @meanttomeet @bluesturniolo333 @graciereid @abbie13sworld @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @mylifeisevenstranger @bethsturn @ifilwtmfc @themattgirl @lovingmattysposts @lacysturniolo @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @cupidsword @strawberrysturniolo @lustfulslxt @sturnifyed @carolsturns1 @teapartyprincess4two @mangosrar @querenciasturniolo

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo headcanons #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo x fem!reader #christopher sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo oneshot #christopher sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x reader

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blouisparadise · 3 days

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Upon request, today we have a rec list of fics where Louis and Harry have a one night stand! Of course, it often eventually leads to something more, but it starts with just one night. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Let's Get Naked & Explore. | Not Rated | 3,185 words

"Hm, I'd be embarrassed if I had any real morals." Louis smirked and pushed himself off the door ledge he'd been leaning against, walking further into the bathroom. "Good thing, too, otherwise we probably wouldn't have had all that fun last night." "Unfortunately I only remember bits and pieces." "Well, it's also a good thing I'm extremely talented at jogging memories."

2) Please Master | Explicit | 4,344

“I was staring at you”, Harry says quietly, his fingers dancing on Louis’ heated skin, “earlier, on the dancefloor. I know you noticed me. But you’re used to people staring, aren’t you?” Though the question comes with a chuckle, it feels to Louis as though he is being scolded. Scolded, for he is desirable, and innocent, and untouched, and irresistible. Words, all of which were said to him by Harry as he requested his company for his endeavors for the night. It was the manner in which he said them, with a drawl so slow it reminded Louis of the way he liked to pour honey in his tea in the afternoon; through a spoon slightly tilted, each drop a triumph of its own. Most he had liked how the words had melted his mind as hot water did to honey; persistently, inevitably. And, much like he does his tea, it appears he prefers his company – sweet, steaming, and alone. “I think you enjoy it. The staring. I think you find pleasure in knowing you are wanted, a thrill in being chased. How boring”, Harry says, appearing indifferent to Louis despite the cruel nature of his words. “It’s a pity. You enjoy feeling like a slut, but all you need is somebody to fuck the seductive little brat out of you.”

3) If It Hurts To Breathe, Open The Window | Explicit | 4,406

Louis looks wonderful himself, in a muscle shirt reading The Stone Roses and showing off all his own ink. His jeans are tighter than Harry’s, and there are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is tatty and wild, and there’s a sex bruise on the bend of his elbow Harry didn't give to him.

4) Spark A New Flame | Explicit | 6,100 words

Louis is nineteen, Harry is twenty-one, and it's not all that hard to figure out what happens when they both go clubbing.

5) Let The Beating Waves Come Drag Me Down |Explicit | 9,447 words

“Just try it, the worst thing that could ever happen it’s that you won’t like it” Niall had told him. And there he was, on the way to one of these pubs created for perverts, willing to break up the routine to try something new, something that terrified as much as excited him. One night to get swept up in passion, one night to let the devil get in. "Tonight, I’m going to make you scream of ecstasy Louis,” he said with a raspy voice full of control, making him tremble with anticipation.

6) Night Out | Explicit | 9,741 words | Sequel

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.

7) Make It Feel Like Home | Explicit | 10,587 words

Paris was supposed to be the city of love, who thought getting knocked up by your one night stand whom you're really figuratively never going to meet again?

8) Put It On Me | Mature | 14,890 words

Harry's bachelor party doesn't go as planned.

9) I Won’t Give Up So Come And Get Me | Explicit | 15,322 words

“I can’t believe you’ve roped me into this.” Liam sighs and looks at his best friend slash flat mate behind him through the mirror he is currently standing in front of. “What are you talking about Louis? How have I roped you into this?” Louis is lying sprawled out on his back on Liam’s bed, watching him try on his eighth top from a pile on the chair next to him. “You know perfectly well how. I was quite content spending my Friday night staying in watching Netflix with a takeaway and now I’m being forced to go on a blind date with some bloke while you make bedroom eyes at your new boy toy.” Liam turns towards him, hands on his hips. his face set in a deep frown. “That’s a load of shit. Firstly, I didn’t force you, you were perfectly up for it last week when I asked, you’re just getting pissy with me because you are nervous. Secondly, it is not a blind date. Zayn suggested that he meet you as you’re my best friend and then I suggested he bring along his best friend to make it a bit more even, who said anything about you guys getting together?”

10) Sweeter Than Wine | Explicit | 15,339 words

When Wizard!Louis goes to a muggle club for a change of pace, his one night stand ends up being much more than he bargained for.

11) Carried Away Like Butterflies | Explicit | 17,243 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

It was probably a huge mistake for Louis to let his former One Night Stand move into his spare room, especially when said One Night Stand doesn't seem to remember him.

12) Wait For Me | Explicit | 17,454 words

Moving to a new place always comes with a few challenges. For Harry, it’s trying to start over after his divorce, while still doing his best taking care of his son. Though just like every parent, he is not infallible, so some mistakes are bound to be made, settling into his new role as a single-dad. For his son, Davie, moving means he has to get used to all the changes happening in his life through no fault of his own. Discovering a secret passageway on their new property lets him form an unlikely friendship with the young man and his dog he finds on the other side.

13) I Put A Spell On You | Explicit | 17,525 words

A BBC/Secret Santa mashup featuring Captain Niall, our intrepid weatherman/amateur matchmaker, rather clueless sports reporter Liam, charming political analyst Zayn, and cheeky entertainment reporter Louis. Harry is the new fashion correspondent who prefers to dress like a flamingo. And pining. There’s a lot of pining.

14) The Wild Night to Memory Loss to Soul Mates Pipeline| Explicit | 17,628 words

“What the fuck are you on—holy shit,” Louis gasps, looking down at his own hand to see a white gold band wrapped his left ring finger. “Wh-what is going on?” “Sure is a conundrum,” the man muses, realization flashing in his green eyes. “I-I’m not married, I can’t be married,” Louis mumbles to himself, staring wide-eyed at the ring, heart racing a mile a minute.

15) Let's Make Christmas Merry, Baby | Explicit | 19,871 words

Harry and Louis have to play Mr and Mrs Claus at a frat party and don’t get on, but keep getting stuck under mistletoe until they do

16) Moonlit Reverie | Explicit | 20,961 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis has always dreamed of getting kissed under the Eiffel Tower since he was a child. After ending a long-term relationship, he decides to treat himself to his dream trip to Paris and finds a lonely handsome stranger staring at the Eiffel Tower surrounded by other couples. He never thought he would ask a complete stranger if they could kiss under the glowing tower without even knowing each other but there he was.

17) What Happens In Vegas... Doesn't Stay In Vegas | Explicit | 21,976 words

What should have been a fun one-night stand in Vegas turns into something a lot more complicated. Because getting married is easy but getting unmarried... not so much.

18) You’re The Light | Explicit | 31,285 words

Before beginning a new graduate school in the fall, Louis Tomlinson decides to spend the summer working in Chicago as an editor’s assistant for the Chicago Tribune newspaper and staying with his old college roommate. What he finds on his first day of work is a tall, gorgeous editor named Harry who has the most beautiful green eyes he’s ever seen—and who also happens to be his new boss.

19) Something Along The Lines Of ‘An Office Love Story At Christmas’ | Explicit | 43,148 words

Harry hadn’t planned on seeing Louis again, not after that night. When he finds out his only competition for a very desired promotion is Louis, he spirals into a mess of trying to be a better coworker and person right before Christmas in hopes that he can outdo Louis’ effortless effect on his office. If he manages to get his head out of his ass along the way, it’ll be a holiday miracle.

20) Love’s Truest Language | Explicit | 48,195 words

The first part was meant as a joke. He didn't really expect Harry to buy anything. It was just Louis’ way of softening the ‘get the fuck out’ blow. “Where's your order forms, then?” “I don't want your flowers.” Louis chided before directing all of his attention to the arrangement in front of him. Harry laughed under his breath as he stood to his full height, “Who said anything about them being for you, love?”

21) Waiting On You | Explicit | 76,584

“Vampires,” Louis says with disgust, glaring over at the vampire who is noisily slurping from the woman’s neck nearby. Zayn gives the neat fang marks on Louis’ neck a meaningful look. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them,” Louis finishes, ignoring Zayn when he rolls his eyes. Louis takes a long sip of his milkshake, presses his fingers against the marks on his neck, and definitely doesn’t think about the vampire who left them there.

22) Love Will Tear Us Apart | Explicit | 204,151 words

It was only meant to be a one night thing, but when the country goes into lockdown, Louis Tomlinson finds himself stuck in windsor castle, in company of his royal fucking highness, Harry, the prince of England.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #one night stand

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insanityclause · 2 months

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Tom Hiddleston Says Revisiting Loki Was ‘An Honor,’ Thanks Co-Stars for ‘Chemistry and Inspiration’

Ahead of accepting Variety’s Virtuoso Award at the Miami Film Festival, Hiddleston reflects on previous roles and impactful creative collaboration.

By Jenelle Riley

Tom Hiddleston knows “Miami.” That is, all the words to the Will Smith song titled after the famous city — a video of him reciting the lyrics once broke the Internet (not an unusual occurrence for the actor.) That was in 2012 when he was doing press for “The Avengers,” the movie that would change his life and career. It was also the same tour that last brought him to the city — but that was a whirlwind two days of press. “I do recall promoting ‘Avengers’ in Spanish and the city had a great, unique energy,” he says. “I’m really excited to be back as an explorer.”

The British actor will be returning on April 9 to the Miami Film Festival to accept Variety’s Virtuoso Award for his career achievements and will participate in a Q&A at the Adrienne Arsht Center – Knight Concert Hall. Tickets are available here.

And while Miami is known for its food and culture, the actor has one thing on his mind. “What will the weather be like?” he queries of the town’s famously balmy temperatures. “Because I’m coming from the wettest February on record in London’s history.”

Hiddleston admits it’s somewhat ironic to be receiving the Virtuoso Award there, because “when somebody says ‘virtuoso,’ I think of a dazzling soloist in an orchestra, and I feel about as far from that image as it’s possible to imagine.”

He continues: “I am the opposite of a soloist, actually. I always feel like I’m at my strongest in a team. What we do is a collective creative act and the joy of it is in the shared imagination.”

This might explain why his resume is filled with standout ensemble pieces in every genre. Hiddleston’s worked on stage — he earned a Tony nomination for his 2019 Broadway debut in “Betrayal” — the SAG Award-nominated ensemble of “Midnight in Paris,” up through his most current turn as the God of Mischief in Season 2 of the Disney+ series “Loki.”

The second season’s finale, “Glorious Purpose,” remains the highest-rated episode ever in the Marvel Cinematic Universe and brought a conclusion to an epic character arc that has spanned 14 years of Hiddleston’s life. The actor, who also served as producer on both seasons, says it would have been impossible without his “deep bench” of castmates, which includes Owen Wilson, Sophia Di Martino and Season 2 addition Ke Huy Quan, Oscar-winner for “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”

“I don’t know who said it, but there’s the phrase: ‘If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together,’” he notes. “And it’s never been truer than for this show.”

Community and collaboration are perhaps his favorite aspects of the work. “I truly find the most interesting work I have discovered happens between people. You show up and ready and prepared, but you take that preparation onto the dance floor and see what there is between you. If I’ve done anything of value, it’s because of that chemistry and inspiration I receive from another actor.”

Hiddleston says that team spirit extends to his next project, “The Life of Chuck,” a big-screen adaptation of the Stephen King novella that also stars Karen Gillan, Mark Hamill and Chewitel Ejiofor. “I’m a lifelong tennis fan and I feel like being on set is like playing tennis,” Hiddleston notes. “It’s all about who you’re playing opposite and the energy back and forth between you. And I have some great partners on ‘The Life of Chuck.'”

As for continuing Loki’s story in a third season, it’s a question Hiddleston is asked pretty much every day — several times. “I truthfully don’t know,” he says. “I am so proud of where we landed in Season 2. To go from this lost, broken soul in Asgaard, and be given a second chance and learn so much about life that he actually gives himself to protect other people, has been such an honor.” For tickets to the conversation and Variety Virtuoso Award Presentation to Tom Hiddleston, visit here.

#tom hiddleston #miami film festival #virtuoso award

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musketeers-brothersinarms · 10 months

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Chapter One: The Crack of Dawn

The first rays of morning light touched the cold gray streets of Paris as the world woke up to meet a new day. Groggy store owners trudged out of bed to open their doors and await the early traffic, the clopping of horse hooves echoed as wagons were pulled along the streets, and windows flew open to let the chilly light into dark homes across the city.

