#Five days to celebrate Central

[fatehbaz]

Travel back [...] a few hundred years to before the industrial revolution, and the wildlife of Britain and Ireland looks very different indeed. 

Take orcas: while there are now less than ten left in Britain’s only permanent (and non-breeding) resident population, around 250 years ago the English [...] naturalist John Wallis gave this extraordinary account of a mass stranding of orcas on the north Northumberland coast [...]. If this record is reliable, then more orcas were stranded on this beach south of the Farne Islands on one day in 1734 than are probably ever present in British and Irish waters today. [...]

Other careful naturalists from this period observed orcas around the coasts of Cornwall, Norfolk and Suffolk. I have spent the last five years tracking down more than 10,000 records of wildlife recorded between 1529 and 1772 by naturalists, travellers, historians and antiquarians throughout Britain and Ireland, in order to reevaluate the prevalence and habits of more than 150 species [...].

In the early modern period, wolves, beavers and probably some lynxes still survived in regions of Scotland and Ireland. By this point, wolves in particular seem to have become re-imagined as monsters [...].

Elsewhere in Scotland, the now globally extinct great auk could still be found on islands in the Outer Hebrides. Looking a bit like a penguin but most closely related to the razorbill, the great auk’s vulnerability is highlighted by writer Martin Martin while mapping St Kilda in 1697 [...].

[A]nd pine martens and “Scottish” wildcats were also found in England and Wales. Fishers caught burbot and sturgeon in both rivers and at sea, [...] as well as now-scarce fishes such as the angelshark, halibut and common skate. Threatened molluscs like the freshwater pearl mussel and oyster were also far more widespread. [...]

Predators such as wolves that interfered with human happiness were ruthlessly hunted. Authors such as Robert Sibbald, in his natural history of Scotland (1684), are aware and indeed pleased that several species of wolf have gone extinct:

There must be a divine kindness directed towards our homeland, because most of our animals have a use for human life. We also lack those wild and savage ones of other regions. Wolves were common once upon a time, and even bears are spoken of among the Scottish, but time extinguished the genera and they are extirpated from the island.

The wolf was of no use for food and medicine and did no service for humans, so its extinction could be celebrated as an achievement towards the creation of a more civilised world. Around 30 natural history sources written between the 16th and 18th centuries remark on the absence of the wolf from England, Wales and much of Scotland. [...]

In Pococke’s 1760 Tour of Scotland, he describes being told about a wild species of cat – which seems, incredibly, to be a lynx – still living in the old county of Kirkcudbrightshire in the south-west of Scotland. Much of Pococke’s description of this cat is tied up with its persecution, apparently including an extra cost that the fox-hunter charges for killing lynxes:

They have also a wild cat three times as big as the common cat. [...] It is said they will attack a man who would attempt to take their young one [...]. The country pays about £20 a year to a person who is obliged to come and destroy the foxes when they send to him. [...]

The capercaillie is another example of a species whose decline was correctly recognised by early modern writers. Today, this large turkey-like bird [...] is found only rarely in the north of Scotland, but 250–500 years ago it was recorded in the west of Ireland as well as a swathe of Scotland north of the central belt. [...] Charles Smith, the prolific Dublin-based author who had theorised about the decline of herring on the coast of County Down, also recorded the capercaillie in County Cork in the south of Ireland, but noted: This bird is not found in England and now rarely in Ireland, since our woods have been destroyed. [...] Despite being protected by law in Scotland from 1621 and in Ireland 90 years later, the capercaillie went extinct in both countries in the 18th century [...].

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Images, captions, and text by: Lee Raye. “Wildlife wonders of Britain and Ireland before the industrial revolution – my research reveals all the biodiversity we’ve lost.” The Conversation. 17 July 2023. [Map by Lee Raye. Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[dropsofletters]

what's up, mr. hollywood?

—SUMMARY: if someone hasn’t heard about jeon wonwoo, they must be living under a rock. one of the grandest stars in hollywood, face to rom-coms and thrillers, shows the spectrum of a real celebrity. though, that is ruined when a bitter ex-girlfriend decides to drop pictures of him almost naked for the world to see, splitting it in half—should he just do an underwear campaign or disappear from the limelight for good?

so, he decides to travel to the most secluded villa he can find, and in there, he happens to fall in love with books and a certain librarian who speaks too much and still, leaves him with too little information about her.

eager to get to know her more, wonwoo forgets that he’s actually a celebrity and that reality must strike at their door one day. hopefully, not any time soon.

—TITLE: what’s up, mr. hollywood?

—PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x reader

—GENRE: glimpses of notting hill!au ; strangers to lovers!au ; celebrity!au ; actor!au ; idiots in love!au ; librarian!au ; bookstore!au

—TYPE: fluff ; angst if you squint ; suggestive if you squint ; humor given by jun’s character lol

—WORD COUNT: 13,270 words

—NOTE: this was a kofi request! if you want to support me, you can ask me to write something for you over there.

He could get tied down by the diamonds that wrap around the wrists of the women that transcend in his life, like the pieces of paper of a script that he never really imagines in his list of cinematography. That way, it would be easier to wake up in West Hollywood, in a mansion so big that—sometimes, though he won’t admit—he gets lost in the rooms. Wonwoo wouldn’t have to think twice on promising with a band a supposed forever that ends in five months. Like everything in this plastic world does.

Wonwoo could get used to the sweet taste of fame, that bathes the gold of his latest Oscar for a film he knows will follow him to the grave. The flashing of lights, the egotistical boosting and the screaming voices that grant him the benefit of leading a generation while he feels inherently lost. Pursuing a fraction of what he was able to give through three years of pressure for completing only two hours of film, applauded by the critics, but now a shadow he will always have to follow, mimic and surpass.

He could get used to being famous.

He could.

He could.

He could.

The truth is, Wonwoo isn’t, doesn’t and won’t. He’s there, then he’s not. It’s been like that for nine days now. Spank Magazine! Decided it would be a great idea to plaster him in his most delicate and reckless state. Wonwoo had been sharing a few summers with the same woman, Courtney, a love that never really translated into nothing more than a week together, drinks to be shared, kisses to be yearned for and then, he’d leave London. With nothing to seek for other than the faint breeze that is the complete opposite of the blaring sun in Hollywood, and the idea that he has someone waiting for him in case he feels lonely in between films.

The drinks must have gotten heavy, or Wonwoo isn’t really as smart as he grants himself to be. Always. He thought he’d never miss a step and he almost hears his manager, Sandara, laughing at him straight at his face. If only she wasn’t trying to erase the image of Wonwoo looking out of a window in white boxers in some secluded penthouse in central London. This summer, it seemed like Courtney wanted something else. Fame.

He hadn’t realized the picture had been on her iPhone, neither did he think that the moment he got off his plane that took him back home he would have to see literal signs at the airport that showed him half naked. The first thing he did was hide, and the second…okay, he hadn’t really thought of a plan. Other than compulsively buy a plane ticket to a villa in France and hope, perhaps, that he won’t have to explain if his shoulders are really that big naturally or not.

“You could have totally stopped this from happening.” Sandara looks unlike how she does when they are in Hollywood. Normally, she’s wearing a straight pencil skirt paired with a button down and her hair in a ponytail. She never misses the coffee with three shots of espresso and perhaps, a line of sugar—or cocaine, her energy is unmatched—, but now, she’s trapping a croissant in between her hands and she has tried to make the enormous yellow sweater she has paired with green leggings work. The frog look isn’t half as bad on her slim body.

“I know.” Wonwoo walks slowly, while she roams around him like a puppy would. Sandara has always said it. Wonwoo’s weakness for complexity gravitates him to women that leave everything to desire. He pulls the cap a little over his head, covering more of his eyes in case anyone sees him while walking to the nearest library. “I never said it wasn’t my fault, but I’m giving you a vacation and running away from the chaos you were trying to solve.”

“I offered you a way of turning this around and you didn’t—”

Wonwoo scoffs at her words, rolling his eyes. “You knew I was going to say no from the get-go.”

“Wonwoo, people are not hating on you because you’re half naked. You just pulled a Miley Cyrus. Destroyed the whole poised, serious, intelligent guy persona and changed it for the hot guy in the white boxers thing.” Sandara pulls a finger up in the air, pointing out what she thinks is obvious. Meanwhile, the breeze plays with her hair until it is standing on various spots. “…Calvin Klein offered to help us out. A few campaigns with the boxers on, and then, we finish it off with a good sex scene in one of your films. You’re a man. If it was me on that magazine and I was famous, I would have been destroyed.”

Wonwoo hates that it is a reality, but he didn’t really intend on posing. Sure, he is not an angel. His career doesn’t let him stay with someone as much as he’d like to, for he always has to travel, film something else, prepare for a script or a new series to take on, but he also hasn’t done much else past the expected. Stories can be told about Hollywood that are rather true of orgy parties and eccentric relationships, but he doesn’t do much past the normal. Perhaps, a risky picture if he is feeling…rather comfortable, but he’s private about the matters that take up on the heart.

He just happened to be a bit tipsy, looking out of the window and not noticing that a picture had been taken of him, and while he’s pleading the case of using the law against Courtney for breaking his privacy, he’s also taking a break. And needing to read a book.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea,” Wonw0o starts, pushing the doors of the only library he could find in this secluded spot he had found in France. Sandara passes under his arm, still walking backwards and somehow not falling. “But it’s not who I am. I just don’t do soft porn.”

“Wonwoo—”

“My ass was displayed on a magazine. I’m lucky it’s not my dick, but I’d rather just not…milk it.”

“Oh, wrong choice of wording.”

“Sandara.” He groans, throwing his head back. The place catches his attention in the matter of seconds. The walls are baby blue, like the revelation of a child’s bedroom, with sprinkles of brick walls here and there in a beige color as an addition of texture. The tables are smaller in comparison to the rows of books, lined up by genre and color. It’s a pleasure to a thoughtful mind, as he traces the outline of the romance plethora. His least favorite genre. “You’re sexualizing your client.”

“I swear I’m not. You’re the one talking about milk!” She jokes around, laughing at the flush that he’s certain appears on the apples of his cheeks, before she’s grabbing one of the smaller books in the row, standing at the tip of her toes to reach it. “The Duke’s Final Wish. Oh, so the duke dies in this book. What’s the point of reading something you know everything about just by the title alone?”

He doesn’t understand it either, so Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m more of a thriller guy myself, but I’m in France, I’ve just dumped someone entirely from my life and…” His nose scrunches up upon the sight of the naked, sun-bathed abs on the duke on the cover. “Maybe, I just need to read softcore love times to feel less miserable about…everything.”

Sandara’s brown eyes turn mellow, sighing deeply. “Wonwoo, this is just another turn in your career. I promise everything will get better.”

It will, he’s certain. Matters always go back to place.

However, he remembers his start as an actor. He was this shaky, flimsy sixteen-year-old teen who cried on the outsides of a casting because he was tired of receiving no’s. Who wiped his tears on a pillow when he got called from another casting to participate with just one line. He’d wake up every single day at five in the morning; giving up adulthood, growing up, having friends, dating, studying, just for the sake of getting in better movies. He hit it big when he was twenty, skyrocketed in a military film, and from then on, he never rested. Movie after movie. A show, then another one.

And just like that, it lost sense. With every critic that shadowed him with that one big film he did last year, whatever product that came to fruition was worthless. It was a race with himself—and he’s tired of running.

And—

Oh, wait.

It smells like insect repellent…

“Roach, go away, you!”

“Huh?” Wonwoo’s curiosity gets the best of him, peaking from behind the shelf to see a slender, tall man holding, indeed, an insect repellent and spraying it on a blonde gentleman. He recognizes the first one—the attacker in question—to be one of the workers because of the uniform. A cloud sweater inside white pants, according to the name of the library—Somewhere On The Clouds—, but he’s flimsy in comparison to the buffer, taller man that he’s trying to go after.

The cockroach character, per say.

He hears more shushing and spraying, along with a woman’s name that escapes the blonde’s lips. “I wasn’t talking to you, Wen Junhui, my wife is over there and you’re not letting me talk to her—”

“She’s not your wife anymore.”

“You can’t physically get over someone so quickly.”

Another spray and now, this Junhui guy with the long brown hair and septum piercing, has finally landed on the taller man’s eyes because he hears a groan that reverberates throughout the library. “If it’s you the someone we are talking about, oh, trust me, it’s easy. No woman could ever—”

“I’ll close your mouth up with a good old fist, Junhui. Stop! Stop spraying me!”

He hears another commotion, of closed doors and shushes that follow after someone physically more peaceful than the other men. And for once, Wonwoo loses interest in physical matters like the cameras that could flash around him and the book at hand. His heart hums, singing a melody when looking at her. Her hair is tied in two braids and closed in a bun behind her back, glasses perched on the tip of her nose, looking at the blonde man with the firing rage of a million wars that went unfought.

Even Sandara is listening closely when she speaks. She’s rain in its biggest form; when it pours down and becomes unstoppable.

“I thought he said you could go away, Pierre.” She outs to the world, only to have the blonde man shaking his head, twinkling green eyes staring back at her.

“Love,” He’s trying to grasp her hands, wishing to say something more, but when their hands interlock, she slaps his away. “Don’t you push me away.”

“By law, you pushed me away yourself.” She instructs, pushing at his arms when he’s trying to get closer. “Pierre, I’m being serious. Stop disrupting my library and just go away.”

“But—”

Wonwoo is not a hero, neither does he think this is the situation for him to try to be one. However, he does accidentally—or not so much so—happen to slide his hand across a shelve that wasn’t holding up tightly. The books fall one by one, like a domino effect that gain him the attention of the woman with the attitude of an owner and a dislike for her ex-husband and the man in question.

He smiles, tight-lipped and shy, with the Sun blessing his cheeks along the lines of red coloring. He expects her to launch at him, ask him to leave Somewhere On The Clouds, but instead a gentle smile takes over her face. Oh, of course, someone like her would just know what he’s doing…and why.

“Let me help you with that.” She says, moving closer to him and crouching down at the same time that he does. Wonwoo is spurting out a short laugh as he hears whom he thinks is called Junhui pull Pierre away from the library.

“I’m sorry. I’m a total mess.”

“Or really observative. Guess we’ll never know.” She shrugs, smiling at him when standing up with a pack of books pressed to her chest and the lingering scent of mints following after her.

“Witty.”

“I’m a woman. One has to be.” The answer that leaves her lips has him grinning like a fool, looking down only to be blinded by her sight when staring up again. “I’ll give you a discount just for that.”

“There’s no need—”

The pocket of his jeans is filled by her hand, sliding something quickly there before she’s fleeting away with a simple: “Just take it.”

Half of his mind thinks she has left her number there, and he’d be more than happy. However, Sandara is looking over his shoulder by the time he takes the paper out, viewing a small coupon with clouds drawn all over it that reads off ‘fifty percent off your next order’.

“Dang, I thought it was her number.” Sandara whispers, snapping her fingers. “I’m going to get it for you.”

“No!” Wonwoo shrieks, plastering his hand on top of her arm and dragging his manager closer. “We’re…we’re just going to take the coupon. This is supposed to be a vacation. No love involved.”

“No love involved…” Sandara repeats, laughing at his words. “We’re calling your autobiography that. That’s for sure.”

Huh, even he admits it wouldn’t be a bad name. Much more if it was a rom-com of sorts.

But that’s not going to happen.

The sky looked like a child’s portrait, painted outside the lines. The stars blurred in between the deep shade, though he knew it could be that he needed a new pair of glasses. He kind of forgot his new formula back in Hollywood, and the ones he got were bought on a whim. However, he walks through the empty, too-small streets of the villa, hands fisted in pockets, trying to understand the change of weather. It was windy, but it was a kind of humidity that made him scrunch up his nose every once in a while to sniff a bit of snot.

Allergies. It’s whatever.

Wonwoo rolls on the heels of his shoes, looking up at the sky and wondering why the world feels so unlit as of lately. He’s at peace, but running away from something. Empty. Lonely. And sure, he has gotten used to solitude, at least for now, but what was once something he chose is now the only option that he gets to fulfill. Cornered, in some place far away from home, where he can only wish for life to be different, for better or for worse.

What interests him is the shout he hears after, a commotion of a solid against iron that has him rushing his step the slightest. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to run or go help, but what he sees at eleven at night—when he should be asleep and trying to conceal a good night of rest with a warm glass of milk, as Sandara said—is rather surprising. The owner of Somewhere In The Clouds, a library that he has visited often in this past week, stands in front of a house’s gate, forehead pressed to the iron, hitting her boot against the surface once again.

“Shit.”

She looks rather different than she does with the pastel colors she wears at her library. Wonwoo has seen her a bit, with faint glances and a few exchanged words of good books and prices, but he has never fully developed a conversation. One that matters. Right now, he wishes he was braver, for the expanse of her back is shown in jeans that are falling off her waist and he swears he sees the hairs on her arms stand up upon the breeze that he can’t understand but seems to cherish her in shivers.

“This is all Pierre’s fault!”

She screams at the world, the sky, the heavens that decided divorce was meant to be on her side. But, instead of leaving it at that, she grabs a rock from the ground, molds it on her fist before throwing it at something. Something being Wonwoo, who shrieks at the touch of the rock against his cheekbone. Gasps mingle with the weight of her steps against the pavement when she rushes to him, shouting:

“Goodness gracious! I am so sorry!”

Wonwoo feels the warmth of her skin against his own, palms connected to him in the least delicate of ways, thumb and index finger tracing the cheekbone that must flourish with the tone of roses. However, when he opens his eyes, he realizes that her own hold a weight that he can’t understand. As if every speckle of golden that brims the natural color of them anchors him to a dilemma that he should not want to solve.

“I…I totally didn’t see you there. It’s all the gate’s fault.” She says, only to have Wonwoo clasping her hands on his own, pulling them away from his face softly.

“Where’s your key?”

“My ex-husband took the spare key and now that I left my keys inside, I don’t know what to do.” Her digits wrap around the gate once again, moving it from the front to the back in a motion that causes it to noisily make its state known. Closed as ever. “This is what happens when I decide to have a great time. Jun just…he just wanted to share some mojitos and now, I’m out here, probably a step away from sleeping in the cold.”

Wonwoo chuckles to himself, pondering: “And you’re telling all this to a stranger?”

“You’re not completely a stranger. Judging by your book selection, I can tell a lot about you.” She crosses her arms over her chest, beautiful as ever in the way the wind blows at her hair and connects it with the skin of her face. And on top of it all, she remembers who he is. “You’re not a complete asshole, and that’s enough for me to tell you that this fucking night sucks.”

Tipsy, she is, and Wonwoo chuckles at her antics softly. He remembers, before stardom, how he used not to give a damn about the world, quite like she does. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do.” He crouches down, caging his hands together to make a socket for her to place her feet on. “You’ll step here and I’ll get you up the gate.”

He shouldn’t be thinking about doing this. For God’s sake, she’s not in her right mind considering there are, at least, three mojitos in her system, and she must think the same because she shakes her head.

“Wonwoo, I’ll crush you.”

“Or you’ll get home safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure I didn’t just decide to squat in the middle of the street.”

She rolls her eyes at his words, though a smile transcends to her features. She moves with carefulness, placing one boot on top of his hand and then, the other leg lifts up to follow after the trail of the gate. Wonwoo’s eyes go down her legs and he admits he does peek at the curves that form there, but soon after, he’s more worried about the way she’s clinging to the top of the gates to pass over it.

“Help.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Wonwoo mutters, hoisting her up in his shoulders before pushing her upwards by the back of her thighs. She clings to the metal with strength, only dropping herself when she feels safe, and though she lands directly on her ass, the thud is soft enough for him to ponder that maybe, it didn’t hurt her as much. “You okay?”

“In one piece, so…okay!” The smile that spreads across her features is worth a million dollars, and Wonwoo finds himself gravitating towards her, hands expanded on the gate, separated by the mere iron. He returns the grin, because a gift so beautiful can only be given back, right? “What are you doing out at this time of the night?”

Midnight, it strikes in the imaginary clock. He hasn’t checked his phone because he knows he’ll have missed calls from a sleep-dazed Sandara who wants him to return back to the place they rented for their time there. “Jet-lag has been killing me, and I just needed some time alone to think.”

“Jet-lag? Where are you visiting us from?” Leaning on the gate, her eyes close to slightest to rest, and Wonwoo knows soon will be time for him to leave.

“California.”

“Well, hope my villa traps you a bit longer.” She announces, yawning into her fist before smacking her lips together.

“You’re falling asleep.”

“Possibly, probably, maybe. All synonyms. All right.” Once again, that smile that could paralyze traffic if she dared is given to him, but she pushes herself off the gate. “Sorry for stepping on you.”

“No problem.”

“A free book will wait for you.”

“I can totally pay the next one I’ll buy, don’t worry.”

“Never deny a librarian the benefit of giving you a book.” She announces, pointing at him as she swings towards the door. “Wait, the front door is locked, too.”

She stops on her tracks and Wonwoo is ready to stay the night seated outside the gate, just in case someone causes trouble to her, for leaving a woman alone in the middle of the night is not precisely something he is thinking of doing, but when he opens his mouth, she’s already pushing the front window upwards.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting in through the window.”

“I’m not telling you, I’m showing you.” She announces and, for the first time in a while, Wonwoo full on laughs. He doesn’t remember feeling his chest so tightly put-together in a while. The more he sees her wiggle herself through the window, the more he cackles.

“Please, be careful.”

“I am!” And she is, waiving at him once she’s through the window, hair done a mess, shirt falling off one shoulder. “Thank you for your service, Mr. Hollywood.”

“Go to sleep, you.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The nickname, strangely, doesn’t settle badly in his stomach. Much less when he gets to see her turn off the lights and doze off to God-knows-where.

Wonwoo has made common occurrence for him to start a new book every Monday. He was on a reading strike for years, only yearning to find the next story he could act in, but it’s much different now. Much more after he decided to accept the book that the librarian had, oh-so-sweetly, decided to gift him.

The story read in utmost perfection. A thriller that chilled him to the bone and cradled him in fear late at night. Something different; and hell, maybe, he’s a little bit insane for wanting to feel something other than anxiousness. All he does is read the pages that week, weakened by the figure at the end of the road, in between clouds of smoke that the book always talks about. Is it real? Is it not? And why does the book end in a way that caused him to drop all the things that were on his hands as he was reading, perched in a boat in the middle of the lake near the library?

He dropped the damned book. He needed to return it. The worst possible outcome happened, because the moment Wonwoo decided to pluck it out of the water, the pages were torn, ink shredded, heart racing within his chest.

He runs away for a while. Escapes the library in hopes of her thinking that he’s just taking a little bit more to finalize the capturing pages of a well-written text. However, life isn’t so great when the next Wednesday, he comes face to face with her. She’s not in her work clothes, hair pulled away by a hair-clip, eyes a little drowsy with sleep as remaining pieces of her mascara cling to her eyelashes. Her hands hold a bag of groceries weakly, a little bit lazily, and while Wonwoo is trying to grab a snack to continue his Wednesday movie marathon—You’ve Got Mail is paused on his screen because he just wanted something salty—, he comes face-to-face with her.