As the sun slowly made its way across the sky, its rays peeked into the countless shimmering windows of the royal palace, whose turrets and towers glowed a rosy color in the dawn. Nestled in the middle of the palace grounds was the mess hall, where a small form stood mopping between long wooden tables and benches.

If you had happened to approach him, you would have seen a vigor in his movements, a sort of determined drive that most don't possess at 5 in the morning. He pushed his wet mop around the glistening marble floors, whistling quietly with a smile on his face. If you had come closer and leaned down, (quite far down as he was a very small creature) and looked under the floppy, beat up felt hat that he wore, you would have seen his excited button eyes and his round ears quivering at every sound. And if you got the chance to ask him his name, he would have introduced himself as Mickey Mouse.

But for the moment he was alone, working vigorously to scrub the floor clean, searching with practiced eyes for stains and smudges and swiping over them with a swish of his mop. It was easy to tell he had been doing this for years. A scruffy, sun bleached pair of overalls that were too big hung off of his shoulders, the straps sliding down his arms and making it difficult to work. A small bead of sweat trickled onto his cheek, but he hardly noticed in his concentration.

As he worked, the little mouse’s mind wandered a million miles away, drifting aimlessly between different thoughts, and so it was a few minutes before he realized that someone had walked quietly into the room and was watching him.

“Whatcha doing?”

Mickey turned in surprise to see his oldest brother standing in the doorway. “Julius!” he said happily. “I didn’t see you.” He looked out the window, seeming to notice the sun rising for the first time. “Wow, it’s already dawn.”

Part of Julius was surprised to see Mickey up at such an hour. He had always been the earliest riser of the three, but even he didn’t usually get up before first light. “Couldn’t sleep, huh. Something on your mind?”

Mickey paused as he dipped his mop into a sudsy bucket of water. “Well… it’s not that important I guess but…” he trailed off and looked into his reflection in the pail.

“...But?” Julius prompted.

Mickey ran the mop over a soot stain. “I’m just worried about the royal family. Or what’s left of it, that is.”

Julius nodded knowingly, as if they’d had this conversation many times before. “You're thinking about the princess," he said knowingly.

Mickey smiled slightly, a sheepish look on his face. “It’s just… she seems so ill-prepared to take over. I don’t mean she won’t be a good ruler,” he said quickly, “I just think she should be allowed more time to mourn her parents. They’re shoving all that responsibility onto her so quickly, I mean, her crowning is only in a week.” He dipped his mop in the bucket again, his brow furrowed. "I feel sorry for her."

Julius smirked slightly, his tail swishing mischievously. “You seem to think about Princess Minnie an awful lot,” he teased.

Mickey stuck his tongue out at the cat, but his face was pink. “She’s our leader, of course I’m concerned about her.”

Julius shrugged, smiling wider. “Of course.”

Mickey yawned suddenly, and his grip loosened on the mop handle for a second. Then he shook it off and stood up straighter. “Well, I'd better get back to work.” He slapped the mop back down on the tiles and scrubbed harder. “A janitor’s work is never done.”

Juilus’s smile dropped slightly. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so hard, Mick. How about we take a break and eat breakfast?”

Mickey hesitated, but then shook his head. “Cap’n Pete wanted this hall to be clean, and I don’t want to let him down.”

“We have plenty of time to finish this later today,” Julius retorted. “Stop trying to do everything yourself.” He held out his hand. “C’mon, you won’t be any good to me and Oz if you’re half starved.”

Mickey paused and looked out at the slick wet floors, and his shoulders slumped tiredly. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” Reluctantly, he picked up his mop bucket, careful not to slosh any water. “I just… don’t want to do a bad job.”

Julius glanced at his brother. “Are you sure Princess Minnie is the only thing on your mind?”

Mickey looked away as they walked out of the hall and said nothing.

Julius took the mop and rested it on his shoulder like a fishing pole. “You know you don’t have anything to prove to Captain Pete. You’re the best janitor this palace has ever seen.”

Mickey looked at his older brother uncertainly. “Better than you?”

Julius squinted his eyes into a mock frown. “Weell, not quite. Almost.”

Mickey smiled slightly. “I’VE never managed to set a stack of tablecloths on fire before.”

Julius nudged the mouse with a laugh. “We don't talk about that."

The two walked off down the large columned hallway together, making small talk with each other as the sky turned from rosy pink to blue. The palace murmured to life, and servants began to appear, running errands to and fro. Reaching the back of the hallway, the brothers ducked down a dingy stairwell that most would overlook, and ended up in a small but cozy servants quarters.

Three beds lined the far wall, while the left was occupied by a small table filled with books, various rags and buckets, and a couple of sketches of the palace grounds. A pair of muddy boots lay at the end of the middle bed, which was occupied by a sleeping lump buried under a frayed quilt. A melted candle in the corner did a poor job of illuminating the room, so Julius opened the shutters on a small window over the table, filling the room with chill air.

Mickey walked up to the lump and tugged on one of the long black ears poking out of it. "Oswald, wake up," he said. "We have to eat and get to work."

The lump moaned and curled up tighter. "Goway."

Julius sighed, as though this was all routine. "You know Captain Pete will have our hides if we don't start on the capes and boots in the washroom," he said pointedly. "We're already on bad terms with him."

The lump, after a moment of silence, heaved a sigh and shifted, rolling over so a grumpy face with a round black nose poked out near the pillow. "I don't like it when you're right," he said, sitting up unhappily.

Mickey had already grabbed a bucket of polish and a brush, and was waiting by the door. "Coming, slowpokes?" he asked.

Julius snatched a bucket of rags from the corner and nudged the small black rabbit emerging from the bed. "Yeah, yeah," Oswald griped, throwing on a pair of patched blue pants and some boots. "I'm coming. But we ARE going by the kitchen first."

"Of course," Julius said. "I hate seeing you hangry." Oswald made a face at him.

Mickey bounced up and down impatiently, anxious to get started. Julius watched him with a slight frown. Mickey was always a people pleaser, but even more so recently. He seemed awfully set on making Captain Pete as happy as possible. Maybe it could be... he sighed quietly. He hoped Mickey wasn't thinking of it again.

But looking into the mouse's shining eyes, watching the way he fingered the frayed brim of his hat without thinking, Julius knew it was exactly that. The dream of his, the dream all three of them used to share, was resurfacing. And every time it took hold, every time Mickey talked of them becoming musketeers together and fighting villains just like they always dreamed of doing... it hurt every time.

Because Julius knew, even if Mickey denied it and Oswald shrugged it off. They couldn't be musketeers. No one but well trained soldiers, sons of the nobility, members of higher class, became musketeers. And what were they?

Nobodys. Janitors of the lowest class. Try as he might, Juilus just didn't have the hope that his brothers held onto. That somehow, some way, they could become musketeers. He felt a knot in his chest as he thought of Mickey's dreams getting crushed, once again. But it was useless to try and talk him out of it. Once Mickey's heart was set on something, it was hard to shake him.

As the three walked past the courtyard gates together, Julius tried to ignore the sounds of chanting, steel clashing, and tromping boots that came from the drill yard. Don't get your hopes up, he thought. You can't be one of them. Don't be let down again.

But Mickey and Oswald nudged each other, their eyes shining, as they strained their ears to drink in every sound. Even Julius, though he wouldn't admit it, couldn't help feeling an excited flutter in his chest every time the thrilling cry was raised:

"All for one, and one for all!"

#disney au #disney musketeers #disney: bia #disney #mickey mouse #oswald the lucky rabbit #julius the cat #A/N: please don't look too long at any of the backgrounds in these illustrations they're laughably bad i'M SORRY

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chrisbahng-old · 1 year

Text

— magnifique

❤︎ — poly!hyunjin + felix + reader, afab reader.

❤︎ — fluff with the slightest bit of mentioned smut at the end, minors dni.

❤︎ — 922 words. part one of two.

Hyunjin needed to get back to his hotel room, and fast.

It was one thing to be in Paris with Felix, but it was another to bring you with him.

Felix and him were invited to some formal launch party. For what, the pair didn’t seem too enthralled to know. All they knew was this would be the perfect time to take their lover on a trip they’ll never forget.

And that was true. You would never forget this time you spent in the city of lights. Your boyfriends spoiled you with fancy gifts, exquisite meals in high end restaurants and memories that you’ll carry forever. What could be more romantic than sipping glasses of wine from the hotel terrace overlooking the city, with a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower? In your mind, nothing, especially when your boyfriends each had a hand on your waistline, telling you that you’re everything they have ever wanted.

But that is all minor details to Hyunjin right now. You had texted Hyunjin a rather lewd image of yourself in gorgeous red lace with Felix by your side, asking when he would return to the room.

He was out taking photos for his portfolio but all he wanted now was to take pictures of you, him and Felix.

After rounding the corner and making his way into the hotel and through the lobby to the elevator rather briskly, he sighed. His pants were growing tight just thinking of what you and Felix could possibly do since he received the text. As the elevator made its way to one of the top floors, he dug in his bag for his room key, wanting to waste no time in getting into the room.

He made his way down the hall, careful to not make as much noise as possible since it was getting late and he didn’t want to wake anyone solely because he’s horny.

He made it to the door and clicked the card against the lock, before opening the door and walking in to see you and Felix on the terrace, sharing a bottle of wine. You were dressed in a silk gown and Felix was still in his suit from earlier. Hyunjin sighed at the sight and kicked his shoes off, taking his suit jacket off and hanging it up alongside his camera bag. He walked through the room, seeing an empty wine glass setting out for him. He carefully picked up the glass and made his way to the balcony. The doors were opened and Hyunjin took his place on the left side of you.

“About time,” you giggle. “Been waiting for you, Jinnie.”

“Mhm,” Felix hums before bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a sip.

Hyunjin reaches for the bottle of wine, which he finds to be halfway empty. He pours himself a glass before setting the bottle back on the little metal table. “Sorry, I lost track of time.” he apologizes.

You wave a hand at him, dismissing his apology. “It’s alright, we understand.”

Hyunjin hums in approval before taking a sip of the red wine and looking out over the city. This was a life he could get used to. No cameras flashing in his face all the time, no strict company telling him what he can and cannot do, no worrying about being under the scrutiny of the public. He could get used to the simplicity of this moment; just him and his secret lovers in one of the most beautiful cities in the world having the time of your life.

Felix reaches over and places his free hand on your waist. Hyunjin does the same and takes Felix’s hand in his. You feel warm at their touch and lean your head back, exposing your neck. Hyunjin takes notice of the lovebite forming right in the middle of your neck and knows you and Felix got up to something while he was gone. He wasn’t mad or upset, no, he never could be with you two. If anything, he’s glad that you two are spending alone time together, it helps grow your bond stronger and stronger.

Hyunjin looked down at his watch, seeing it was getting later and later. Not that Felix and him had anything to do tomorrow, but he was beginning to grow tired. “What do you say we turn in for the night?” he mentions softly, taking the final sip from his glass.

You and Felix hum in unison and finish your glasses of wine. Hyunjin let go of Felix’s hand and gathered the bottle and glasses before walking back into the room and setting them on the counter in the kitchenette.

You took a seat on the end of the bed, your silk cover falling off your shoulders, revealing your red lace to Hyunjin. Felix sat behind you, setting his hands on your hips.

Hyunjin swallowed hard. He had nearly forgotten all about the picture you had sent earlier. He slowly walked towards you and Felix and stood in

front of you. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, taking your hands in his before helping you stand. You look at him with a softness in your eyes and he leans down to connect his lips with yours. Felix stands up and takes his place behind you, hands snaking around your body to find your lace covered breasts.

“I can’t believe you’re ours.” Felix says, voice raspy.

“All yours,” you sigh in contentment.

And from that moment on, Hyunjin knew that he could do this forever.

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin imagine #lee felix x reader #lee felix imagine #skz smut #skz x you #hyunjin smut #lee felix smut

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justrandomfanfictionskh · 1 year

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We Should have Stayed in Gotham ch 4

(Almost every Maribat fic I read has the akuma class going to Gotham. But tell me which is more likely, a class touring the city of crime, or a class touring the city of lights? So here it is, the Daminette fic that only I asked for, where Gotham goes to Paris, and the poor students have to grapple with the fact that they have competition for the most dangerous city in the world. I wonder what will happen?) (a/n: Warning dark Conversation. Don't be taken off guard.)

ao3 Beginning Previous

Despite what his brothers might say, Damian did not hate fun. He just hated their idiotic brand of fun that usually found them needing Bruce and the WE PR team to bail them out of jail while Barbara laughed at them from the other side of the bars. (He would never forgive Todd from stopping him from freeing the Zoo Animals. They would have gotten away with it if he had just followed orders.) Still, he planned to have fun on this trip, especially at the Louvre. He had always wanted to see the inside of this place, the art, the history, maybe even correct some of the factual errors. A scavenger hunt would not interfere with that, even if it was tedious and pointless.

But then Alix and Kathryn had skated by waving a half-completed work sheet shouting, “You’re falling behind!” Apparently, they had gotten a head start by going through her father’s office. Mendeleiev just groaned as manic grins spread across multiple students’ faces, including Marinette’s.

And so it was, that before any of the teachers could stop them, the Parisians had grabbed their Gothamite’s hand and took off running through the halls of the most famous museum in the world. Damian didn’t know how to react as Marinette pulled him through wing after wing, her hand holding his in a vice grip, until they stopped in the Egyptian hall. He was surprised to see that she wasn’t panting, even though she had to be running at full speed in order to stay ahead of him.

Instead she just skidded to a stop and began to say in very broken German, “Ok…the first…question…is about…”

Damian cleared his throat, and said in French “You want to win this, right?” Marinette cocked her head but nodded. “Then I think it will be best if we stick to our fluent languages. We can help each other after we finish demolishing your insane classmates.”

Marinette grinned and then said in English, “Very well, but what about your classmates. Won’t they be a problem?”

Damian glanced at his work sheet and raised an eyebrow. “I doubt they will be much help. After all I’m not even sure what this first question means. Is it some sort of riddle?”

Marinette laughed and pulled him deeper into the wing. “Sabrina and your class representative, no you call it president, made this to encourage us to ask questions about each other,” she explained, “‘The scroll that awoke the Pharaoh, and revealed the secret of the Bug,’ is a reference to the akuma Pharaoh. He was a researcher here at the Louver whose theory on resurrection magic was dismissed, so he was akumatized in order to prove it worked. He tried to sacrifice Alya to the god Ra.”

Damian squashed a quip about how that would not have been the worst thing, instead settling on the more pressing question, “And the secret of the Bug?”

Marinette stopped in front of an old papyrus scroll, her smile fond and almost nostalgic as she looked at it. She pointed at the image of a woman with a yoyo in a spotted robe fighting the Pharaoh. “It was during this fight that it was revealed that Ladybug was over five thousand years old.”

Damian nodded as he looked at the scroll with consideration. “I thought the SpotsOn blog said that the title of Ladybug was a mantle passed down.”

“It is,” Marinette said as she scribbled on her work sheet. “But it was this scroll that set the question in motion. Since then scholars have been scouring the artifacts looking for people who could have a Miraculous Holder.”

“So why is it on our work sheet?” Damian asked.

And Marinette once more smiled as if at a fond memory. “I was with Alya when she found this. I got turned into one of the hundred mummies meant to aid in the sacrifice. Believe it or not we were actually good friends back then.”

Damian opened his mouth to say something, but Marinette clapped her hands and spun towards him with a smile. “Alright, the first one was for Paris, the second one should be for Gotham. Alix and Kathryn, have a good head start, but if we run, and take a few short cuts I know, then we should be able to catch up and beat them!”

Damian stifled a grin with a smirk. Her competitive spirit was infectious, and it pulled at his own instincts to push them to victory. And he was so tempted to give into it. He was the Son of the Bat after all, there was no way they could lose. But Grayson was always warning him that he overdid it, so he fought the urge to string trip wire everywhere and looked down at his sheet. His smirk turning devilish. “Are there any bat artifacts in the Chinese Wing?”

Marinette nodded briskly, “Tang Dynasty, this way!” And with that she had grabbed his hand and was once again pulling him through the Louvre at a devastating pace. And as the game went on, Damian stopped denying the genuine and bright smile that was slowly growing on his lips. But even as he gave into his more competitive instincts, he noticed a few interesting details about the Parisians.

For example, the Museum had obviously prepared for them, because they had roped off designated running lanes so the students could go wild without breaking anything or disrupting the other guests. And as they zoomed past, while the tourists stared in shock, the employees and locals laughed and cheered them on. It was strange considering that in Gotham they would have had security called on them ages ago.

Another thing was that all the Parisians were strangely athletic. Even the ones who should have been out of breath at the first sprint, vaulted and laughed as if it was nothing. At the pace he and Marinette were keeping, he expected that she would have to slow down after the first three questions. Instead, she only seemed to gain speed as she pulled him after her in a rush of adrenaline. And she never slowed down. Even when her classmate, the tall Chinese one, barreled toward them with his partner on his back, Marinette never slowed. She just pulled Damian down so that they slid down the slick floor, as the boy vaulted over them with ease.

Leaping to her feet, Marinette continued to pull Damian along even as her peer shouted, “I’m going to get you Mari!”

“In you dreams Kim!” she shouted. She beamed with pure joy, and Damian felt his own adrenaline muddling his senses, because he found himself mirroring her.

“What was that?” He demanded when they reached the Enlightenment Room.

“Hm?” Marinette said even as she searched the artifacts, “Oh, have you ever played the floor is lava?”

Damian grimaced against the memory. Grayson had thought it was a good idea to yell that phrase in the middle of Titan’s Tower, resulting in Jon scooping him up and hovering over the floor. Everyone had laughed as Damian thrashed like a kitten in the bath. It was one of his more embarrassing memories. “Once or twice,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Have you ever played it with real lava?”

Damian cocked his head at the question then nodded his head in understanding, “Lava Boy, he was a level 10 right?”

“You read the list,” Marinette said with a smug smile.

“Tt,” Damian said has he scanned for their opponents. “Of course, I did, I’m not an imbecile. But what does this have to do with the fact that your entire class seems to be experts in parkour?”

“Not the entire class,” Marinette mused as she jotted down the answer. “Just those who know to pay attention in gym. Parkour became a curriculum requirement after Lava Boy. Every Parisian school teaches it as apart of our Physical Education. Or as we like to call it, ‘Running from Akumas 101.’”

Damian nodded his understanding. It was smart. It made him wonder why Gotham schools didn’t teach self-defense. But then again, maybe they did. He never really paid attention in class. But he had no time to ponder, because Marinette was grabbing his hand again and pulling him to the next artifact.

They ran into Alix and Kathryn twice, and saw that they were catching up, as the pair debated if they should be going towards Modern Art, or Ancient Greece. Which was when Damian noticed something else about Marinette, she was smart. When she had competed with him in languages, he had known that she had intelligence. But now she barely had too look at the clues to know the item they were talking about. And they really were some of the strangest clues, for example, “This Queen’s spear is lauded as Luck’s greatest hand.”

“That could be anything!” Damian exclaimed.

“Queen Hippolyta’s spear was donated by Wonder Woman back in 1983, as a gift to her adopted city,” Marinette stated and then dashed off.

“Wait how did you know that?” Damian cried as he chased her.

“Hippolyta was the first named Ladybug, although technically she was the second holder. The first was the Oracle of Khepri, although her name was lost to time. We saw her scroll like ten minutes ago.”

Damian just shook his head and followed her without question. And that was another strange thing that he noticed. He didn’t mind following this girl around. Under normal circumstances, he would have demanded the lead. But Marinette just pulled him along as if her leadership was the most natural thing in the world. And as of yet, Damian could not begrudge her for it. And so it was in less time than he thought possible, they were racing back to the teachers with Alix and Kathryn hot on their heels and gaining. Then Marinette pulled out a bag of marbles and scattered them on the floor.

“Hey!” Alix yelled as the two girls were forced to slow down, “That’s cheating!”

“No rule against it!” Marinette shouted back as Damian laughed.

Mlle. Mendeleiev was pinching her nose as the pair skidded to a stop in front of her and handed her their completed work sheets. “I hope,” she said in her stern voice, “That the two of you got to talk at least once during that…escapade?”

“Yes Mlle. Mendeleiev,” Marinette said with her signature bright smile growing even as Damian sunk back into his signature scowl.

“Oh, and what did you learn about each other,” Bustier said with her signature plastered smile and too sweet voice.

“That Damian knows a lot about bats but not a lot about bugs.”

Damian couldn’t help the amused snort, even as the teachers rolled their eyes and took their sheets. But it was one of the Gotham teachers, Miss. Faustus who said, “You finished three hours early. Why don’t you two go back through the museum slower this time? Or perhaps spend time at the museum’s café?”

The two nodded their assent and then waited for Alix and Kathryn to turn in their sheet. “Well,” Marinette said, beaming so brightly, Damian was sure he was going to go blind. “We won!”

“You cheated!” Alix cried in mock annoyance as she skated up to them.

“Tt,” Damian said, “You were the ones with a head start, not to mention you were on skates. If anything, you were the ones that cheated, and yet we still were victorious. I do not know if that proves the depths of your ineptitude or the height of our excellence, but either way, you cannot argue with the results.”

Kathryn face palmed, as Alix stared at him in shock. Suddenly Damian was very aware that offending the wrong person in this city could result in a villain chasing him down. But he refused to back down as he tilted his chin to the girl, daring her to question him. Instead, Alix just turned to Marinette who seemed completely unfazed by his attitude.

At her friend’s questioning look, Marinette smiled gently. “Imagine if Kagami and Chloe were one person, and male. That’s him,” she said jutting her thumb at Damian. He furrowed his brow at the comparison, but faced Alix undaunted all the same.

She however just said “Oh,” as if that made perfect sense and then studied him more critically. Then her face split into the widest, most mischievous grin, Damian had ever seen (and he lived with Jason). A little nervous he took a step back even as Alix leaned forward and said, “We kill Lila!”

“Alix, no!” Marinette cried.

“Alix, yes!” Alix cried grabbing Damian’s shoulders before he could even begin to process what was happening as she said in a hissing voice, “Come! We have murder to plan!”

“No murder!” Marinette cried, even as Damian threw her hands off of him.

“First,” he said coldly, “Never touch me again. Second, I assume you have a strategy?”

Alix cackled and led him to the café even as Marinette screamed in frustration.

---------------------------------------

“So,” Kathryn said once they were all seated at the Museum’s outdoor café, “Who is this Lila and why are we trying to kill her?”

Damian remained silent as he watched the Parisians. They had only ordered drinks, because apparently the best bakery in Paris was catering their “Getting to Know You Party” later. So he sipped his as he watched Marinette tense, and Alix huff in frustration. It seemed, that now her adrenaline from the game was spent, the roller blading menace was ready to be serious. But it was Marinette who began the story.

“Lila,” she said simply, “Is a compulsive liar in our class. The only way to ensure that she didn’t akumatize anyone from Gotham was to pair her with the worst French speaker in your class, because she doesn’t know a lick of English no matter what she might claim.”

“When she first came here,” Alix said anger dripping from her every word, “She would tell all of these crazy stories about the places she’s been, and the celebrities she’s met. Of course, none of us actually believed her. We actually personally know a lot of the celebrities she likes to name drop so we always knew she was lying. We thought it was just some sort of game she liked to play, so we entertained her. It wasn’t doing any harm.”

“I never liked the game,” Marinette said as she stirred her coffee. “So I asked her to stop, and she threatened me. It was the only time she’s ever been completely honest.”

Alix took a deep calming breath, an action which Damian was quickly learning to associate with deep negative emotions from the Parisians. “That’s when her lies became a little less obvious,” she said, “She started sneaking subtler lies in with her obvious ones, slowly turning the class against Marinette. Started framing her for stealing, cheating, and bullying. Things like that.”

“She almost got me expelled,” Marinette said into her cup. And Damian couldn’t stop the shock from spreading across his face.

“Are you saying that your teachers believed her?” Damian demanded. He had only known this girl for an hour and a half, but already he felt that her being anything other than a model student was just preposterous.

But Marinette didn’t seem to register his outrage as she just shrugged and said, “The principle is more worried about funding and press than justice,” she said, “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but Mlle. Bustier is a bit naive. Mlle. Mendeleiev is great, and she doesn’t let Lila get away with anything. But Mlle. Bustier…”

“That woman needs her license revoked,” Alix said in a huff, “And she probably would have by now if it wasn’t for Hawkmoth.”

“So?” Kathryn said leaning forward, “What happened?”