Alright, the anxiousness is back.

“Do I terrify you?”

Wonwoo fixes his glasses, crossing his arms over his chest. Magazines would have torn him apart from the plaid shirt he is wearing today, antique and brought out of a film from the early nineties. He stammers. Gosh, when was the last time someone made him stutter? “Uhm, no?”

“You haven’t gone back to the library, and I’m not certain if it was because I gave you a thriller book or if it was because you saw me drunk out of my ass.” She’s speaking rather quickly, scoffing out a laugh that dies down soon after, rubbing the back of her neck out of nervousness. “I’m sorry. Uh…I must’ve looked like a total serial killer giving you a thriller book.”

The book. What can he say about the book? “Not at all. It was one of the best books I’ve read in a while.” He admits. Too bad it is in the depths of the ocean by now.

“I’ll give it to you, then. The copy, I mean.” She shrugs her shoulders, biting on her bottom lip and staying silent for a brief second that he takes to study her face. Something about her is always rushing; as if she can’t stay still for too long in fear of being caught. By life or someone else, he doesn’t know. Or catching feelings, like he musters could happen if he doesn’t get away soon.

“I wish I could read it again.”

“Then, do it.”

“…I accidentally dropped it in the local lake.” Wonwoo whispers, expecting her to get mad, but she extends a hand on top of her chest and starts laughing. “I—I’m sorry. The ending surprised me that much. Stupid hands.”

“I imagine. I imagine.” She hums, mimicking his pose and crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you making it up to me, Mr. Hollywood?”

He’s knowledgeable in the art of flirting. Not because he has mastered it, but rather because Wonwoo is the one of the being-flirted-on end. He must be reading into it, but the twinkle in her eye incites him, bringing him closer as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Anything in mind, Mrs. Countryside?”

“Ew, I don’t know why I don’t like the sound of that.” She enunciates, only to have him laughing. He sees the portions of her that are fractured, from the way she covers her mouth when laughing, to the slow blink she gives after a minute of silence. As if she wants to be awakened by her thoughts. “Mhm, how about burgers?”

“Burgers?” Wonwoo asks. “That’s what would make you forgive me?”

“A great burger can make me consider forgiving you.” She answers, pressing a hand to his shoulder to balance her weight as she takes her phone out of her pocket. “Write your number down there.”

Wonwoo jots down the digits that he has learned just the past few days, smiling at her. “Alright, you’ve got a free coupon for limitless burgers until we find a book as good as that one.”

“You don’t know what you’re promising.”

“Possibly. But it’s an excuse. Either we find the greatest burger or another good read.”

“Huh, you’re right.” With that, she puts her phone back in her pocket, smiling at him with her full teeth. “I’ll text you for my price.”

“Anytime.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking after her step after she left. How someone so gorgeous hid in such a secluded villa? He would never understand.

The Headlock For Two Challenge.

When Wonwoo ventured into one of the best rated burger places in the villa, he didn’t expect it to be…so simple. Wooden walls and heated tables in bright red, with towers of meat and chicken stacked with perfectly-spiced veggies and sauces that would mingle into one’s tongue for an entire day. She seemed to be impressed when he linked her over to this place only three days after they started talking through text, but she was equally as interested when she read about the challenge in the menu that was presented to them in a small piece of wood, carved letter after letter, honoring the toughness of the place.

“We can totally down this one between the two of us.” She turns the menu around, showing it to a wide-eyed Wonwoo. When he sees the picture, he doubts they can for a little bit. His glasses push his hair away from his face when he takes them off to check it out a little closely. Three layers of bread. This is final—he might die if he takes up on this challenge.

“What’s the price?”

“The burger is a price on its own.” Claiming, she turns the menu around once again before clearing her throat. “We’d also get a picture of us hanging from these very own walls, and, if that’s not a lot on its own—a grand price of a month-worth of free French Fries.”

“You bought me with the fries. I’m not much of a picture guy.”

He has gotten pictures of him taken from every angle and while he adored to catch a sight of the world from another point of view, he hates the way he has been portrayed in such imagery. He’s always perfect. Never himself. And yet, never enough.

“Waiter!” She lifts a hand in the air, catching the attention of the short man with the buttons of his shirt almost popping out from how closely it clings to his belly, but the smile he gives through plump cheeks and a dense moustache would have anyone trusting him with their orders. “We’d like to take over the challenge.”

“Oh, really?” The waiter starts jotting down on his notepad. “A group of men tried to take it down a few days ago. Couldn’t make it without throwing up.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wonwoo asks and he sees her spread a hand on her stomach.

“I meant it when I said I was hungry.”

“Fine. And two glasses of cola with that, please.”

“On our merry way, sir.” The waiter gives a sharp touch of his pen against the pad before closing it and leaving to the kitchen. This is the moment he gets to see her again, closely as she lifts the sleeves of his yellow sweater up to her palms and leans her cheek against one of them, elbows well-prepped on the table.

She tried a little today. He has been under the limelight for long enough to know that there is a glimmer of pink on top of her cheeks, paired with sweet highlighter. She has a red lip on, eyelashes curled until they seem like her eyes are flirting with him just by sharing a glance.

“Why here, Wonwoo?” She asks. “You were in California. Everyone dreams about being there, around celebrities and all. Why here?”

The column of his throat contracts at her words. He almost fears that she has caught him for who he really is—a well-known actor.

“Take my word for it. There’s nothing special there.”

“You’re awfully negative, aren’t you? Here we are, in a villa that no one knows, where the lake could eat me alive one day and no one would remember me, but in a city so grand, where every step someone takes feel like part of a movie, you wish to run away.” She’s babbling, eyes twinkling with excitement. “Isn’t that exciting to you?”

He shakes his head. “No.” Wonwoo adds. “Because in a city so big, only a few people are remembered. We don’t choose what we are remembered for, either.”

“Oh, trust me,” She says. “You’d be remembered by good. Everyone in this city coos about the possibilities of you.”

“And that’s the thing. I don’t like expectation.”

“I understand.” She stops. “So, reason—?”

“I’m negative, but you’re good at prodding.”

“I was once a journalist in the making, but I ramble too much. I’d get in front of a camera and freeze, or say something really stupid. Probably both.” She conquers, sighing into her hand. “But you don’t have to answer, actually. I just want to get to know you. You could ask me something of your liking, too.”

He could ask about her library, but they have talked about that through text. He knows that it’s a family’s tree doing, where she loved literature and happened to continue down the road that was crafted for her. A place that was meant for her to walk on, but the wood on the floor was not precisely brought to life by her.

“Why didn’t it work out with your ex-husband?”

The reason why he left California is, perhaps, as personal as her divorce. She doesn’t swallow thickly, but she is left thinking for a moment, looking ahead and towards where he is, before the waiter returns with the burger in his hands and three glasses filled with a yellow, pink and white sauce.

“Thank you. This looks delicious.” Wonwoo compliments, only to have the waiter nodding.

“We start the timer now. Thirty minutes to finish all of this.” Just as he clicks the clock, she takes the half of the enormous burger and places it on her plate, and while he gives it a huge bite that fills his mouth and leaves his jaw hurting, she eats it bit by bit, plucking the food and swallowing it quickly.

“Probably my best kept secret.” She says, shrugging her shoulders. “I was promised until death, and then, I realized living one more day with him would be the cause of my death. It’s like…being pricked little by little, being married.”

“In general?”

“To him, precisely. Pierre has his own issues to figure out. He has…these experiences that he wants to go through in love. He wants to try with other people. And I wasn’t going to wait there, watching him mindlessly flirt with people, asking me if I’d ever been with more than one person, until I was finally hurt by something I expected.” She motions, sighing. “And now he’s trying to come back, so maybe, he already tried and thought returning home was the solution of the mess he made.”

“That’s pretty common. I happen to never last more than two months with somebody.” Wonwoo cackles at his own state in relationships, moving his head from side to side. “For a while I thought it was me.”

“How so?”

“Uncapable of being loved, if that makes sense.” Wonwoo announces. “I’ve never tried hard enough to make someone stay.”

“So, you’re the complete opposite of me. I have a hard time letting go.”

“I have a hard time making someone stay.” The mingle of tastes inside his mouth makes him wonder if she just wanted an excuse for them to try something good and new, not precisely break a challenge. Make herself memorable. Or maybe, that’s just her personality. Not everyone has to be trying all the time. “It probably is me.”

“Everyone has their little glimpses of red in their flag.” She jokes, tilting her head to the side when Wonwoo groans. “But hey, I’m a divorced woman, who am I to judge?”

“So, California…stinks a little bit, feels way more dense than this villa does, and it just…it reminds me of who I could’ve been. And who I am not, clearly.”

“Well, Wonwoo,” She picks up a portion of her burger, dipping it in what he thinks is corn sauce, before lifting it up in the air. “Cheers to that. We can be remembered for the picture we’ll have hanging here later this night.”

“Not at this pace.”

“Just say ‘yes’ for once. I promise, it doesn’t hurt.”

She could teach him that life is not filled with ‘no’ responses all the time.

Wonwoo thought the following times they’d see each other; they wouldn’t have any interruptions. However, much to his distaste, the moment he steps inside her house for what she called through the text ‘dinner and a movie’, there was another person invited.

The library’s worker, Wen Junhui, is not commonly known by him, but he has heard wonders about the man around town. As it goes, no one could ever tame him. Not from going around dating, but from being less eccentric. He sits in front of the TV they could have been using, holding fried chicken in between his digits after dipping it in barbeque, and he’s watching some Steve Harvey show that he is not quite sure he’d getting a glimpse of before. Too old for his liking, maybe.

“We have…companionship.” Wonwoo whispers to her, feeling the weight of her hands glide down his arms as she takes off his jacket. When he turns around, he sees her hanging the jacket, running her palms over it to keep it straight before humming.

“I didn’t know we had some either, but I totally promise Jun movie night every Friday. I can’t just kick him out. Or I can. But like, look at his face,” She points a hand towards Jun, who is still munching happily and laughing at whatever the host of the show had said. “One can’t just break a heart that easily. At least, his.”

Wonwoo can accept that Jun, while wearing a tank top and shorts, looks entirely different. A bit childish, with his bangs pushed back by a small clip, eating to his heart’s content. “I’m not saying you should kick him out.”

“But you had the hope it would be the two of us.”

“Awfully conceited, woman, don’t you think?” Wonwoo jokes around, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-grin. He’s normally not a sweet talker, but he’ll take the merit he can.

“Anyone would want to spend alone time with me.” One of her shoulders shrugs up, the structures of her face fighting their hardest to let out a smile. “Would you want some water, coffee, tea, juice, cocktail? I don’t know how to make cocktails, but I can fetch something up.”

“None.”

“Oh, maybe some energy drink, perhaps? Or, oh shit, you’re from Hollywood, maybe you’d like sparkly water, or bubbly water…”

“Trust me, we have normal water in Hollywood. I think.” He leans down to fix her hair over her shoulder, jotting his chin towards the TV. “Are we ordering something else or we’re sharing chicken with Jun?”

“He will notice there are only two pieces left in a few minutes and order some for everyone, so we just wait.” With that, she walks ahead of him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to snuggle to the density of her white sweater, or that he’s not a bit enamored of the way her thighs fill the ripped jeans around her hips. She’s unique—so homely in a way that he hates he can feel that a little more time with her could end up in him in love.