“Adrien,” Marinette said with a sigh of exhaustion, “Another classmate. Apparently, he talked to her, made a deal with her to back off. He told me about it as if it was this grand gesture on his part. But basically, it boils down to, he lets her do whatever she wants as long as she doesn’t directly target me.” Marinette rolled her eyes, “His heart's in the right place, but his arrows don’t always hit their marks if you know what I mean.” The Gothamites nodded and then gestured for the girls to continue.

“So anyway,” Alix said, “Later, Lila comes forward and admits that she lied. Claims she has a mental disorder that forces her to lie. Only, that night Marinette goes home and does a crap-ton of research on mental illnesses and lying and guess what?”

“There’s no such thing,” Damian said with a sneer.

Marinette just shook her head, “Compulsive lying is a symptom of many different illnesses, mainly OCD and psychopathy. But neither force the individual to lie. The person is always conscious of what they are doing, and can chose differently given that they are actively working towards their mental health.”

“And when Marinette presented her research,” Alix said, “The class basically split in two. The enablers who think the best way to help Lila is to humor her. And the intelligent people, who are just sick and tired of her crap.”

“Me, Chloe, Sabrina, Alix, and Juleka are the most outspoken members of the Intelligent,” Marinette explained. “Alya, Rose, and Mylene are the most outspoken of the Enablers. Everyone else falls on a sliding scale in between. But of course, none of this would even be a problem it is wasn’t for Hawkmoth.”

“Yeah,” Alix said sipping her coffee, “Hawkmoth has everybody thrown out of whack. I mean how do you in good conscious call someone out for being an idiot, when they’re enough of an idiot to let that akumatize them.”

“Next thing you know,” Marinette said, “You're running through the city with a horribly dressed flying fox demon on your tail.”

Both girls groaned and sipped their drinks, as Damian exchanged a look with Kathryn. Finally, Damian asked the question that had been plaguing him since the moment he had heard the name Hawkmoth, “What about the Justice League? Why hasn’t anyone called them in?”

“Screw the League,” a harsh voice called out, and the party turned to see Chloe and Sabrina with Alice and Will following behind.

“Chloe,” Marinette said instantly brighter, “You’re done early. I thought you would be dragging your feet in there.”

“Chloe helped me make the scavenger hunt so she can’t participate,” Sabrina said sliding into the chair beside Marinette. “So, we decided to do a walking tour with our partners instead.”

Everyone then introduced themselves, with Damian being introduced to Chloe last. They stared at each other with narrowed eyes before huffing simultaneously and sipping their drinks. The rest of the group giggled at that before Alice said, “What do you mean, ‘screw the League?’ I know some of them are blowhards, but they do have some powerful magic users. They can help.”

Chloe sniffed derisively, but the rest of the Parisians became somber. They looked to Chloe almost as if asking for her permission before she nodded. Then Marinette cleared her throat and said,

“It was three years ago, at the beginning of this…mess. At first all of the akumas were level 1-4s. Powerful and scary but not dangerous. No casualties, and they always had limited goals. It was very rare for them to effect more than ten people. Then…then we got our first level eight, Dark Cupid.”

“I saw him in my research,” Damian said stiffly, “I couldn’t understand why he was put so high, all of the other level eights had a death count in the high thousands, but his wasn’t even in the high hundreds.”

Sabrina nodded emphatically, her face contorted with pain, “Yes. The akumas are categorized by the damage they do. Which means that the higher akumas are rated by their death count. 5 is 1-1,000. 6 is 1,000-10,000. 7 is 10,000-1 million. 8 is 1 million-10 million. 9 is 10 million to 1 billion. and 10 is anything high than a billion.”

“But there are other kinds of damage that rank just as high as death,” Marinette said as she reached over to grip Chloe’s hand which was starting to shake. “When those akumas happen on a wide scale, they are usually ranked higher.”

“And Dark Cupid was one of those?” Kathryn asked.

“I read about him too,” Alice said leaning forward. “There weren’t any fight videos of him on the blog, but it said that he made people feel the opposite of their true emotions. What does that even mean?”

The girls took a deep breath and looked to Chloe again. She just nodded as she stared numbly into her coffee. It was Alix who spoke, “Dark Cupid was a boy whose Valentine humiliated him. So he made people feel the opposite of their true emotions. Love turned to hate. Hate turned to love.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Damian said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh!” Will cried, horror etched over his face. “Oh, that…that’s awful!”

“What?” Kathryn demanded.

Marinette sighed and looked them in the eyes. There was something hard and cold in her gaze, and it seeped into her voice as she said, “Imagine the person you love the most. The person you trust the most, parent, sibling, partner, spouse, being struck with a black arrow and then turning against you. They are consumed with a burning obsessive hatred for you and everything else they love. What do you think would happen?”

Damian paled at the thought. He could imagine it. He didn’t want to, but he could see it happening. His family sitting down to dinner, suddenly struck from behind…and then turning on him. It was a horrible image and he wanted to forget he ever saw it, but Marinette was not done.

“Now, imagine the person you hate. You’re worst enemy, and the same thing happens to them. Except now, with love. Or perhaps more accurately…lust. You’re enemy filled with an obsessive drive to ‘love’ you, just as your loved ones are filled with an obsessive drive to hate you. What do you think happens then?”

Damian was suddenly very glad that he had not eaten anything, because he was going to throw up. The images that Marinette was painting for them. They were horrible. They were gruesome, and disgusting on so many levels. And…and they had lived through that. He looked up and saw it. All four of these girls had faced that. Spouses turning on their partners. Parents turning on their children. Friends turning on their friends. All on a day when they were supposed to be celebrating their love and trust. And then to add their enemies into the mix…

“Only 136 dead,” Sabrina said solemnly, “But over three million reports of assault and battery, and over ten thousand reported rapes, and sexual assaults. And those were just the people who came forward.”

“We called the Justice League,” Chloe said as a single tear fell down her quivering jaw. “We broke their website begging for help, once the Miraculous Cure passed through. But they never answered.”

“Three more akumas were created because of that,” Marinette said squeezing Chloe’s hand as Sabrina wrapped her arms around her. “Eventually Ladybug gave a press release saying she got in contact with an International member, but she didn’t say whom. Here,” Marinette pulled up a video on YouTube and showed it to them. “You can watch that later. It basically says that miraculous matters are miraculous matters, and the Justice League will not be coming unless it’s a level 11 akuma.”

“Level 11?” Kathryn squeaked.

“Yeah,” Alix said with an amused huff, “Otherwise known as the ‘How in God’s Name are You Still Alive!’ Protocol.”

“If either Ladybug, or Chat Noir ever lose their Miraculous to Hawkmoth. Then the other is to retreat and go into hiding, while every citizen still alive in Paris spams the Justice Leagues number until someone shows up,” Marinette said with a small smile. “It hasn’t happened yet, but we’ll be prepared if it does.”

“Were you?” Alice looked at the shaking Chloe, her voice hesitant and soft. “I’m sorry but you told me that you used to have a lot of enemies. So…were you…um…”

Chloe sniffed and straightened, she was as rigid as a bored, but her chin was up and her jaw was set. Her eyes had not lost their fire as she scoffed and said, “Kwami no, no one touched me during Dark Cupid. I was the bitch who caused the whole thing.”

The Gothamites blinked. “What?” Damian demanded.

“You heard me,” Chloe said firmly squeezing Marinette’s hand. “Dark Cupid. The most emotionally scaring akuma aside from Sand Boy. I caused him. I was the dumb bitch who humiliated the boy and made Valentines day banned in Paris! It was my fault.”

“Chloe—” Sabrina began, but the heiress silenced her by leaning forward and growling,

“I caused more akumas, and suffering in this city, then Joker has probably done in a year. Everyday I wake up knowing that I am probably the most despicable being on the planet. But you know what? Everyday I wake up and decide to change that. It will never be enough. I will never undo the damage I did to Paris. But damn it, I’m trying! And I’m not alone.

“This is Paris. If you haven’t been an akuma, you’ve caused one, and no one is immune. Not even angels who are too good for this world like, Sabrina and Marinette heaven help them! So everyday we wake up knowing that we are villains! But every day we wake up and we swear we are going to do better. We make amends and we try. We’re all monsters, but we all have one enemy, and that’s the idiot who thinks he can put chains on monsters and not get bit!”

Chloe was seething now. Her teeth bared. Her eye wide. But she was still in control, and she stared them all down with the deadly force of a lioness. It quelled any arguments, pinning the Gothamites to there seats. As she roughly wiped the tears from her eyes, she declared,

“So yeah, screw the Justice League. As far as I’m concerned, they can all go and suck it! This is Paris, and we clean up our own messes. Besides even if they did show up, there’s nothing they can do. Ladybug is right, this is a Miraculous problem to be solved by Miraculous Holders.”

“Besides,” Sabrina said in a far gentler tone, “Do any of you really want to see and akumatized Superman? Or Batman?”

Everyone shivered at the thought, even Damian. He then drew in on himself as he thought about everything they had said. Lila. Hawkmoth. Dark Cupid. Chloe. The Justice League. Not all of his questions were answered, not by a long shot. But then he remembered the scavenger hunt. The pure joy radiating off of the Paris Class as they ran through the Museum. The genuine laughter of the employees at seeing their antics. The bright smiles of the civilians as they walked with their heads held high down the streets. They had been through hell, like Gotham never had. But where Gothamites scurried and scowled they…smiled.

Even now as he looked up to study the four girls before them, they were smiling. Bright, genuine, pure smiles. They laughed as they pulled the Gothamites out of their horror. They cheered as more of their friends joined them from within the museum. It was strange. It was confounding, confusing, and impossible for Damian to comprehend. It was…miraculous.

And so Damian whispered to himself in his heart, "I swear on mantle as Robin, and on my title as the Son of the Bat, and the Demon's Heir, I will do everything in my power to defeat Hawkmoth."

@night-ngale @annastasha @ev-cupcake @hammalammadamdam @laydeekrayzee @itsemmylie @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @doglover82 @raven-ette @atiredartistandacat

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shellyseashell · 11 days

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demon hunter anxelin . . . i am in love with you. because i mentioned anxelin a few days ago, here’s a snippet from a vague scene idea.

Being sentenced to the Isle of the Lost had been an accident. After a lifetime training to control uncontrollable magic, after hours helping Melody hide her scales, hours of helping Natalia hide the glimmer of magic melding with skin, she’s stupidly, idiotically gotten caught herself.

The High Crown was not lenient, but they couldn’t afford to kill her, so only hours after her trial she was stepping onto the foggy delivery dock of the Isle. It was darker on the Isle, colder, and it weighed her down. She knew magic was not eradicated on the Isle, but hers would be weaker without the sun.

She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

The guard on the ship waved to a Guard on the dock. “A new prisoner,” the guard called. “Princess Ann Fitzherbert. Illegal magic. Her trial was earlier today.”

The Guard nodded. “The Archbishop will sort it out.”

Frollo. He meant Frollo. She didn’t know, fully, what he’d done, but she knew enough. Zephyr’s entire family had fled Paris because of him.

Barely glancing at her, the Guard grabbed her arm and began marching her through the Isle. She tried to shake off his grip, but it remained strong.

She’d never seen pictures of the Isle. She wasn’t sure it was legal to take any; there were never pictures in the records they stole.

It was a desolate place, dark and crumbling. As they reached what Anxelin assumed was the center, the buildings got bigger, and only slightly less run down. This must be where the Guards and Frollo’s little band of nobles lived.

She was led into one of the bigger of these buildings and led through winding halls. Finally, the Guard knocked on a door.

“Come in.”

Anxelin liked to think she was not an anxious person. She was Crown Princess of Corona, holder of the Sundrop, lieutenant of the Coalition, a Guild spy. She didn’t get scared.

She’d never been more terrified.

The room was small and bare, and in the middle, behind a desk, sat Claude Frollo. His gaze roved over Anxelin, and she had an intense urge to push him off a cliff. Frollo raised a brow at the Guard. “What is this?”

“A new prisoner, sir. Princess Ann Fitzherbert; illegal magic. Her trial was only a few hours ago.”

Frollo frowned. “I see.” He stood, circling the desk to talk to her more directly. She glared. “Without notice, I’m unable to assign you living quarters or a job. Stay in the City Center until something is worked out.” Frollo smiled, sending chills down Anxelin’s spine. “And please, my child, attend my sermons. They will save your soul.”

Anxelin would definitely not be doing any of that. Her sentence may have been accidental, but she had priorities now.

She was dumped on the front steps. Below her was a desolate town square, surrounded by buildings that were likely administrative. Directly in front of her was a gallows, and below that, a girl in the stocks.