“Wonwoo!” Jun speaks through a mouthful and in the month that he’s been there, he has gotten to know him a bit. The man is as sweet as one can get, but he’s also a bit odd. “I didn’t know you were coming. Do you want some—?” He stops on his tracks when extending the takeout bag towards Wonwoo, looking down at…yes, two pieces of chicken left. “Let me grab my phone,” He speaks after plopping his thumb in his mouth to lick the remaining sauce off. “And order something else.”

“Told you so.” She mouths after sitting down next to Jun, who is in between them like a child would. “Would you mind ordering a pizza? I think that’d last us some more than the chicken.”

“Oh, totally. There’s a two-for-one coupon in my phone case.” Jun is mumbling to himself, tossing glances towards the TV screen every once in a while before returning to his phone.

“I’ll pay for it. Don’t worry.” Wonwoo announces, but Jun shakes his head.

“The whole coupon thing is true—”

“But I want to pay, let me.”

That’s how they end up watching old marathons of family shows, with one hand holding a slice of pepperoni-filled pizza and the other on the couch behind them as they sit on the couch. When he can, he looks over to where she is and he catches her looking back, with eyelashes fluttering against her under-eyes and lips mingling in a small smile. He’s a bit surprised, however, when Jun is rambling with him about nineties shows, because a hand lands on his behind her friend’s back.

The touch of gentle fingertips hold back when tracing the outline of his knuckles, hesitantly slipping in between his own. Wonwoo feels his heart hammer against his chest, a beat that almost leaves him with ringing in his eardrums, for the blood rushes through his entire body until he can’t mask a smile. And sure, Jun may think that he’s smiling towards him, immersed in a conversation that now is a stammer in his head, considering her thumb is drawing on the veins of his wrist, like the gentle kiss she is not promising, but is making him think about.

In the midst of a villa, Wonwoo starts thinking about possibilities, and percentages have never been his thing more than art does, but the interlude of this story starts to make him think about staying. When Jun leans to grab another slice of pizza, Wonwoo takes this moment to bring that hand closer to his mouth, slotting his lips against her knuckles and watching her widen her eyes while staring at the screen.

Their little secret, now even more engraved in his brain by the expression on her face.

The inhibition of love is a saddened matter. Wonwoo never thought he’d be on the end spectrum of not being able to fully open up. After all, acting takes up the imagery of shredding every portion of himself in order to make a character come alive. He needs to unalive his motions in order to be someone else in front of a camera. However, when laying on that bed of his, in his place in the villa, that had felt more like home than any mansion could ever do for him, he is awfully aware of the person next to him.

“Do you have…um…any idea why I call you Mr. Hollywood?”

The question is soft against the sheets. She’s laying on her side, knee angled until she is almost resting a thigh over his hip. Wonwoo shakes his head, turning his head to look at her from up close. She has forgone the makeup today, hair a bit dirty and laying on top of her head by a ponytail. When she opens her eyes, he’s staring back at her.

“You didn’t answer.”

“Oh, I thought I did.” Wonwoo mumbles, trailing a finger on the side of her face before shrugging. “I have no clue. Anything in particular I should be aware about?”

Wonwoo, when asking to spend time with her almost every day, is knowledgeable of the fact that she’s a very smart woman. However, as the night slips through his clear curtains, cascading along her features in the moonlit nature of a November midnight, his mind forgets the fact that he’s Jeon Wonwoo, and that maybe, his stigma as a person is harder to hide than he thought.

“…I saw you in a movie once.” The confession has his heart hammering against his chest, and he sits up immediately. Not angered, but terrified. Afraid of being used for what is always loved about him—his power, love for acting, his money. “I want you to listen to me, okay? You’ve been here for almost two months and I feel like…it’s time to tell you something. Nothing bad. Just something.”

“You talked to me because of me being an actor?”

“God, no. I didn’t want to talk to you for the same thing. You terrified the hell out of me.” She says, sitting up with him and pressing a hand to his thigh in order to keep him in place. Her eyes beg him to stay close and somehow, he does. Though the alarms in his mind tell him to fleet. “You still do, but for different reasons. I saw you in this movie…Stay With Me? The one where you played a secondary character. The main guy’s best friend. I didn’t recall enough about the movie, but I knew that face. I thought you were…good looking. That’s all. I’m not a fan.”

“That’s a very old film.” It was in the start of his career, when rom-coms would call him just to play the knowledgeable best friend. He has the face of a man who knows how to give advice, they told him. “So, you call me Mr. Hollywood because you know who I really am outside of these walls I’ve built to run away?”

“To remind me you’ll leave, I guess.” She sighs out, running her free hand through the locks of her ponytail. “Calling you Mr. Hollywood reminds me you’re…you know, somehow unreachable.”

“Gosh, I am not!”

“Come on, Wonwoo. I’m just a woman who happens to sell books for a living. Each day, I wake up to a bed on my own, wondering what kind of legacy I’ll leave in this world, but I am also timid enough to not want to be remembered. And it’s the paradigm of being…just somebody else. I won’t be listed as one of the most gorgeous women, neither one of the most talented, but I can reassure you…Wonwoo, anywhere you stand, as an actor or not, you’re special.”

He has seen love in scripts, written to be perfection, clouds of pink that cascade the fall of a person who would have never thought romance would be on their way. He has acted it out, softened eyes and sweet words that come with the clash of lips, but he doesn’t expect how love really feels like. Numbed out of every word that could make him feel insecure, trapped in the odyssey of wanting a kiss that has him leaning forward, capturing her face in his palms and looking into her eyes, not seeking softness, but the reassurance of something else. Of the feedback of warmth.

“And I am just a man who wants you to see him as he is. Hollywood or not.”

“I see you, Wonwoo.” She mumbles, and that’s enough for Wonwoo to lean forward. Fill her with a kiss that threatens to whimper in her mouth when her mouth parts and clashes against his.

Wonwoo feels complete, like a thread follows after him and whispers in his mouth everything he wants to hear without a noise at all. Her hands mingle on the back of his head, legs interlocking with his own. And he hates that even when he is kissing her with fervor; tracing the outline of lips that he wishes to remember to the day of his death, there is still a voice of insecurity.

He leans back on the bed, with her body trailing after his, settling a leg in between his own and pulling away to press a chaste kiss to his jaw, soon after pressing her mouth to his neck. Both of his hands expand on her back, under her shirt to feel the softness of her skin when he whispers:

“Could you please turn off your phone?”

“Excuse me?” She questions, only to have Wonwoo shaking his head.

“I…I got some pictures taken of me. I was intimate with a woman I used to date on-and-off and now…everyone has a picture I didn’t consent to of me in my boxers.” Confessing it has his cheeks blaring in heat, and he expects her to laugh. “And sure, you may think it’s stupid, but—”

She settles her hips on top of his, sitting and reaching for her phone in the bedside table, only to show the screen turning off to him. “It’s not stupid to me. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I can consider.”

“Where were you my whole life?” Wonwoo asks, feeling her mouth return to his neck. And she laughs against his skin, drawing sparkling stars in his stomach and letting them tingle with…whatever feeling he’s starting to let cascade over him.

“Far, far away.”

“But I found you.”

“…You found me.” She interlocks their hands together, smiling at him. “Thank God, you found me.”

“What is this?”

Sandara positions three things on their coffee table in a specific order. A cup of coffee, with a savory smell of Bailey’s that he has been obsessed with every since he tried it on a café shop downtown. A croissant, with an extra layer of powdered sugar on top of it, and of course, what takes him off guard. A stack of papers, placed neatly like a script would. He picks up his coffee, giving it a taste even though he’s eyeing the paper, not touching it.

“Well, we’ve been here for almost three months…” Sandara sits down on the couch next to him. Her hair is shorter than how it had been when they got there, and she has dyed it back to a light brown. She moves it to a side on its entirety before pressing her knuckle to her cheek. “I think it’s time we start to think of a comeback. I was introduced to this idea where you’d star with Cillian Murphy, and I just couldn’t say no. You’re totally reading it.”

Acting is a prolongation of his anatomy. Wonwoo can’t exist without acting, but taking a break has never hurt anybody. He believes that most good actors take one in their lifetime. However, being pushed into stardom once again it’s not something he had thought about. Or he has, but he has always pushed it to the back of his head. That would mean going back to Hollywood, casting interviews where he’ll have to talk about the whole photo incident, perhaps take up on that Calvin Klein campaign that Sandara was so excited about…and that all sounds like a ton of work.

“You didn’t ask me about this.” Wonwoo announces, but Sandara is already placing the script right on top of his lap, pointing at it with a manicured nail. “Sandara—”

“I didn’t ask you, but you need to continue, Woo.” She says. “You’re one of the biggest talents of this generation and you’re throwing it all to Hell because of a picture? No. That’s the answer. We’re not letting that happen. We’re going to meet the team the following Monday and Cillian is going to be there. We can read over some—”

“What?” Wonwoo stands up, throwing the script on the table and shaking his head. “I didn’t consent on going back to Hollywood.”

“Wonwoo, it’s where you’ve grown to be the person you are today. You can’t escape it forever.”

“Yes, but I also don’t have to return just because you’re telling me to. It’s more complicated than that.” Hence, he has spent almost every day sharing kisses, touches, stories and whispers with a woman that he has promised is not temporary. It’s been almost a month since they shared their first kiss…and from then, they have fallen into the comfort of…

A relationship, maybe. That’s what he calls it inside his head, but he’s too afraid to voice it. For reasons as such, like this, when he will need to fly away to Hollywood just because reality is calling.

“They are offering millions of dollars for this, and Wonwoo, you’re going to miss acting eventually. I’m sure you do now, as you are standing here every morning just reading books and doing nothing.”

“Healing is not doing nothing.” Wonwoo corrects, and when he tosses a look at the script, he can admit he is a bit intrigued. How can a person be both here and there at the same time? How can the man he has grown to be in the villa meet the celebrity that he really is?

“Just read it. We both know you want to.”

“And then, what? I never come back here. I have a…someone, a girlfriend, maybe, and I don’t want to leave that behind.”

“I’m not—Just don’t get ahead of yourself. Think first about what you want to do and sure, if it’s staying here for a while more, I’ll accept it. But this is such a good film that is going to rise from the ashes and I want you to be part of it. You need to. It’d be iconic, Wonwoo, I swear.”

Does he want to be remembered by everyone as the actor who could do it all, battle against the tabloids and shine as one of the best performers of the generation? Or perhaps, does he want to be remembered by one person as the man who mended her heart after not wanting to believe in anyone because of a horrid break-up?

“I’ll think about it.” He feels bad about saying it and sitting down with that coffee and croissant to read the first page. “Just leave me alone for a while, will you?”

“Right.” Sandara presses a kiss to the crown of his head, patting the hair soon after. “I’m only doing it for you, I swear.”

“I know.”

That’s the only whisper he can muster to give her as he traces the outline of the title. The ink, the indents, the fresh paper…he misses this, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel ready to return to the emptiness that is felt when going through stardom. He’s enamored of reality, and that isn’t supposed to be a sin.

The more he reads the script, the more he likes it…and he starts to wonder if there are two men living inside of him, or if there is one that perseveres more than the other.

Molding against somebody’s body is a connection on its own. Wonwoo could get used to the dance of breathing that comes with laying next to somebody, when his chest connects to her back, arm weighting her waist down, chin squished to her shoulder. However, this morning is different. They don’t wake up to the sound of her alarm but to something else. His ears make out a noise that is familiar to him.

Flashes.

Clicking.

Shouts.

His name.

Her name.

Why do they know her name?