Ignoring the gallows, Anxelin descended the steps and approached the stocks. The girl was around Ruby’s age. She was too short for the stocks; crates had been stacked under her feet so she could reach.

Red eyes watched her approach. “Are you new?” Anxelin nodded. “Your clothes are too clean.”

Anxelin glanced down at her dress. She hadn’t had time to change between her trial and shipment, nor the knowledge of what an adequate disguise would be. Finding new clothes was high on her priority list.

“Why are you in the stocks?”

The girl couldn’t shrug, but Anxelin got the impression anyway. “They don’t like my family.”

Anxelin frowned. “That’s hardly fair.” Lockpicking had been one of the first things her father taught her, so she began examining the lock around the girl’s arms. She didn’t know who her family was, or what they’d done, but they were clearly magical. That was enough for her.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” the girl said. “My cousin will be here soon.”

“You’ll be meeting them early, then.”

The lock came undone with a pop, and then the girl was free. She was even smaller than Anxelin thought before.

She ran right past Anxelin. Not wanting her first act in prison to be letting a little kid get killed, she turned to follow her. And came face to face with another girl. This one was older, only a year or two younger than Anxelin herself, with teal hair and bright yellow eyes.

The cousin, she assumed.

“Maddy!” The young girl exclaimed. “She helped me get out. She’s new.”

Maddy looked her up and down. “What got a rich kid like you stuck here?”

“Illegal magic.”

“How vague,” Maddy drawled.

“Was it murder?” the young girl asked.

“It’s the official sentencing,” Anxelin replied, ignoring Maddy's cousin. “You don’t need to know the specifics.”

Maddy looked at her with something bordering on approval. “For freeing Mars, I’ll help you find your assigned quarters, and I can put in a good word for you with whatever gang is nearest.”

“Oh, I don’t have any. My trial was too soon for that sort of thing.” She rocked back on her heels, taking note of Maddy mentioning gangs. “I don’t suppose you know where Cassandra Gothel lives?”

Maddy stiffened. “Why do you want to know?”

Mars looked between Maddy and Anxelin. She tugged at Maddy’s tattered jacket sleeve, but Maddy ignored her.

“She’s a family friend,” Anxelin answered.

Maddy frowned. “Are you a Fitzherbert?”

Anxelin nodded, a little surprised at Maddy’s guess. “So can you help?”

“I can,” Maddy said slowly. “But if you’re lying, I’ll gut you for my experiments.”

“Fair enough. Lead the way.”

#maddy and anxelin become besties btw #and anxelin becomes a pirate <3 #naia writes #demon hunter au #taking back the night #descendants au #descendants #disney descendants #anxelin fitzherbert #maddy mim #oc: mardella mim

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call-memissbrightside · 2 years

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Katsuki Bakugou woke up in your childhood bedroom.

His heartbeat spiked at the idea of missing first morning call, but the still dark sky told him he had time to figure out why the fuck he decided to have sex with you.

You were passed out next to him in the small bed, pink sheets drowning your naked body. Looking around the room, Bakugou’s heart ached looking at all the photos and trophies you accumulated after years of participating in barrel racing and stock shows throughout your childhood.

The country life fit you like a glove, you were born and raised in it just like he was, yet he never could understand why you chose to leave it all behind to pursue a life in the city.

Peeking to see that you were still sleeping, Katsuki carefully got out of bed and quietly pulled back on his work clothes.

Your suitcase was still on the floor, clothing spilling out of it. A photo caught his eye, and before he could stop himself, his scarred hands tugged it out from under your clothes.

It was a snapshot of you and what he presumed to be your friends in Paris, during a study abroad trip he heard you’d been on.

The sheets stir as you sit up, blinking up at your ex boyfriend.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Bakugou felt embarrassed getting caught snooping.

You shrugged your shoulders, arms holding up the sheet to hide your naked chest.

“I was gonna show you it anyways.”

Katsuki placed the photograph on your night stand, returning to put on his dirty clothes.

You cleared your throat. “You uh… still have a bag of your stuff here in case you wanna shower.”

His red eyes caught how flushed your face became, his memory recalling how he would always have an overnight bag tucked in your closet where your mama wouldn’t find it. He had a habit of sneaking over almost every night while you were dating, and Katsuki would always be the first to show up for work the next morning much to the delight of your unassuming father.

“Thanks,” He grunted, feet taking him where he needed to go.

The hot water did little to ease the tension in Katsuki’s muscles. Thank God your room and bathroom was on the other side of your parents house. The young man shivered at the thought of your daddy catching him in bed with his only daughter.

His head throbbed from what little hangover he now faces after drinking one too many beers the night before. Katsuki can almost smell the smoke from the campfire he and the other farmhands started after a full day of work, a way of cooling down. You showed up with a pack of beer and cheers, everyone excited to have you back after being gone for so long.

Katsuki couldn’t stop staring at you, the girl he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with. He listened in on your silly stories of college, how city folk asked you all sorts of stupid questions about living in the country. It felt like old times, you telling stories around a campfire and him and the other farm hands laughing the night away.

He remembers stumbling back to your room sometime in the night, kissing you like he was a man possessed. Your moans and his grunts were rampant throughout the night, as the steady thump of your bed frame hitting the wall left little to the imagination. It’d been so long since he’d been with anyone, Katsuki’s stomach dropping when he realized the last person he did sleep with was you, before you left him so heartbroken.

Now what was to become of you and him? The question was heavy on his mind when he left the small bathroom and walked across the hall back to your room. Katsuki’s eyebrows raised in confusion when he sees you tugging on your old boots, dressed in jeans and an old flannel that probably was your daddy’s seeming how big it was on you.

“What are ya doing?” His deep voice spooked you, seeing him standing in your doorway.

“Getting ready for chores. I got to skip yesterday since I got back, but daddy would have my hide if I didn’t help today,” you explained.

Katsuki bites his tongue as the both of you walk down to the kitchen, with him sneaking out the back and coming through the front door to ward off any curiosity as to why he was with you.

Yet, his best friend knows what transpired between you and him.

Kirishima is no fool, and when he catches Katsuki's eyes while making a plate of food during breakfast time, he puts two and two together. Katsuki wasn't in his bunk bed when he woke up, and Kirishima just knew.

"You dog," Kirishima remembers to keep his voice low so that the other ranch hands don't over hear. "You couldn't keep it in your pants?"

Katsuki looks down at his plate in shame, and can only provide his friend a shrug.

"You know she's leaving back for school in a few weeks, what were you thinking?" Kirishima was concerned for his dear friend, remembering how distraught Bakugou was when you first left.

"I don't know," The blonde watched you moving around the table, helping your mama serve everyone.

You catch him staring and give him a smile.

Katsuki, despite knowing whatever is happening between you and him would end horribly and break his heart even more, smiled back.

#katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki

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bluehairandproverbs · 5 months

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@hekateinhell Okay so I've been thinking about a lesser-known passage quote from canon that best describes Armand for the ask game and this is what I've got. YMMV on how lesser known this is, but I haven't seen a lot of discussion around these passages from QoTD and I think they're very interesting!

Finally, after a year and a half of this madness, Daniel began to question Armand. What had it really been like in those days in Venice? Look at this film, set in the eighteenth century, tell me what is wrong.

But Armand was remarkably unresponsive. "I cannot tell you those things because I have no experience of them. You see, I have so little ability to synthesize knowledge; I deal in the immediate with a cool intensity. What was it like in Paris? Ask me if it rained on the night of Saturday, June 5, 1793. Perhaps I could tell you I that."

Yet at other moments, he spoke in rapid bursts of the things around him, of the eerie garish cleanliness of this era, of the horrid acceleration of change.

"Behold, earthshaking inventions which are useless or obsolete within the same century-the steamboat, the railroads; yet do you know what these meant after six thousand years of galley slaves and men on horseback? And now the dance hall girl buys a chemical to kill the seed of her lovers, and lives to be seventy-five in a room full of gadgets which cool the air and veritably eat the dust. And yet for all the costume movies and the paperback history thrown at you in every drugstore, the public has no accurate memory of anything; every social problem is observed in relation to 'norms' which in fact never existed, people fancy themselves 'deprived' of luxuries and peace and quiet which in fact were never common to any people anywhere at all."

"But the Venice of your time, tell me. . . ."

"What? That it was dirty? That it was beautiful? That people went about in rags with rotting teeth and stinking breath and laughed at public executions? You want to know the key difference? There is a horrifying loneliness at work in this time. No, listen to me. We lived six and seven to a room in those days, when I was still among the living. The city streets were seas of humanity; and now in these high buildings dim-witted souls hover in luxurious privacy, gazing through the television window at a faraway world of kissing and touching. It is bound to produce some great fund of common knowledge, some new level of human awareness, a curious skepticism, to be so alone."

I think this is so interesting! Now I don't necessarily doubt that it's challenging for him to explain to Daniel how a film set in the 18th century is accurate or not accurate, but I think he demonstrates here that he can compare the past to the present quite well, and tell you what has changed beyond the technology. He seems to be a very keen observer! Later the the chapter, he again shows us that his finger is right on the pulse of the zeitgeist:

Then had come the night when Armand said he was ready to enter this century in earnest, he understood enough about it now. He wanted "incalculable" wealth. He wanted a vast dwelling full of all those things he'd come to value. And yachts, planes, cars- millions of dollars. He wanted to buy Daniel everything that Daniel might ever desire.

As you can see, he fully embraces his inner Material Girl the materialism and consumerism of the era here.

#ask game #vampire chronicles #the vampire armand #queen of the damned #i'm sure there's more to say here but my brain isn't cooperating

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sequinsmile-x · 6 months

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Accords

A prenup.

Her mother wanted her to sign a fucking prenup.

-x-

Hi friends,

Couldn't really tell you where this one came from. It's an idea I've vaguely referred to in fics before, but last night when I was trying to sleep this came to me in a fully fledged fic and here we are!

Hope you like it, and as always please let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: None

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily blows out a steady breath as the car stops, the silence they’d travelled in only gets louder as the engine turns off. She stares at her mother’s house before she closes her eyes and groans, pressing the back of her head into the headrest of her car seat. She hears a gentle chuckle from next to her while she feels Aaron wrap his hand around hers, squeezing as he links their fingers together.

“It will be okay, sweetheart,” he says, lifting their joint hands to his lip to kiss her knuckles, his smile soft when she opens her eyes to look at him, “It’s dinner.”

“And wedding planning,” she grumbles, unable to stop the smile that breaks free across her face, the mention of their upcoming wedding something that never failed to make joy bloom in her chest, “It’s dinner and wedding planning.”

It had been over a year and a half since Aaron had proposed. She still remembered it like it was yesterday. He’d involved Penelope in the set-up, her friend delighted to be part of the plan, and had her call Emily back to work after she’d only been home for less than an hour. She remembers her fury, the annoyance that burned through her and kept her warm as she drove back to the office that cold winter night, her plans for an hour alone in the clawfoot bathtub in their house ruined because her boyfriend wanted her to look over some paperwork. The irritation had faded the moment she stepped into the bullpen. It was empty, the lights off, the only glow coming from Aaron’s office.

When she stepped over the threshold into his office she knew what was happening. There were candles everywhere and he was standing there, a nervous smile on his face as if he was worried she’d say no as he told her that he loved her. Then he got down on one knee in the place where they’d first met, a ring in his hand and a promise of forever on his lips.

She’d said yes, tears on both of their cheeks as she knelt down in front of him and kissed him, her hands on his cheeks as she held him in place. She’d said right there and then that she didn’t want a long engagement, that she wanted to be his wife as soon as possible, and she’d meant it.

Right up until she was standing in their bathroom holding a positive pregnancy test two weeks later.

She knows they could have simply gone down to city hall, and as she sat on her mother’s driveway with an evening of wedding planning ahead of her she wishes they had, but she couldn’t deny that she wanted a wedding, even if it was smaller than her mother wanted it to be. She wanted to celebrate their love in front of their friends, their family, and she knew she didn’t want to be pregnant whilst they did that. So they waited, Aaron as supportive of her decisions as he always was, and now their son, Lucas, was 11 months old, and the wedding was only a few months away.

There were times when she struggled to believe that this was her life. That she was engaged to the love of her life, and that they were raising their sons together. Sometimes she worried she’d wake up alone in Paris, that the last few years of their lives were some dream that her subconscious had come up with to protect her from the fact everyone she loved thought she was dead.

Aaron hums and kisses her knuckles again, “And that is why I am the designated driver,” he says, winking as he drops her hand so he can unbuckle his seatbelt, “So you can drink as much wine as you want.”