Wonwoo stands up, breathing quickly with the flaming hope of only being in a nightmare. However, the coldness of the floor seeps through his bare feet when he moves towards the window, moving the curtain to the side in order to see a herd of paparazzi standing outside of her home. Jun is in front of them, waving his hand like an idiot and posing for the camera. Quite like the characters in White Chicks would.

“Love, where are you going?” She’s mumbling against the pillow and for a moment, all Wonwoo sees is white. He feels let down by the woman waiting for him in the mattress. How could they have found him here, when he has gone months to no end completely unnoticed by the citizens? And Jun is enjoying the attention, that has to say something.

“Nowhere. I am unable to go anywhere because there are fucking paparazzi in your front yard.” Wonwoo lurks through the clothes left on the floor, running the fabric of a cotton t-shirt over his body and sighing in distaste. He’s walking from side to side in the bedroom. The paparazzi will only leave when he gets out of that door, after all.

“What?”

“Just tell me the truth. When did you call them? I was with you the entire night.” Wonwoo points out the obvious, placing his hands in his waist and frowning towards her. Her eyes widen and he swears he sees the little, fragile glass that she has within her chest playing as a heart breaking with one look alone. “You did exactly what everyone did before you—”

“Fuck, Wonwoo, what are you even saying? I would never do that to you!” She stands up and though he wants to believe her, he has heard that before. She’s walking towards him, sheets pressed to her chest, pleading at him with her vision alone. “Let me see.”

“No!” He shouts, taking her by the arm and keeping her away from the window. “If they take a picture of you, it’ll be everywhere in a second.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how t—these things work.” She stutters, pressing her hand on top of his and trying to rub at the skin there. “Wonwoo, you have to believe me. I would never betray your trust like this.”

“Your roomie is out there making a show out of this.”

“Jun would never, either! He’s probably just enjoying the attention.”

“My God.” Wonwoo takes another glimpse out of the window, feeling his eyes get filled with tears. “How…How am I supposed to believe you when it all ends like this? Another scandal. I don’t deserve to be in the highlights of a magazine once again!”

“I’m sorry…” She mumbles, trying to catch him in her arms but he’s moving. Walking out of the bedroom, he goes down the set of slim stairs as he prepares to go through the masses of paparazzi and perhaps, lose himself in the process of stardom once again. Vacant answers, eye-rolls, and the undignified tilt of his head looking down because of the flashes and the lack of sincerity towards his self. “I don’t want you to leave. I’m—I’ll go with you, just let me get dressed and I’ll talk to them with the truth. They just need to know who you really are.”

“You truly believe that being sincere is what helps me here?” Wonwoo turns around, looking down at her and scoffing. “Sunshine, I’ve tried to be sincere in a world where they only want to see my worse and I expected you to understand that.”

“…You know, I’m starting to feel offended that you don’t believe me. I understand you, but I would never do this to you.” Wonwoo sighs at her words, sparing one good look at her face. He will miss the shared laughter and even more so the love that she had gifted to him without nothing in return. Nothing more than loving her back.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience in your home.” Wonwoo says, putting on his jacket and his sunglasses before turning around and nodding at her. “And thank you for giving me the benefit of loving you.”

“Wonwoo—”

He opens the door in a hassle, eager for paparazzi not to see her in her pajamas and shred her to pieces. Jun greets him happily, offering him a cup of coffee that he ignores as he walks through the masses. The cameras go wilder for him, asking him questions:

“Where is your new love?!”

“When are you returning to Hollywood?!”

“Is she aware of your soft-porn pictures?!”

“Is this the end of your career?”

At this last question, he turns around, grabbing the microphone from the journalist’s hand and adding: “I don’t know, you’ll be the judge of that.” With that, he gets inside his car, hands trembling as he years to get out of there. They will follow after him, but the best he can do is reach Sandara and hope that she can take care of it.

With a broken heart and his wheels swirling, Wonwoo gets out of her life for good.

And he doesn’t look back.

For twenty-one days, she curses believing in love again. Even so, she starts to ponder if she should take out the entirety of the romance shelf off her library, but Jun is the one to stop her before she wiped out the best-selling row of their plethora of books. A fraction of her being understood where Wonwoo was coming from, and maybe, that’s the reason that upon hearing he’d be holding a press conference in a city nearby her own, she decided to go give it a glimpse. Perhaps, be another fan that just happened to get a little too close to the star.

“You’re losing your damn mind.” Jun says when following after her, entering the crowds of people that mingle to get a glimpse of Wonwoo as he’s expected to enter one of the most popular hotels in the city. “And I’m starting to like it. You’ve never acted like this before.”

“Jun!” She drags, a little mortified that she’s here. She has tried contacting Wonwoo, but the last thing she heard about him is that he had taken a plane back to Hollywood. She was even a bit surprised that he had come back. Everyone was trying to deduce who was the one that had captured him for three months in some secluded villa that no one had been able to find him in, but the masses of rumors were met by silence from his team as they announced his new film. “I shouldn’t even be here. He hates me, and for pictures that I wasn’t even in.”

“And I finally got the number of the girl in the supermarket because she saw me on TV. One of us is winning, so that makes two of us winning.” Sometimes, she wishes to pluck each hair of Jun’s head one by one only to see if he has a proper adult reaction. However, her best friend wraps an arm around her shoulder, grinning at her. “Are you sure you want to be around here? I looked up the best places to visit around here and we can totally go. It wouldn’t be on vain either.”

“I want to see him. One last time.” She ponders, humming at his words. Though, she has to scream a bit, considering the fans are going crazy, talking within themselves about the announcements he was supposed to be making today. “You know, maybe I can pluck him out of my heart that way.”

Though, that thought completely vanishes when looking at him. Wonwoo has decided to wear a long brown coat, sunglasses propped on the tip of his nose, getting out of a limousine as two guards help him get through the groups of people. A black shirt enters his black slacks, accentuating the waist she’d rest her cheek on when hugging him from the side as he poured coffee for her in the early mornings. She had lost that, along with the smile that characterized him when being with her. Though, she can say it had been taken away from both of them.

They are placed in a corner of the grand room in the hotel that is supposed to be taken up by Wonwoo and his team. He’s seated on a table, well perched and high on the stage, with Sandara on one side and another man whom she does not recognize on the other, but he’s making sure that the microphone is working well. The fans, such as them, are on the side to support him as the journalists take up most of the space.

Like parasites, she realizes, when the interview starts to enroll.

It’s supposed to be a press conference to announce the return of Wonwoo to acting and stardom, but they have made it all about the pictures that months ago had reached a magazine because of his ex…situationship, and also included glimpses of her. Of the mysterious woman whom he can’t find words, for he chooses other questions and gets shouts from the journalists who want more from him. He does admit to have signed a contract for a film, and she’s entranced in the way he speaks about the plot and what he wishes out of it.

A woman in her forties stands up, heels clicking when she plots her hip to the side, grabbing the microphone in between her hands with expertise before adding: “We have gathered information and found out, Mr. Jeon, that you have lived in the villa for almost four months by now. Reading books, having coffee, just living the life of a man in his fifties while also being in your twenties. What was the reason to stay out of stardom for so long and do you wish to go back to it any time soon?”

Wonwoo is uncomfortable; she can tell by the way he wrings his hands and turns them pale after taking off his sunglasses. He’s rotting in between the sense of lying or being truthful to himself. However, before Sandara could say to ask another question, Wonwoo leans over the microphone and sighs.

“Because I…happened to meet people who made me want to stay, and I sadly did not have the chance to stay for longer.”

“How so?” The journalist keeps prodding now that he has answered, and Sandara takes up over the microphone.

“I think it’s time we cut this round off—”

Though, Wonwoo gently pushes her away, rubbing at one eye before clearing his throat. “Because, as an actor, I have played enough roles for people to visualize me as such. I wanted to be someone normal for once, and reading books, like you said, made me unite with the citizens around the villa. I—I would have stayed if I could, but…reality wants me here. This is who I am.”

That could be the finalization of them, and it should have been, but damn her for being stubborn and knowing precisely when a good person is leaving her life, because she places a hand on top of Jun’s shoulder and whispers in his ear:

“Hoist me up. I’m going over the gate and getting to him.”

“What?”

“I can’t let him leave like that. Not without knowing I love him, at least.”

“Alright. If you’re going to jail, I’m going with you.”

What a paradox, it is, that the start of their story included him helping her get over her own gate and now she does as such, earning gasps and shouts from the masses of people as the guards rush towards her and catch her just in time for her mouth to let out:

“I just—Hey, I just wondered, Mr. Jeon, if you’d like to hear something from one of the citizens!” She’s battling against the strong hands of the guards trying to drag her away, feet kicking and asking to be given a second by Wonwoo.

She swears she sees a smile creep up his features when he leans over the microphone once again and says: “Let her go. I know her.”

The strong pair of arms unravels from around her waist and she sighs out in glee before she’s granted a microphone. She fixes her hair, stands up a little straighter and hates the fact that she didn’t try to look better after twenty-one days of missing him. “I was wondering, Mr. Jeon, if there was anyone who would have made you stay in that villa if it weren’t for your duty calling you. If…if it hurt you leaving the villa at all.”

She should expect the worst, judging by the ways cameras start flashing and people start whispering within themselves. However, Sandara is talking in Wonwoo’s ear, eager to get him to say the right thing, but as they look at each other, they are back to the nights in which she’d ask him to turn off the lights because she didn’t want him to see her without makeup or sick and he’d shrug his shoulders without a care in the world. They are back to the first time he was able to sleep next to her without turning off all the phones in the house.

It’s just the two of them. Their world. Their villa. Their three months.

“…You. You are the only one who could make me stay.”

That’s what makes everyone talk louder, after the bead of silence that leads up to the grandest reveal. The cameras turn towards her and she’s afraid of how she’ll look after, but that won’t matter if Wonwoo returns…one day, even after the movie, even for the weekends or when he’s free.

“That’s…that’s lovely.” She says, looking up as not to feel shy or embarrassed by what she’s about to admit. “Because I want you to stay, Wonwoo.”

“Um, I think we need to return to the questions—” Sandara is speaking, but Wonwoo has lifted his eyebrows, smiling softly and standing up from his spot and going over to where she is. Each step slows down the closer he gets, and the guards move to his place in order not to have journalists or fans jumping at him.

“Before you say anything,” She starts, interlocking her hands together in front of her body. “I…I love you. I just need you to know that. I don’t need anything else right now.”

Wonwoo quirks his head to the side, cheeks blushed and hands fisted in his pocket. “Well, I was about to offer three months in Los Angeles to film a movie and then, back to our villa indefinitely but—”

“You have to be joking.” She coos with a smile on her face, but Wonwoo shakes his head.

“Pretty honest. I am characterized for being such, aren’t I?”

Before she knows it, she’s launching herself at his arms, lips jotted to his own and even though everyone is looking, she couldn’t care less.

Indefinitely. That starts to sound a lot like forever, and with him, that doesn’t seem impossible.

“I love you, too.” He whispers as she hides her face from the cameras in his jacket, laughing at his words.

dedicated to @wisteria-woo

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #actor!au #notting hill!au #and my return from writing after months be nice to it omg

[obriengf]

Undercover Darlings || Mitch Rapp x Reader

Summary: It's Valentines day, and you and Mitch are playing fake lovers.  Words: 1.9k Warnings: swearing, cuteness, mitch being sassy to stan Notes: guys no this didn't turn out how i wanted?? I'm so sorry!