She moans in delight as she undoes her seatbelt, “And that is why I’m marrying you,” she says, smiling at him when he raises an eyebrow at her. They both open the doors and get out of the car, and she winks at him as they both stand, “One of the reasons I’m marrying you.” She walks slower than usual as they approach her mother’s house, and she sighs once more before she rings the bell, leaning into Aaron’s side as he wraps an arm around her, “If she brings up the centrepieces again I’m leaving.”

Aaron laughs and kisses her temple, “Remember, it’s our wedding, sweetheart.”

She chuckles humourlessly, “You try telling her that.”

The door opens and they exchange smiles with Elizabeth’s housekeeper as she lets them into the house. Aaron squeezes Emily’s hip as they walk into the dining room, and she falters when she sees her mother isn’t alone. There’s a man she recognises as her mother’s lawyer, a man called Phillip Stevens, and she immediately feels her shackles go up, her shoulders tensing as she realises something is going on.

“Mother, hi,” she says, smiling as she slips into the seat opposite her mother, Aaron’s hand on her shoulder as he guides the seat out for her, “Phillip, it’s been a long time,” her eyes flick to her mother’s, “I didn’t realise we’d have company tonight.”

“Hello Emily,” Phillip says, clearing his throat as he picks up on the tension in the air, “It’s been a while,” he stands to shake Aaron’s hand, “You must be Aaron Hotchner.”

“Emily’s fiance,” Aaron says as he nods, squeezing Phillip’s hand a little stronger than necessary. He can tell something is wrong, Emily’s shift from reluctance to irritation clear in how straight her back is, in the way she clasps her hands tightly together on the table in front of her, “Phillip was it?”

“Yes, sorry,” the other man answers as they break apart and sit back down, “Phillip Stevens.”

“He’s Mother’s lawyer,” Emily says, her eyes burning into the profile of her mother’s face, painfully aware of how she was avoiding her eye contact. She sighs as she shakes her head, “Look, if this is about a trust fund for the boys again, I’ve told you-”

“It’s not about that, Emily,” Elizabeth says, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived, “You’ve made your feelings about that perfectly clear.”

It was something that Elizabeth had brought up as soon as Emily told her she was pregnant. She was insistent that Emily and Aaron set up trust funds for Jack and Lucas, something Emily had shot down every time it was mentioned. She wanted different for her children, and she knew she’d make sure they were provided and cared for without holding a pot of money over their heads that they could only access at a certain age or if they met certain criteria. Elizabeth hadn’t understood it, they’d argued about it several times over the last 18 months, but Emily hoped that she’d finally let it go, that she respected her parenting choices.

Emily blows out a steady breath, “Then why is Phillip here?” She asks, raising her eyebrow, “I’m assuming he’s not here to talk about flower arrangements.”

“Emily,” Elizabeth chastises, using a tone of voice that she’d used on her when she was a teenager late home from curfew and smelling of vodka. She smiles apologetically at Phillip before she turns back to her daughter and future son-in-law, “Phillip is here to help you draw up a prenup.”

For a moment it's silent. The words hanging heavy in the air around them, making the tension even thicker. Emily almost chokes on it, a humourless laugh escaping as she shakes her head, her lungs filling with disbelief.

A prenup.

Her mother wanted her to sign a fucking prenup.

She feels her irritation catch fire, thrumming under her skin. She knows she’d be annoyed if she had a normal relationship with her mother. The one she’d always secretly craved where she could talk to her about anything, where she could call in the middle of the night because her baby was cranky and she’d tried everything she could think of and she wanted advice. A relationship where they could excitedly be planning for her wedding without the knowledge every little thing would turn into an argument or, apparently, an evening drawing up an agreement she wanted no part of.

“There are plenty of standard agreements,” Phillip starts, pulling paperwork out of his briefcase.

“A prenup?” She asks, cutting over Phillip as she places her hand on Aaron’s knee under the table, squeezing tightly, her nails digging into his skin through the material of his pants.

“Yes, Emily,” Elizabeth repeats, “I’ve been speaking to Phillip, and given the…disparities between your and Aaron’s financial situations I thought it was best-”

“You thought it was best?” Emily asks incredulously, “You thought it was best to trick us into coming here under the guise of wedding planning to try to convince me to pull together a fucking prenup?”

“Emily.” Elizabeth scolds again, looking scandalised at Emily's language, “Phillip is only here to help.”

“We don’t need any help. And we certainly don’t need a prenup,” Emily says firmly, looking at Phillip before she carries on, “I’m sorry my mother wasted your time.”

“I’m just trying to protect you and your interests,” Elizabeth says, staring her daughter down, the two men watching the tense exchange between mother and daughter. Aaron wants to interject, but he knows Emily won’t thank him for it, her preference that he stay out of her clashes with her mother well established.

She didn’t need him to fight her battles for her, she needed him after it was done, both she and her mother always doomed to walk away as losers. She needed his help to sew herself back together, to stitch over wounds that were reopened again and again, a pattern she and Elizabeth were constantly repeating. Their love for each other, despite everything, a curse as much as it was a blessing.

“From who?” She asks, furrowing her brows, “The man I love? The father of my children? The person I own a house with?”

“The person you bought a house for.”

Emily stands up, pushed upwards by her fury, her body moving outside of her control as protection for the man she loves surges through her, “I used the money that was in my trust fund as I chose,” she says, repeating what she’d said countless times, “And both of our names are on the deed.”

“Em,” Aaron says, squeezing her hand, “It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t okay,” she half shouts, her teeth clenched as she blows out a breath, “It isn’t okay,” she looks back at her mother, “We don’t need a prenup.”

The silence is tense again for a moment before Elizabeth clears her throat and turns to look at her friend, “Phillip, would you like to stay for dinner?”

Emily sighs as she sits back down, her jaw tight as she stares at her mother. She had won this particular argument, but she knew it was far from over.

___

Dinner is awkward.

It’s a long, painful, couple of hours filled with small talk and comments from Elizabeth that Emily tries to let wash over her. They leave as soon as they can, the goodbyes they exchange tense and uncomfortable.

Emily exchanges a smile with Jessica as they arrive home, thanking her for looking after the boys for the evening. She excuses herself to go upstairs, desperate to see her sons, to ease some of the tightness in her chest that only her mother could create. She sneaks into Jack’s room first, careful as she sits on the edge of his bed so she doesn’t wake him. She smiles as she straightens his covers around his shoulders and runs her fingers through his hair.

She may not have given birth to him, but he was the boy who’d made her a mother. She’d fallen in love with him before she’d fallen in love with Aaron. It was easy to love Jack, uncomplicated and all-consuming. He was the one who taught her that she could love that way, a maternal kind of love she thought she must have been born without, a part of her that she worried was missing because her mother had never really had it.

She sighs as she leans down to kiss his forehead, “Love you, sweet boy,” she whispers, kissing him again before she stands up, looking at him once more before she slips out of the room.

She opens the door to the nursery and smiles as she spots Lucas standing up in his crib, she laughs as she walks in and closes the door behind her before switching on the main light. The little boy smiles at her and makes grabbing motions with his fists, babbling in a way that was so close to Mama but it made her ache.

“You should be sleeping, mister,” she says as she walks across the room. She reaches into the crib and picks him up, lifting her into her arms, “Mommy missed you tonight.”

She’d been terrified most of her pregnancy. Her doctor’s warnings that her age and her medical history could make it difficult always in the back of her mind whenever she felt a twinge or whenever she had an appointment. She’d cried when they found out they were having a boy, a reaction she knows she would have had no matter what they were told. She remembered holding him for the first time, her body exhausted and pushed to its absolute limit as she was handed her screaming, bright red little boy. The love instantaneous and overwhelming, a feeling that had never faded, growing day by day instead, forever growing outwards.

She’d do anything for him and Jack. Her love for them unlimited and unconditional.

Lucas rests his head on her chest, one of his hands tangling in her hair and the other in the neckline of her blouse. She rubs his face against her and she sighs contentedly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before she sits in the loveseat they kept in his room, the place she’d nursed him for those long first nights of having a newborn.

“Did you miss, Mommy? She asks, running her hand up and down his back as he lays on her chest, “Is that why you’re still awake?”

“He always misses you when you’re not around.”

She looks up and sees Aaron standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his face. She hums and kisses the top of Lucas’s head again, “I always miss him too.”

Aaron closes the door and walks over to them. He sits next to her on the loveseat. He kisses Lucas’s temple before he wraps his arm around Emily and places his other hand on their son’s back over hers.

“Are you okay?” He asks, making sure to keep his voice quiet so they could get Lucas to fall asleep. Emily sighs and she rests her cheek on top of her son’s head and she turns to look at Aaron.

“I love him and Jack so much I physically ache, Aaron,” she says, her lips pressed together as she briefly closes her eyes, “Sometimes it physically feels like it hurts, like there is a hole in my chest because my heart is walking around outside of my body…” she opens her eyes to look at him, “I love them.”

He nods. He’s heard what she hasn’t said, what she never says, so much of her relationship with her mother something that went unspoken.

“She does love you, Em,” he says, running circles on her shoulder with his thumb. She sighs and lifts her head, her smile tight and sad as she looks at him.

“She has a funny way of showing it,” she replies, shaking her head, “She didn’t tell us what her plan was for tonight because she knew I’d say no.”

“It’s her way of showing she cares,” he says, squeezing her shoulder when she frowns at him, her grip on a now half-asleep Lucas getting tighter, “I’m not saying she goes about it the right way,” he adds, watching how she deflates, how the fight drains out of her, “But it’s her way of caring,” he pauses, clearing his throat as he chooses his words carefully, not wanting to upset her any more than she had already been that evening, “Maybe we should get one.”

She frowns at him, “A prenup?” She asks, and her frown deepens when he nods. She clenches her jaw and looks straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with him as she looks down at their son, “No. I don’t want one.”

“Em-”

“I said I don’t want one,” she says harshly, having to stop herself from yelling at him, partially because she’s got her son asleep on her chest, partially because she knows it’s not Aaron she’s actually mad at, “We don’t need one,” she looks at him again, and the sadness in her eyes makes his heart ache, “You don’t think we need one do you?”

He sighs and pulls her closer to him, “I never thought I’d break up with Haley,” he says, feeling how she tenses against him, her eyes wide and shining as she scoffs in disbelief, “Not that I think anything is going to happen to us, sweetheart, I’m just saying things happen sometimes that we can’t control. And I don’t want you to regret anything.”

The thought of things going wrong between them makes her want to cry. They’d both been through too much already, had more than their fair sure of heartbreak and tragedy, and whilst she would never have dubbed herself as a romantic before him, she does believe in their happy ending. In the life they had now.

“Even if…” she trails off, unable to bring herself to say it, to even put it out into the universe that their marriage could end before they’d even got married, so instead she clears her throat and starts again, “If the worst happened, I wouldn’t want to fight over money, or what was mine or yours,” she says, unhooking one of her arms from around Lucas so she can cup Aaron’s cheek, “This is our home, and we bought it with our money,” she says, smiling sadly, “Nothing would ever change that.”

He turns his head to kiss her palm, “Em…”

“Jack was just yours when we met,” she says, equating everything else they had to the thing that she believed made them truly well off - their family, “Would that be any less true if we weren’t together anymore?”

He frowns, his eyebrows knitting together at the absurdity of the question, “Of course not.”

She smiles as she runs her knuckles down his jawline, feeling the roughness of his stubble coming through against her skin, “Then why would something as unimportant as money be any different.”

Aaron nods, the heaviness of the conversation as overwhelming for him as it was for her, and he kisses her hand one more time before she places it back on Lucas’s back.

“What about if we just did it to appease your mother?” Aaron suggests, “We both know she won’t drop it.”

Emily chuckles and rests her head on the back of the loveseat behind her, “Honey, if I made decisions just to appease my mother I would have married someone she approved of back in my mid-twenties,” she says, her smile playful for the first time all evening, “I wouldn’t be marrying my boss nor would I have had his baby out of wedlock.”

He raises his eyebrow at her, “Is this your way of telling me your mother doesn’t approve of me?” He jokes and she laughs, shaking her head lovingly at him.

“She would have wanted me to get a prenup even if I’d married someone she chose for me,” she says, and he knows thats where some of her resistance to the idea comes from, the fact it’s a reflection of a life she never wanted, of the person she never truly was. “She likes you, I think she likes you better than she likes me, she’s just…” she blows out a breath, “I don’t think she’ll ever let go of the person she wanted me to be,” she smiles sadly at him and shrugs. She looks down at her son, at his innocent face as he sleeps against her, a patch of drool on her blouse, and she sighs again, “Just like I’ll always hope one day she’ll be the mom I want.”

He cups her cheek and makes her look at him, and he leans in to kiss her, his lips firm and loving against hers. He smiles as he pulls back, his thumb delicate against her cheek as he strokes her skin.

“Our boys are lucky to have you.”

She beams at him, any compliment about her ability as a mother her favourite. Comments she’d store away for the days when it felt like she was failing at everything.

“Thank you,” she replies, stamping her lips against his, “They are lucky to have you too,” she kisses him once more and rests her head on his shoulder, sinking into his embrace as he holds both her and their youngest son. She yawns and he chuckles.

“Want me to put him in his crib?” He says, kissing the top of her head, “So you can go to bed?”

She shakes her head and holds Lucas impossibly closer, not quite wanting to let him go, “Not yet,” she says, breathing in her son, the scent of his no tears shampoo, “I want to stay here for a bit.”

Aaron nods, never one to deny her anything, and he rests his cheek on the top of her head, “We can stay here as long as you want, sweetheart.”

-x-

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celestiall0tus · 2 months

Text

Lady and the Scoundrel - Chapter 4 - Breaking News

Beginning || Previous || Next

Chloe sat in a library for study hall. She worked on her assignments alone when Barkk burst into the silent library. Everyone turned to stare at Barkk while Chloe hid herself behind a book.

“Chloe! Did you see the news?” Barkk whined.

Chloe flinched. “No. No, I didn’t.”

Barkk stood beside Chloe and pulled out her phone. Chloe’s eyes widened seeing a news report of a bank heist. She skimmed the report and saw a blurry photo of a man in a black cat themed prince outfit.

“What the-?” Chloe started.

“A bank has been robbed by a supervillain!” Barkk howled.

Gasps tore through the library as it buzzed from the other students. Chloe grabbed Barkk’s tie and pulled her down.

“Was that a holder?” Chloe whispered.

“It had to be. I’m also sure it’s Plagg, the black cat kwami of destruction.”

“Wait, wasn’t that Chat Noir’s kwami?”

“Not anymore. Chat Noir has a new kwami. His old one is with someone new.”

“And this person is out there robbing banks?”

“Apparently.”

“This isn’t good, you know that, right?”

“Well, what can be done? He’s a holder. He has free reign. It’s not like any mortal can hurt him.”

Chloe’s eyes widened and she smiled. “No, but another holder can.”

Barkk gasped. “Wait, you aren’t suggesting-!”

“Cheri, it’s perfect. This is my chance. A chance I thought I’d never have again. I can finally prove myself a hero.”

“But, Chloe, should we? Or rather, should you? You have enough with school and trying to adjust.”

“That’ll come later, but this, this won’t. C’mon, I can be a hero again, like when I was Queen Bee. I can finally prove myself worthy.”

“You don’t need to prove yourself worthy though.”

“Yes, I do. I had Pollen taken from me because I revealed who I was. But I still tried my best to be good, to be a hero. I hoped Ladybug would give me a second chance, but she never did. Then she gave Kagami a second chance knowing Kagami revealed her identity. I was furious and… and helped our enemy.”

Barkk’s pigtails drooped.

“I know I’ll always be worthy to you, but I need to prove it to myself. I betrayed everyone. Ladybug, Chat Noir, the whole city of Paris. I may not be in Paris, London may not know who Chloe Bourgeois is, but this is my chance. I have a fresh start, a second chance thanks to Velze. I’ll make sure to make things right.”

Barkk sighed, then smiled. “Alright, alright. You have me on board. What’s the plan?”

“We sneak out after lights out. If we’re lucky, we’ll come across him.”

“And when we do?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess pelt him with arrows until he runs scared with his tail between his legs.”

Barkk hummed. “Simple. I like it. Just don’t strike anywhere vital.”

“About that. Are you sure there’s no way I can dull the arrows?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t exactly want to hurt anyone. Not anymore. I’ve done that enough. So, can I, I dunno, hit them and something happen that isn’t it piercing them?”

“Well, I suppose? I never thought of my arrows doing much else other than making people fall in love or killing.”

Chloe paled. “Cheri, please. I really don’t want to hurt him. Villain or not.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Just, give me time to figure out what to do.”

“How long will that take though?”

“Just a few hours. I should have something put together as a first prototype when we head out later. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Good. Cover for me.”

Chloe opened her mouth as Barkk ran out the door. She sighed and returned to her assignments.

Chloe returned to her dorm for lights out. She looked around her room but didn’t see Barkk. She pursed her lips and stepped in. She dressed down for bed when Barkk materialized. She jumped, then scowled.

“What the heck, Barkk? Where were you? And you need to be careful doing that.”

“I know, I know, but it’s just easier.”

“What’s easier?”

“Yes. Anyway, I have a prototype arrow available.”

“Thank goodness. What can it do?”

“Well, it doesn’t kill.”

“Barkk.”

“Ok, ok. It’s a dulled arrow filled with a fog. Whatever it hits will release the fog that disorients those caught in it. Just, uh, one condition.”

“What’s the condition?”

“Well, it needs to be related to, well, me. So, the fog sorta, you know, uh, makes those in the fog, uh, fall for the first person they see.”

“What? Barkk!” Chloe screeched.

“I’m sorry! It was that or make them really, well, in the mood. If you catch my drift.”

“Seriously? Couldn’t you have made it literally anything else? Aren’t there more types of loves than just romantic?”

“Well, yes, but that’s the thing. You don’t know which love it’ll be. So, hey, maybe you’ll get lucky and it’ll just be another friend.”

“And if I’m not?”

“Uh, do you like boys?”

Chloe groaned. “Ridiculous! Utterly-!”

Chloe took a deep breath as she caught herself. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I… that may be a habit that’ll be hard to kick.”

“It’s ok, Chloe. I did just drop something big, but that is the unfortunate thing. I am love. I can’t be anything other than that, same with everything about me, including my weapons. I wish I could be more, but I can’t.”

“I… understand. I’ll just… still have to be careful.”

“You’re going to need to be anyway. We aren’t what you remember us. We’re stronger, more powerful, everything. It’ll be a whole new experience, but a dangerous one. If you’re ready, you know what you need to say.”

Chloe nodded. She took several deep breaths, then sighed. “Barkk, let’s play.”

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the-delta-42 · 7 months

Text

Pulling the Trigger

Marinette nervously bit her bottom lip; her new school was a boarding school just outside of Paris. Kaalki had agreed to help her get back to the city in the event of an Akuma attack. She’d been forced to change schools after Adrien had gotten her a meeting with his father, Gabriel Agreste, one of Marinette’s idols. In the meeting, Gabriel had torn into Marinette’s designs, belittling them and mocking her choice of style, before tearing into Marinette as a person and her effects on his son and then, quite coldly, informed her that she would never have a future in the fashion industry and if she was ever near his son again, he’d be sure to have her behind bars.

So, here Marinette was, sitting in a hallway, waiting to be called into a classroom full of strangers. No pressure.

PTT

A blonde-haired girl with tanned skin, called Allegra, pulled Marinette through the halls, talking at a mile-a-minute and introducing Marinette to other students along the way.

“Claude, Allen!” Yelled Allegra, waving at a light-skinned boy with brown hair and a dark-skinned boy.

“Who’s this?” Joked the light-skinned boy.

“This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” Said Allegra, making the dark-skinned boy choke on his drink.

“That designer you’re obsessed with?” Asked the boy, as Allegra nodded eagerly, “I’m Allen, this wannabe magician is Claude.”

Marinette waved nervously.

“Sorry, we’re not used to being in the presence of a celebrity.” Said Claude, grinning, “Speaking of, what are your next designs like?”

Marinette winced, “It’s not, I’ve, erm, I’ve kinda been black-listed.”

The three froze.

“Um, can I ask by who?” Asked Allegra, her voice strained.

“Gabriel Agreste.” Responded Marinette, as Allegra sighed in relief.

“Oh, phew, for a moment I thought it was someone relevant.” Said Allegra, “The Gabriel Brand has really gone downhill lately, it doesn’t help that the new model keeps making Adrien look uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, she’s always like that,” Said Marinette, folding her arms, “trust me I went to school with them.”

Allegra froze, and then started squealing.

PTT

Adrien’s leg bounced as he waited for class to start. His father had spoken to him last night about how he had issued a restraining order against Marinette, as well as blacklisting her. He’d made a similar announcement at a social dinner with other fashion designers and members of the elite. His father didn’t like the fact he’d been laughed out of a room.

“Hey, dude!” Greeted Nino, Alya and the rest of the class behind him, “How were your holidays?”

“Could’ve been better.” Said Adrien, glumly.

“How’d things pan out with Marinette?” Asked Alya, smirking slightly.

“Terribly, my father issued a restraining order against her and black-listed her.” Answered Adrien, glaring at the table, “All because Lila claimed Marinette was a stalker and was crazy.”

“Lila, said that?” Asked Alya, in disbelief.

“She practically gloated about it at the photoshoot, actually,” Said Adrien, looking around for Juleka, “Juleka, I need to borrow some of your makeup.”

“Why?” Asked the Goth, frowning slightly.

Adrien pulled back his sleeve, revealing crescent-shaped scars all along his arm, “Lila got handsy and refused to let go.”

“Didn’t anyone do something?” Asked Rose, tears gathering in her eyes.

“They did, but father,” Adrien spat the word out like it was a curse, “refused to listen to anyone but his precious little Lila.”

Alya looked Lila up on her phone, dread filling her when the only result was her interview and Lila’s social medias.

“The lying bitch.” Said Alya, collapsing into her seat, “Marinette told me, and I didn’t think to check!”

Adrien glared at the table, trying to set it on fire with his gaze, “Father’s lost two of his biggest sponsors because of this.”

Alya frowned, just as Lila walked into the class.

“You guys aren’t going to believe what Marinette did to me!” Whimpered Lila, as everyone in the class glared at her.

“You mean telling us about your lies?” Snapped Alya, burning holes into Lila’s head.

“I’m not a liar!” Gasped Lila, her eyes darting to Adrien with a silent command to defend her.

“What?” Scowled Adrien, glaring at Lila as well, “If you’re expecting me to defend you, that deal only worked while Marinette was still in school.”

Lila gaped like a fish, as Adrien leaned forwards, “You do know that lying to my father made him lose two of his biggest sponsors? The Cheng’s and the Ricca’s cut their contracts immediately. The thing is, they had a little clause in their contracts that should their partnership with my father was ever terminated for whatever reasons, he would have to pay back every penny they gave him?”

Lila continued to gape, before clearing her throat, “Well, my mother is a Ricca, they’ll be back in the fold soon enough.”

“Lila, they’ve started proceedings to claim the mansion and they’re claiming all the bank accounts in my father’s name.” Stated Adrien, “Your lies have practically cost my father everything.”

“What’s going to happen to you?” Asked Nino, breaking his glare form Lila to look at Adrien.

“Father’s been under investigation, and I’ve been moved into a temporary home.” Shrugged Adrien, leaning back in his chair, “I’m not getting my hopes up about anything yet.”

Lila went pale, if Gabriel went under, she could kiss her dreams of being rich, famous and wanted goodbye. Lila’s eyes darted around the room, before she scarpered out and started to make her way home. Perhaps it was time for a fresh start somewhere else, somewhere far away from this mess.

PTT

“I can’t do that!” Protested Marinette, as Allegra stared at her with starry eyes.

“Please?” Begged the girl, forming a pout, “I can ask him for modelling tips, and you can just happen to be in the classroom?”

“That would only succeed in getting you in trouble, Allegra.” Said Felix, a blonde-haired, grey eyed boy a couple seats away from them. Marinette felt she’d met him before.

“Oh, please, Felix,” Sighed Claude, “just because you can’t meet Kitty section doesn’t meant I can’t meet Adrien Agreste.”

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng, Ms. Grey, Mr. Cadabra, Mr. Ricca, please be quiet and face the front.” Said the teacher, making the four flush.

“Sorry.” They all muttered and focused on their books.

The name Ricca niggled in the back of Marinette’s mind, trying to remember where she’d last heard it. Her Nonna’s maiden name was Ricca. Marinette’s mind screeched to a halt, and the girl’s head snapped up and stared at Felix.

“Is there anyone in your family called Gina?” Marinette asked Felix, making the boy look up.

“Yeah, my great-aunt, she travels around the world, why?” Responded Felix, as Marinette gaped at him.