"Put your arm around me." Words were pushed through gritted teeth as you tried to portray a smile of realism, one of joyousness and devotion to the overly familiar man sitting beside you. You could feel his chest rise and fall with a murmur before he released a small sigh - irritation was imminent, but what you couldn't see was the ghost of a smile lifting at his lips. Paris was beautiful this time of year - on the cusp of falling snow, but still clear enough to enjoy the elegance of such a romantic city. The architecture stood sharp as you peered around the vast space before you, eyes gazing over couples as they celebrated a holiday made purely for love. It created a warmth within you, only complemented by the additional weight thrown over your shoulders and the small tug of your body against the firmness of another's chest. A smirk found its way among the contouring of your facial features - amusement etching into the corners of your eyes and the scrunch of your nose. You could feel the muscles of the arm tense, and you knew that you had him where you wanted him. Your partner was never one to show emotion with ease if it didn't consist of anger or irritability, nor were you one to often show roguery or mischievousness. But Mitch Rapp, the big bad Assassin, brought that side out of you so damn easily. It was an enigma just how he managed to do so, but by now it was comfortable more than anything. A small twist of your head allowed lips to press to the man's scruffed cheek, his beard beginning to grow back through despite your protests - it only made his want for it to grow even faster. You could feel a deep breath as it filled his lungs, his heart hammering against the curve of your shoulder blade. A tone of sweetness fell so easily from your lips, "Thanks, sweetie." Mitch's arm squeezed your body, a warning more than a simple acknowledgment. He groaned quietly against the shell of your ear, "Don't push it."

To an estranged eye, the two of you would seem like a couple enjoying the presence of one another; soaking in the strong emotion of love as it filled the Parisian air, without a worry or care. However, that timeline of events was far from what led you both to this specific bench, in this specific park, watching a specific person as they dawdled at the base of France's tallest landmark. Your target was a man with a deep history of 'pissing off the wrong people', as Stan Hurley would put it so elegantly.

The man wasn't hard to miss; his stance tall and build hefty, eyes teetering on the edge of blackened hues, his behaviour shifty despite the experience that weighed so heavily behind him. He ran a weapons trade that spanned the distance of Europe and his focus was secured now upon the rest of the world. Which simply, cannot happen. Not when the Central Intelligence Agency had two of its most adaptable agents ready to stop him.

You had worked alongside Mitch for what seemed like forever when it was nearing almost five years. He objected to it at first, but you held persistence and dedication that your handler couldn't pass up, especially when it came down to taming the beast. It was quicker than expected when you both fell into a routine and soon enough, the quirks and characteristics that made you both so incredibly different were the structure of your unique relationship.

Without declaration, he would burn the world to keep you warm.

"Where is he going?" Mitch's voice hissed, your concentrated daze breaking before looking toward your target. He was meant to be meeting with somebody, however, it wasn't in the cards for his early departure. Your partner cursed as he stood up and your body went with him, a shadow to his lead. Mitch's arm fell from you before his fingers slid nonchalantly with your own; both a wordless protection and tenacity to keep your cover from being blown. Mitch rolled his lips before moving forward, "C'mon, we're gonna lose him."

You couldn't help the furrowed brows of annoyance as static buzzed in your ear, a baffled Stan Hurley blasting question after question in such an incoherence as Mitch led you through the bustling crowds. You side-eyed your partner as he gave you a reciprocated expression before his honey-coloured eyes rolled in an atypical fashion. "He's on the move.", You spoke quietly, hoping that the projection of your voice was enough to be recognised among the numerous conversations you were surrounded by.

"Well, you better fucking catch up to him!" Your handler replied, and Mitch rolled his eyes once more.

"No shit." Your partner's reply with hasty and simple, causing the utmost satisfaction for you both as he was reprimanded briefly afterwards by the voice in your ears.

The man led you both toward a Valentines market; the populated street covered in red from head to toe, acoustic tunes exuding romance playing from street performers, and couples shining their brightest heart eyes at one another. It was the perfect place to get lost in, and in the moment you hoped for dear life that your target didn't know that he was in fact, a target.

Mitch held your hand tighter before tugging you against his side; the familiar weight of his arm now slung back over your shoulders. You blended in perfectly, a flawless seam among the budding bustle of festivalgoers. The proximity bordered on 'too natural' and you wondered if Mitch felt even the slightest complacency as you did at this opportune moment. It was a simple question of 'what if' - in an alternative world where you both weren't government-employed assassins, would your lives be easy and intertwined by fate, where maybe the two of you could live a happily ever aft-

"Rose for the madam?" The thick accent made you jolt, the silly thoughts intruding your mind now gone as Mitch brought you both to a stop. You looked toward a small French man, a stand of explosive colours serving as a beautiful backdrop behind him. Flowers of all sorts were gathered into small bouquets, but the one that stood out most to you was the perfect red petals of a single rose as it was positioned for Mitch's attention.

You were anticipating a refusal, at least a polite decline, with your partner usually one to skip the antics and keep his eyes on the prize. Which is why it took you by surprise when he handed over a few euros, taking the delicate flower in exchange. You didn't often see him smile but the genuine grin that followed and the kindness in his eyes was more than enough to make your heart thump, thump, thump.

Mitch's brow rose as he looked down at your expression of puzzlement, a chuckle of the utmost quietness falling from his lips as he held the rose toward you, "What? It's Valentine's day."

"You just continue to surprise me, is all." You replied, accepting the gift. Your shoulders rose nonchalantly before you peered not too far ahead at your target as he typed away ferociously at his phone. He was quick to move again, and it was your feet now that led the two of you after his further retreat.

Mitch scoffed, his spare hand scratching at his scruffed cheek; a nervous habit you managed to notice easily but kept as a secret for you and only you to know. He cleared his throat, "I'm just tryn' to keep up our cover. We're meant to be in love, remember?"

"I think you're just going soft on me, Rapp."

You heard a grumble in reply and it made you smirk, his voice hiding as it fell gently into the collar of his jacket, "Whatever."

Navigating through the crowds was becoming more difficult, regardless of the tight grip Mitch had on your hand. You weren't sure whether it was to keep you close so you wouldn't get lost, or as a means to make you both move faster, but he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon.

A familiar crack of static buzzed in your earpiece as the line opened, and you were greeted once more by your handler's voice with further direction. "We're close to your location, he's gonna run outta road soon so wherever this fucker is going, it can't be too far away. Stay vigilant, don't blow your cover."

You and Mitch replied with brief acknowledgment, your surroundings shifting to a smaller space down a city backstreet. Your mission had taken a turn the moment you left the gardens of the Eifel Tower, but you needed to make the best of a bad situation. No matter how frustrating it may be - and if it meant following a dangerous firearm trafficker through the heart of a love festival, then so be it.

The further he went, the less people there were to get in your way. It was a bittersweet concoction of keeping your eyes on him more clearly, versus his prevalent possibility of catching you out. Your target's paranoia was bubbling to the surface as his gaze flickered between the incoming messages on his phone and his surroundings. He was on edge, waiting with anticipation, searching for something. It was as if he could read your mind as he peered over his shoulder with the sceptical feeling that he was being watched.

Mitch swore as he pulled you to the side, avoiding the other man's eyes for a mere moment as he hissed toward you, "Kiss me. Now. Quick."

"What -"

"Kiss me."

You looked at him in confusion and it made your partner's eyes roll before his hands cupped your cheeks. They were splayed over your skin, warm and surprisingly soft, the perfect cradle for when he pressed his lips so carefully against yours. Mitch didn't want to scare you - knowing damn well that you would either kiss him back or sock him for his advances. Luckily, you found comfort in his taste and touch, and it took nothing more for you to melt into his tenderness.

Kissing Mitch wasn't on your cards for today, and you never would've thought that you'd be standing with your arms dangling around his neck, his fingers pressing gently against your jaw as his lips slid and licked with your own. For someone who was losing his patience earlier in the day, Mitch was taking all the time in the world to have you in his grasp. Holding you carefully. Cherishing your lips.

"Have you still got eyes on him?" Stan's voice sounded muffled as you poured every ounce of attention into Mitch. It was white noise, along with the music flowing from the local bands and the chatter of citizens moving around you. "Rapp, Y/L/N. Have you got eyes on the goddamn target?!"

Mitch jumped back slightly - lips still pursed, eyes fluttering as if he was waking up from a dream. He had never looked so at ease, until Stan's words finally caught up to him and his attention shifted to where the target was once standing. Where he was, no more.

Your eyes widened, locking with the honey brown of the man beside you. It was in unison when you both groaned, realization hitting that you did in fact, not, have your sight on the target.

"Fuck."

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien x reader #mitch rapp #mitch rapp x reader #american assassin #mitch rapp fic #mitch rapp imagine #dylan o'brien fic #dylan o'brien imagine #valentines24

[iron-sparrow]

PRIDE MONTH 2024 ˖⁺‧₊♡₊˚⊹

THE FIRST PRIDE WAS A RIOT

On June 28, 1969, activists Miss Major, Marsha P. Johnson, Silvia Rivera and Stormé Dulavarie led the the Stonewall Uprising ⸺ a five-day clash between patrons of the Stonewall Inn and NYPD. Prior to this, the police had raided the bar, and began assaulting and arresting people.

This wasn’t the first time the Stonewall Inn or other establishments for queer people were targeted by police. This time, however, hundreds of people decided to fight back.

On the one-year anniversary of Stonewall, activists walked from the Stonewall Inn in Greenwich Village to Central Park, in the first ever Pride March. Today, Pride has grown into an international celebration of LGBTQIA+ culture. Despite growing visibility, we must always remember the roots of this celebratory month and remain aware of the continued attacks against our community ⸺ to protect our progress and push for safety and equality for all.

#pride month #lgbtiqia #transgender #ffxiv screenshots #gposers #ffxiv gpose #elezen #viera #yes more TED TALK INCOMING #in between Junelezen posting #please look forward to it #activism #pride

[sunlightmurdock]

Power and Control | Prologue, Part 1 | Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

masterlist | prologue pt 2

chapter moodboard | recommended listening

As an unwanted birthday and an important launch approaches, Jake meets his match.

warnings: infidelity. age gap (20s/40s). sugar daddy relationship. scandal. one-sided pining. drama drama drama. SMUT. This content is intended for those 18+ and over, minors dni

…

New York City, the beginning of January. Four days after the New Year, to be exact. Jake steps outside into the increasingly familiar arctic chill of the city air, his breath clouding in front of him as he pulls his phone from the black trench coat hugging his body. His free hand dips into the pocket on the other side, curling around the keys of his rental.

Nadine: *image attatched*

Nadine: Troublemakers talked me into letting them snuggle while daddy’s away.

Jake’s lips quirk upwards. He examines the image on his phone, knowing damn well that those kids insist on sleeping in that bed even when he is there. The picture is taken from the foot of his bed. His children are curled up amongst the pillows, sprawled out impressively far along the length of the custom XL king bed.

Jake’s oldest, his son Cade is laying flat on his front with his face mashed into the pillow. He’s five now, and looking more and more like Jake every day. Tanned skin, green eyes, blonde hair and his wife’s impressively long, dark lashes.

His daughter is about as far as she could get from her brother. Adeline — Addie-Bear — she’s laying the wrong way, lengthways along the bed with her foot pressed into Cade’s stomach, her thumb in her mouth and her pink rabbit tucked up under her arm. She’s turning three next week. She’s Jake’s shadow when he’s home. It’s normally his stomach that her foot’s pressed into.

He taps away at the little keyboard on the screen, that smile lingering on his lips. It’s only 6am back there — she’s up early, and Jake knows why. The same thing she’s been up all hours of the night since November.

Jake: Missing one?