“Her surname wouldn’t happen to be Dupain, would it?” Questioned Marinette, leaning forwards.

Felix frowned, before he made the connection.

“Holy shit.”

PTT

Candence Ricca jumped when the phone went off, she quickly checked the caller ID and frowned when she saw it was Felix.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Asked Candence, before quickly pulling the phone away from her ear.

“Why didn’t you say Great-Aunt Gina had family here?!” Demanded Felix, making Candence sigh.

“Rolland doesn’t want to be part of the family, Felix-” Felix cut her off.

“No, not him, Aunt Gina’s son and granddaughter!” Said Felix, making Candence frown.

“I thought they were still in China.” Mused Candence, as the dog ran behind her, chasing the cat.

“Marinette’s attending my school!” Said Felix, making Candence freeze.

“Felix,” Said Candence, her tone serious, “Keep Marinette with you, I’m coming to you.”

“Why?” Asked Felix, confused at his mother’s tone.

“Because we’ve been operating under the assumption that Marinette and her parents died in that plane crash.” Growled Candence, before hanging up.

Candence grabbed her coat and walked out the door towards her car.

PTT

Marinette stared at Felix’s phone. She and her parents were believed to be dead? But they weren’t. They were alive. Weren’t they? Marinette pinched herself, wincing as her nails dug into the skin on the back of her hand. Nope, definitely not dead.

“Any idea what that was supposed to be about?” Asked Felix, looking at Marinette.

“This is the first I’ve heard of being dead.” Shrugged Marinette, frowning, “Unless everyone’s actually dead and this is the afterlife.”

“The afterlife fucking sucks.” Said Felix, before looking at his phone, “Should we head outside and meet her, or should we just wait for the wardens to collect us for death row?”

Everyone stared at Felix.

“Boy, you’re a freak.” Said Claude, after a moment had passed.

The sound of squealing tyres made them look towards the window, a woman with brown hair and forest green eyes all but charged out of the car, while a chauffeur calmly started reading a book.

Felix shrunk slightly, Candence was tall and boarder line intimidating and the impassive expression on her face was usually reserved for the paparazzi. Candence stopped in front of her son and looked down at the, ridiculously, short girl next to him. A familiar pair of blue eyes stared back up at her.

“Marinette?” Murmured Candence, frowning.

“Hi?” Marinette gave a small wave.

Candence grabbed her face and looked either side of Marinette’s head. After letting Marinette go, she turned to Felix, “Wait here.”

Marinette and Felix watched Candence stalk over to the school’s receptionist. A moment later, both of them were in the back of the car Candence arrived in, while Candence was snarling down her phone in Italian. Marinette prided herself on how much Italian she’d learnt from her Grandmother, but now she was silent in shock at the number of profanities coming from Candence’s mouth.

The car came to a stop and Candence hopped out and stalked into a building. Marinette paled that the bakery, before sinking into her seat in an attempt to hide from any passers-by. Felix idly watched his mother speaking with one of the bakery’s owners, a short Asian woman who looked confused. His mother’s posture relaxed, before she calmly made her way back to the car. Opening the door, she gestured for Felix and Marinette to get out. Marinette rushed into the bakery as fast as she could, in an attempt to avoid being seen.

“Marinette?” Asked Sabine, as Felix and Candence came in after her.

“Hi?” Marinette waved.

“What’s this about?” Asked Sabine, looking at Candence, “I’m not sure I understand what you meant when you said we’re ‘supposed to be dead’.”

“You were in a plane crash, ten years ago.” Said Candence, “The majority of my family were under the impression that you, Tom and all five of your children were on board.”

Marinette frowned, “What do you mean ‘five’? The only siblings I have are Michael, Skye and Toby.”

Sabine groaned, before locking the Bakery door and leading the group upstairs.

“This is going to take a while.” Muttered Sabine, as they entered the apartment.

PTT

Adrien shifted uncomfortably as Chris ran around being chased by the twins. The rest of the class were scattered around the living room, Chloé was hugging her legs to her chest, in an attempt to prevent either Chris or the twins from touching her.

“Why are we here again?” Complained Chloé, getting scowls from most of the group.

“Chloé, you weren’t invited, you just followed Adrien here.” Said Alix, leaning back against the sofa.

Chloé huffed, but didn’t say anything.

“We’re here to figure out how to get Adrien’s dad to withdraw the restraining order and blacklist on Marinette.” Said Alya, “She’d do the same for us. Now, we need to focus on what Lila said to him and how we can disprove it.”

Meanwhile, across Paris in Gabriel’s office, Gabriel was fighting off an incoming headache.

“The Chengs and the Riccas are willing to come back to the table if you reverse you decision on Dupain-Cheng’s restraining order and Blacklist status.” Said Nathalie, standing by the door, “It would seem your attempt to akumatize her has failed. Again.”

Gabriel groaned, but Nathalie found she had little sympathy for him, “There’s also the matter of Mlle. Rossi, she’s at risk of being sued for defamation and/or slander by a number of parties. A number of Gabriel employees have now come forward and have reported that Mlle. Rossi has been harassing Adrien during the photoshoots.”

“Release her from her contract, as get M. Hayworth on the phone.” Grumbled Gabriel, as Nathalie sent the various messages off.

“Today couldn’t possibly get any worse.” Muttered Gabriel, taking his glasses off and looking up.

PTT

Hector frowned at the letter in his hand. He’d just posted his notice; he was getting too old to deal with the mayor and having to cave to his whims and wants. He hoped Arthur would accept his request.

Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t tolerate Bourgeois, any of them. He only bowed to their wishes because otherwise the school’s funding would ‘mysteriously’ get cut. But, Arthur’s school was independently funded. It had a lot of wealthy doners, preventing Bourgeois from taking full control of the school for their principle. Hector knew he wasn’t a good man, evidenced by his handling of the Dupain-Cheng-Rossi incident. He acted to hastily, due to the fact that Rossi was shaping up to be another Bourgeois. A headache within a migraine, within another migraine. Hector ignored the pain in his chest, putting his proposal to Arthur in an envelope, before getting to his feet and walking out of the school to find the nearest post box.

PTT

Marinette choked on her drink as she saw the headline on the common room tv.

Local Paris School Principal found dead

Marinette quickly located the remote, before turning up the volume.

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just news,” Said Nadja, to the camera, “Earlier today, Hector Damocles, Principal of College Francais Dupont, was found dead near the Eiffel Tower. Police are not treating his death as suspicious, and believe it to natural causes.”

Marinette stared at Damocles’ picture before it faded away as Nadja moved on to other topics she had to cover.

PTT

Arthur Coleman frowned down at Damocles’ letter to him. The Academy had been looking to expand its reach, as well as find an appropriate campus for ‘day’ students. He decided to put the letter to the side and bring it up at the next governors meeting.

PTT

“Don’t be bemused it’s just news,” Marinette idly listened to the TV in the common room, as she scribbled in her sketch book, “earlier today, Gabriel Agreste, Head designer and owner of the ‘Gabriel’ brand, formally ‘Papillon’, has declared bankruptcy. This occurred after two of his main investors unexpectedly withdrew their support after nearly twenty-five years. Neither Gabriel Agreste nor the investors were available to comment.”

Marinette stared at the TV, before Allegra dropped down onto one of the sofas, “Didja hear the news?”

“You know, you have the powerful ability to chew and swallow before you speak.” Said Felix, snapping his book shut, “But of course, you have to get the first word in, as always.”

Allegra chewed a couple of times, before getting up and walking over to Felix, crouched down to they were level and opened her mouth, showing him the mess of chewed food and saliva, “Blegh!”

Marinette internally groaned, before resting her head against her sketchbook. Claude and Allan were greeted to Felix trying to hit Allegra with his book, with Marinette curled into a ball with her hands over her ears, nursing a headache.

PTT

Adrien stared down at the pile of paper in front of him, “You mean I own everything?”

“More or less.” Said M. Hayworth, “The house, the company, practically everything your father had been using.”

Gabriel scowled as Hayworth spoke.

“If he hadn’t made that ridiculous restraining order, no one would’ve known.”

“Oh.”

“As it stands, your father made illegal modifications to your property, as well as some other, far more serious, charges.” Stated Hayworth, “Mdm. Sancoeur has volunteered to look after you while this matter has been settled.”

“Okay, what were the other charges?” Asked Adrien, making Hayworth sigh, before he cast a dark look at Gabriel.

“It came out that your father has some…connection to Hawkmoth.” Revealed Hayworth.

“What the fucking shit?!”

PTT

Ladybug skidded to a stop on the roof of the police station, before looking up at the detective, “Sorry, I’m late. I had to sneak out of my dorm.”

“You’re in university?” Asked the detective, getting a wince from Ladybug.

“No, I’ve started to attend a boarding school.” Answered Ladybug, rubbing her arm.

“And you’ve snuck out and come here,” Said the detective, slowly, “on a school night?”

“You, erm, you said you had a lead on Hawkmoth.” Excused Ladybug, looking up at them.

“Gabriel Agreste had been allowing Hawkmoth to use modified areas of his home as a lair.” Said the detective, “He’s been cautioned and is currently being questioned. We’ve also made sure to confiscate everything he had on him, minus his clothes and glasses.”

“And you want me to go over the stuff and see if any of them are a miraculous.” Stated Ladybug, getting a nod from the detective. “Okay,” Sighed Ladybug, “let’s do this.”

PTT

“Settle down.” Yelled M. Coleman, looking out at the sea of students, “SILENCE!”

Everyone went quiet, allowing M. Colman to continue, “As everyone knows, the foundations beneath our school has started to degrade and, as we are a private school, we lack the funds to repair it.” Coleman took in the faces of the students in the first few rows, “Which is why we are entering a partnership with College Francois Dupont, allowing us to continue your education while were repair and decided what to do with this campus.”

Some muttering broke out amongst the students.

“As of January, everyone will be attending Dupont.” Said Coleman, “We have been allocated dorms by Dupont, so that any students who live further away from Dupont will still be able to attend and keep with any groups they may have made or joined.”

The muttering started up again, as Coleman walked away from his podium, talking quietly with another member of staff.

PTT

“So,” Said Allegra, looking up at the school, “I guess this is the last time we can look at the dump before we go to your old stomping ground.”

Marinette hummed, “Part of me doesn’t want to go back. I haven’t been in contact with my friends there, I didn’t want to find out if they’d agreed with Adrien’s dad. I mean, I know they probably didn’t, but I didn’t want to take that risk, and I didn’t know if the restraining order covered allowed me to contact them, since there were around Adrien so much.”

“Being scared is normal,” Shrugged Claude, playing with his deck of cards, “unless you’re Felix, who has no emotions.”

“Say that again and I shove those cards right up your-” Felix was cut off by Allan clearing his throat, “rear.”

The group silently looked up at the school.

“Two and a half years.” Said Allegra, suddenly.

“What?”

“It’s been two and a half years since Marinette came here.” Answered Allegra, wistfully, “It’s been a fucking ride.”

“You can say that again.” Muttered Allan, before picking up his bag, “I think I can hear the bus arriving.”

“Thank god, I’m freezing my tits off.” Shivered Allegra, getting a snort from Felix.

PTT

Tom helped Marinette carry her bags into the apartment above the bakery, with the latter making sure she didn’t walk into anything. Marinette blinked as she tried to adjust to the darkness of the living room, after placing her bag on the floor, she reached out for the light switch and clicked it on.

“SURPRISE!” Everyone yelled, making Marinette yelp and jump a foot in the air.

All of Marinette’s former classmates, and the friends she made at the boarding school stood in front of her.

“The, the ‘surprise party’ trick,” Gasped Marinette, “is for birthdays only.”

“No, it isn’t.” Disagreed Alya, before throwing her arms around Marinette, “I’ve missed you girl.”

Marinette gingerly wrapped her arms around Alya, “Me too. I’m, I’m sorry that I haven’t been in contact with you.”

“Allegra explained everything, with the whole restraining order and phone troubles you’d been having.” Said Alya, “Adrien’s had his lawyer rescind the restraining order, but I think they’re attempting to use it as evidence in his dad’s trial.”

Marinette winced, before glancing over at Adrien, “Yeah, I heard about that. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not.” Chirped Adrien, his hair streaked with green, “I brought a copy of the restraining order. And a cigarette lighter.”

Marinette gave Adrien a small smile, before the sound of someone choking got her attention, “Allegra, you're supposed to chew before swallowing.”

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #lila rossi #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine #chloe bourgeois #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #original characters #Delta Writes

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