His phone vibrates with another text. Another picture. This time, it’s his wife — Nadine. Dean. She’s wearing a thin-strapped camisole, looking at him through her dark lashes with those big blue eyes, her hair tied back in a neat bun. Cradled against her chest and latched onto one nipple is their youngest. Elliott. Their oops baby, a product of the celebration of Jake’s skyrocket entry into the Forbes’ 300, born on November 12th.

He looks like her. His hair’s dark like hers and his cheeks are pink like hers. Jake’s got two just like him already, he hopes that this one’s all hers. He’s been hoping for more and more of her from the second he met her.

Jake exhales softly, the chill nipping at his cheeks and his ears. He lifts his gaze to the electric skyline, thinking of his family back there outside of Austin, a clear sky of stars.

Jake: Be back before you know it. Hope to find every single one of you in bed and ready to snuggle.

He slips his phone back into his pocket and turns his attention back to the sky. He just stepped out of his hotel, ready to begin the day. Today is the biggest day of his career so far. Well, it’s not — but it feels like it is. People keep telling him it is. Truthfully, ever since he blinked his eyes open this morning and took a look out over the Central Park view, his chest has been feeling tighter and tighter.

In two days, his Brooklyn office is opening. The East Coast launch of his company. Investors, parties, rooftop bars, he’s going to have a busy couple of days. Which is why he has opted to take these few extra moments for himself.

In seventeen hours, Jake turns forty-two. This date has been creeping up on him for a while now, he figured he would get used to the idea at some stage. So far, all he feels about the nearing birthday is dread. Chest-tightening, dark feeling, dread.

Luckily, he doesn’t have a lot of time to wallow in that.

The Rolls Royce in the parking garage is rented, but Jake’s got one the same sitting in the garage back home. The leather feels familiar but the smell is off. His kid hasn’t accidentally punctured an entire can of febreeze in this car, and honestly, he kind of misses the overwhelming scent of Forest Pine every time he opens the door.

He misses everything about home. He misses Nadine’s cooking, and her laugh, and her blow jobs. There haven’t been many of those recently. Even before Elliott. It’s not her either, Nadine hasn’t ever been the problem. She wants him just as much as he wants her.

Jake’s the problem. It’s just that with two kids who come crawling into their bed at all hours of the night, he finds it a little hard to trust that one of them isn’t just going to burst into the room at any minute.

And he travels so much. He’s away so often that by the time he gets home, he usually passes out in the guest room just so that he can actually get some sleep for once. He hasn’t ever been able to sleep on flights. Truthfully, he had thought that his company would allow him to have more time at home. And it does, kind of.

He’s not deployed for months at a time like if he was still in the Navy. He’s just not there that often either.

The drive to the new office is fine. Driving in New York is dull and Jake spends the entire drive with his foot hovering the brake in case some delivery driver steps out in front of the hood. It’s not a delivery driver that does.

It’s a girl in a big coat. She’s got the puffer jacket pulled up around her ears to shield them from the cold and a pair of headphones covering them to make all of that effort redundant.

More importantly, she’s not watching where she’s going. She’s looking down at her phone. Jake won’t know this until much later, but she’s googling him.

She steps out on Jake as he’s halfway around the corner. Luckily for her and his insurance policy, his fighter pilot reflexes haven’t ever failed him yet. The car screeches to a halt. It’s unclear whether she saw it in her peripheral vision or heard it stop, but she whips around anyway.

Pretty face, even when it’s all screwed up and angry. Her hair’s windswept but he can see the effort that went into styling it. Her make-up’s cute. Somebody’s assistant, probably, running late. His eyes flicker down to her legs, then swiftly back up.

Jake stares at her calmly. Then, he lifts his hand from the wheel and gestures for her to keep crossing. The girl narrows her eyes, lifts her hand and flashes her middle finger at him. Jake’s hair is longer now than it is in his Wikipedia picture, she doesn’t have a clue.

Watching her rush off on her way, Jake scoffs and shakes his head. More parents should teach their kids how to cross the road properly.

The office is in Dumbo. He’s told that that’s a good location, but really he doesn’t care. The office isn’t where the important stuff goes down — that’s why he’s always away on these business trips. He should care, he would have cared in the past.

This company means everything to him. Jake can see himself hurtling towards burnout, something’s got to give. There just isn’t room. He doesn’t have time to think about it.

There isn’t a whole lot of parking there, but there are ten spots reserved for his company. One reserved just for him. He’s told that this is also a lot for the area.

Everyone has been talking about him. ‘What do you mean the driver said he wasn’t there?’. Jake’s calm as he pushes open the glass door and strolls into the building. Everyone quickly quietens. The mystery of their missing CEO is suddenly solved.

He remembers wanting this. Wanting the kind of power that made people shut up when he walked into a room.

“Mr. Seresin!” Jake has met the woman speaking a handful of times now. She’s his East Coast liaison. She organized this whole launch while Jake got to enjoy some time at home with his new baby. She’s in her late thirties. He knows she’s got kids too. Two boys, maybe. He doesn’t really remember. Her blonde ponytail swishes as she rushes over to him. “We sent a car for you!”

“I know,” Jake offers her a quick smile as he shrugs his coat off of his shoulders and hands it to a readily available assistant. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I just wanted some quiet time before I’m talking all day.”

People want Jake to be an asshole. He’s handsome, in a classic kind of way too. He’s beyond successful. Graduated from the most elite Naval training programme to exist and enjoyed a twenty year career there. Built a Forbes 300 company from the ground up. Beautiful, smart wife. Perfect kids. And he’s still young, only forty-one now.

But, that’s simply not the case. Jake remembers the name of the East Coast Liaison he has only met once, briefly, over a zoom call three months ago. He remembers that she’s got two boys. He has stepped strategically into the office so far, so as to not disturb the freshly mopped floors.

He knows that his daughter’s rabbit is named Zade — and absolutely not Cade, because she hates her brother for at least 22 hours of the day. He knows that his son plays centre-back on his soccer team, but really would rather be playing goalie. He knows that his wife hates going to the gas station late at night but loves late night gas station snacks.

Rosie’s lips quirk up into a soft smile. Not just at being remembered by such a handsome or impressive man, but because that’s such a human request. Ten minutes of peace this morning before he spends the next two days smiling for every camera in a hundred foot vicinity.

“That makes sense. It really isn’t a problem. You could tell us, you know — we aren’t here to dictate your day,” She explains to him, a team of eager office staff standing nearby ready to meet their new boss. “You’re the boss, Mr. Seresin.”

She watches him visibly relax, his face softening a little.

“Jake.” He corrects calmly, tapping her elbow platonically and stepping around her. “Alright, who am I working with here?”

He’s beyond charming. Everyone loves him. Receptionists, admins, accountants and fee-earners. This launch is going to be easy. It starts off here, at the office, with a press day.

Meaning that Rosie gets to walk a bunch of eager journalists around the office and explain to them exactly what Vulcan is, and stands for. While Jake sits in his office all morning providing interviews, takes a brief break for a networking lunch, and continues with the interviews in the afternoon.

His office is pretty bare, it’s his first time seeing it this morning. High ceilings, black industrial style windows. A designer took the lead with the whole building — Jake remembers getting a lot of phone calls from him. He’s happy with the direction that he took.

Red brick flows through the building, dark floors. Grey and slate colours throughout. Masculine, modern. He likes it.

Almost instinctively, Jake walks to sit behind his desk. A ten foot length of oak, stained to look darker than the wood naturally is. Thick, leather office chair behind it. A computer sits in front of him and blocks his view of the door — he’ll have that moved by the end of the day.

He rarely works off of anything other than his laptop, making this stupidly big monitor redundant. They can make use of it somewhere else, he’s sure.

Spinning about ninety degrees in either direction on the chair, he taps his fingertips against the wood and surveys the room once more.

He wonders briefly if he’ll ever even touch one of the books on the length of bookshelf that spans the ten feet of wall space behind the ten feet of his desk. Almost definitely not.

To the right of the bookshelf, there’s a tall cabinet. Some kind of filing system most likely. To the right, there’s a bar system. All top shelf labels.

He hasn’t ever brought his kids to work with him yet, but he would have to do some serious baby proofing in here if he ever wanted to.

He leans back in the chair and turns his chin towards the window. He’s got a pretty great view of the East river from here, and past that, the lower East Side.

“Hey, Jake?” Three knocks at the door and his new assistant twists the handle and opens the right side of the double doors that lead into the office. Matthew. Recently graduated from a private catholic college in the city, will probably only be here until he finds something more permanent. Nice kid. “They’re ready when you are.”

He makes the decision that hiding behind a desk isn’t the best first impression. People already make assumptions about his business and his character just because of the industry he’s in. He tries to prove them wrong when he can.

Sitting in the brown leather arm chair, his suit jacket hung neatly on the hanger in his closet and the sleeves of his grey shirt rolled up to his forearms, he’s nothing if not approachable. Polite, well-informed and passionate about the work he’s doing. He makes a good first impression for the first six interviews.

It’s been three hours and he hasn’t faltered yet, until he looks up at the sound of Matthew introducing him to his next interviewer, and finds someone familiar before him.

You swallow softly, watching him tilt his head as he tries to place where he knows you from. You aren’t having the same problem. You recognise him instantly. The guy in the Rolls who almost ran you over this morning.

His lips quirk slowly up in realization. There it is: he knows.

You’re fucked. You’re so fucked. Jerry’s going to skin you alive when he hears about this.

Amusement drips from his features as your heels tap meekly across the concrete office floor, your hand trembling as you hold it out towards him. He pushes himself up from the armchair and slips his palm into yours. You’re faintly aware of Jake’s assistant closing the door behind him as Jake squeezes your hand and shakes.

Your eyes dart briefly downwards, watching the way his fingers extend past your palm, stretching up onto your wrist. The way your hand disappears under the cover of his. Looking back up, you inhale. He’s taller than his Wikipedia page would suggest — and his hair is shorter. You hadn’t recognised him.

“Jake Seresin.” He introduces himself calmly, his palm still in yours. His eyes are an unreasonable shade of green and he smells like the Tom Ford section of Macy’s. He looks down at you, seeming to enjoy the burning embarrassment on your features.

It’s unclear if he’s trying to embarrass you or smooth things over, but either way, you’re waiting for the ground to swallow you whole. You meekly reply with your own name. He smiles, nods, and drops your hand. “You want a drink?”

Christ, he’s trying to fuck you. You messed up and he’s trying to get you drunk so that he can fuck you. You silently scramble for an answer that won’t tank this opportunity harder than you already have.

“Can’t. Sorry,” You answer him quickly, your voice finally loud enough for him to get an idea of what you sound like. He continues away from you without looking back, his broad shoulders filling out that slate coloured shirt perfectly. “I’m nineteen.”

His reaction to this question is important. If he doesn’t mind, then he’s a dirtbag. If he does, he might still spoil this interview on account of your behavior anyway.

Jake turns, and gives you a brief look over his shoulder.

“Sprite? — Sparkling water? Regular water?”

You should honestly probably just leave. Assuming that he was trying to get you drunk at 11am. Flipping him off before that. It’s not like you’re even particularly prepared for this interview. You were googling him on the way here.

“Still. Please.” You breathe out, taking a step back and a seat on the couch.

“I didn’t say you could sit.” Jake deadpans as he turns towards you with two bottles of water in his hand. Your eyes blow wide open and you launch yourself back onto your feet swiftly.

Slowly, his face twists into a devious grin. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Dimples at the sides of his cheeks, a neat dusting of blonde stubble covering his jaw, his eyes creasing at the edges. “I’m fucking with you. Joking. Sorry, forgot that I had little ears around — I’m joking with you.”

Poking fun at your ‘age’, seeming to forgive your previous indiscretions and setting the water on the coffee table in front of you with an annoyingly cool attitude. He’s running rings around you already.

“Funny.” You tell him quietly, trying to smile. Jake just chuckles as he settles down into the armchair and twists the top off of the glass bottle, bringing it to his mouth.

He takes a gulp and swallows, then brings the bottle down to rest against his thigh. “Little young for a reporter, anyway, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a writer. My boss couldn’t make it, and it was going to be a valuable experience, so, uh… he offered it to us. I’m one of his interns.” Jake crosses one knee over the other and watches as you reach down to pull your notebook from your purse. Black mini skirt, white blouse, cheap heels. He believes it. You look like somebody’s intern.

“Who’s your boss?” He rests his forearms on either side of the chair, his gaze never once wavering from you. He’s not a man that is easily distracted.

You set the notebook on your lap and fiddle with the pen.

“Jerry Jones, with the Observer.”

Jake presses his tongue into his cheek. Being snubbed by Jerry Jones, that’s fucking rich. Jake knows what it means when someone is too busy for a press day — they didn’t want to come.

His reaction tells you quickly that he isn’t a fan of your boss. That’s probably a good thing, since you’re not a fan of that pig either, but it’s not a good thing in terms of the interview.

“You like it there?” He asks. You wish he would look away from you for just a second. Those green eyes feel like they’ve got the power to mesmerize you and really, you can’t afford any more embarrassment.

No. You hate it. Jerry’s a pervert and you aren’t interested in working for him at all. You’re just here because your professor pulled some strings. You hate your job, and everyone you work with.

Jake’s lips quirk once again. He flashes you a quick smile. “You’re young. There’s always time to move on.”

Fuck. If this gets back to Jerry, any of it, you’re in big trouble. Apparently reading you is just another skill to add to Jake’s already impressive resume. He leans forwards and sets the bottle of water down on the coffee table, then relaxes back into his seat with parted knees.

“Sorry. I’ll stop. What did you need to ask me, honey?”

There’s a brief pause where your eyes linger on his face before you exhale. Jake knows that look. He is more than used to receiving it. But, coming from you, he can’t pretend not to enjoy it.

Looking hasn’t ever been a crime, flirting hasn’t ever been a crime. Nadine knew that was who he was when she met him. Hell, she looks at guys sometimes. Jake looks.

Jake Seresin is a former Naval Aviator turned entrepreneur. That’s the opening line of his Wikipedia. Four and a half years ago, he founded a company called Vulcan.

“We specialize our activity in military contracts service,” Jake’s knees are parted wide and he’s beyond confident in holding your gaze. You scrawl notes down onto the page, hoping that he’ll drop something interesting soon. “Personal protection, convoy security, tactical operations.”

Swallowing, you look up at him and set the pen down on the page.

“Over eighty-five percent of your workforce are former United States Armed forces, and you’re known for working closely with several notable veteran’s charities,” Jake listens to you list off the front-page facts about him, his hand resting calmly against his thigh. “How would you say that your background in the Navy affected your business-plan?”

You’re nervous about being here, that much is clear, but there’s a boldness in the way that you look at him. He likes it, he would hire you on the spot. A little guidance and you could be great. Jake has always liked confident girls.

Between questions, when you’re looking down at your notebook with your lips pursed in concentration, he looks. He looks at the way your legs curve, how those heels make them look. The way your neck disappears under the collar of your white buttoned blouse.

You’re professional enough. Young, sure — but he doesn’t buy for a second that you’re nineteen. The way that you talk, the way that you sit, the way that you look at him. He knows you’ve been with men. More importantly, he knows you’re used to getting what you want.

His answers are eloquent, you can tell he cares. He can tell that you think this entire industry is a farce. But, you’re too polite to admit all that.

You finish up, you shake his hand and pretend like feeling him grip your palm in his doesn’t affect you in the way that it does. And then, you take the train back to your office.

Jake works through the afternoon and heads straight to drinks in Soho from there. These aren’t casual drinks though. No, he starts off with dinner with his investors. Then, they move to a rooftop bar with views over the city.

He’s bored. The longer that this goes on, the more he feels it eating at him. Forty-two has him in a vice-grip, and it feels like he’s being crushed by it. Tapping his fingers against the chilled glass, he turns his attention towards the lights and finds himself zoning out completely. Suddenly the little Wall Street jack-off that he was speaking to is far more quiet, and Jake’s mind is a lot more busy.

He’s bored. He isn’t happy. In the San Diego office, on business trips, here. At home. Something is missing. It’s ridiculous, he has everything and he wants more.

A hand on his arm snaps him out of it. He looks down at the 5’6 broker that has smacked a palm into his bicep and stares. The hand lingers there, the person on the end of it has no idea how much they’re pissing him off.

“So anyway, Jake, then I told ‘em-“

“Will you excuse me for just one second?” Jake pushes his glass forwards and the poor son of a bitch in front of him has a split second to decide if he’s going to catch it or wear it. He chooses correctly and his suit is saved, fingers curling around the glass.

Jake steps around him without any kind of idea what they were even talking about before he had rudely interrupted. In one more hour, Jake will be forty-two. It’s not an age that he has been looking forward to. Nothing about getting older has seemed particularly exciting, ever, but this — this is much worse than ever before.

He exits out onto the terrace, leaving his own event behind him. It’s too cold for most people to want to be out here. There’s snow on the forecast for this week.

Running a hand over his face, Jake thinks of his father. He looks like him. Apparently, he acts like him. Jake was eight years old on his father’s forty-second birthday. He remembers the smiling, the music, the cigars. More importantly, he remembers attending his father’s funeral eight weeks later.

Swallowing thickly, Jake pulls his phone from his pocket. He already knows how this will end. It’s 10pm back home — she’s going to be asleep in bed with her book still open, dropped onto the pillow next to her. He calls anyway, resting his forearms on the glass railing, breathing deeply.

“C’mon, honey, pick up the phone.” He whispers into the air, his breath materializing in front of him. His foot taps impatiently against the stone tiles. If he had ever smoked, he’d probably be itching for a cigarette by now. “Just pick up.”

It rings eight times, and then her voicemail starts to play. Upon hanging up, Jake is met with his lockscreen. 11:03. Fifty-seven minutes to go. His throat feels dry. He closes his eyes for a second and thinks of his family. Asleep, cuddled up together.

He’s suddenly reminded of exactly how many nights they have spent like that, without him. His kids are always excited to see him, but they probably barely notice that he’s gone on nights like this.

His body makes the decision to head for the bar before his mind does. Jake needs another drink, something strong. If he wakes up hungover, maybe he’ll feel thirty again. Being the boss has its perks. Asking for three shots of whiskey and then a scotch on the rocks with a twist would get anyone else here fired. For Jake, it gets him service with a smile.

He rests his hands on the bar and exhales deeply. Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, he starts to wonder how cheap tequila used to get him so drunk when now top shelf whiskey doesn’t seem to do the trick.

Jake checks his peripheral, then deems the movement to his left interesting enough to justify turning his head to look. Like Rosie had said, he’s the boss. Who’s going to lecture him for being nosey?

He almost smiles at the sight of Jerry Jones standing right next to him. Too busy to drag his lazy ass out to Brooklyn this morning, too cheap to miss out on an open bar in the city. Then, his attention turns to the girl that Jerry has wedged between him and the bar. Jake recognises those legs instantly.

“I get it, I screwed up.” You whisper. Jake’s close enough to hear the anger trembling through your voice. He watches as Jerry’s short, stubby fingers reach out and curl around your forearms.

“Damn right you fucking did, what are you going to do to fix it?” Your boss sneers. Jake can smell the beer reeking off of him, and the disgusted, pinched look on your face tells him that you do too. Surely this isn’t about your interview earlier. It went well. Jake could have been a lot more dull, if he hadn’t been rooting for you.

Turning his attention briefly back to the bar, Jake remembers his Navy days. Kicking drunk assholes out of Penny’s bar. Knocking the worst of them on their asses just for sport. It’s been a while. Getting into a bar fight wouldn’t be good press, but Jake’s just itching to do it. To do something.

Unfortunately, in his moment of deliberation, Jake misses the opportunity. He’s caught somewhat in the splash zone, which makes his head whip around just in time to catch the aftermath. The empty champagne glass in your hand, Jerry’s soaked shirt and wet face, the fury in your eyes.

“You are done. You know that?” Jerry’s fingers press harshly into your forearm as he leers closer again, growling threats in your direction. Jake stands up, enough is enough, but once again, you’re faster. He watches as you lift your chin, then swiftly your knee to follow, slamming it right into your boss’ groin. Jerry recoils enough to release his grip.

Jake just watches as you spin away from the situation. He doesn’t even notice the smile on his face until he turns his head and stares Jerry in the eye. He makes no effort to hide it.

“Jones, you touch a woman like that again,” Jake adjusts his sleeves under his suit jacket as he straightens up and prepares to believe. His gaze is strikingly cold as he meets your boss’ gaze once again. “I’ll take everything you’ve ever worked for from you, I promise you that.”

This isn’t the first time that they have crossed paths. That’s one of the nicer of their exchanges. Amused enough, Jake heads for the exit with every intention of making the most of the stocked bar in his hotel room and the opportunity to jerk off without needing to lock three separate doors first.

He grabs his coat on the way out, huffing out a deep exhale as he steps out onto the street. He should probably take a cab. He can get someone to pick up the rental first thing tomorrow.

Slowing as the heavy glass door to the bar closes behind him, Jake examines the girl in the short dress standing by the curb, shivering. He shrugs his coat off of his shoulders as he walks forwards, clearing his throat to alert you of his presence.

You must have been in the city for a while with the expert way that you round on him without visible fear. He’s silent for a moment, studying the dark mascara smudged under your eyes. City lights behind you, your lips a deeper colour from how you’ve been gnawing anxiously at them, your skin prickled with goosebumps.

“Jesus Christ, did you fucking follow me out here?”

Jake’s mouth twitches. His brows raise slowly, creases starting to appear on his forehead. It’s been a long time since someone spoke to him like that. Much less an intern.

“I don’t have to be nice to you anymore, I know you saw him fire me.” You point out, hands gripping onto your own biceps in an attempt to keep in some of your body heat. You’re an idiot for forgetting to grab your coat, but there’s not a chance that you’re walking back into that building.

Jake holds his coat in one hand, cold nipping at his hands. He’s cool, confirming your accusations. “I did.”

Whether that’s that he followed you or that he saw you get fired, he doesn’t specify. He lifts his hand and offers his coat. You look between him and the heavy black material, statuesque. Both of you are staring at the coat when the first snowflake falls. White spots disappearing into the dark, wool-cashmere blend.

Jake lifts his gaze. You clench your jaw to keep from shivering. He lifts the coat slightly, reminding you that his offer is still there. Hesitantly, you uncross one arm and reach out with a trembling hand. He’s dead quiet, watching you wrap yourself in his coat, shrugging it close to your body.

“You wanna go for a drink?” Jake breathes out, his breath clouding in front of him, the tip of his nose pink. You stare back at him. He saw you with that champagne glass in your hand upstairs. Realistically, if you fuck him, it’s not like you can get fired twice — and fuck, he’s handsome.

Plus, you kind of don’t want to give his coat back yet.

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting across from the richest man you’ve ever met in a dimly lit cocktail bar in Soho.

“So, you’re not nineteen.” Jake muses, parting his knees excessively wide as he sits back in his chair. You study him.

“Twenty-four.” You answer quietly. His lips quirk up into a smile, and he nods finally. There’s a quick reprieve as a waitress sets your drinks between the two of you. A scotch, and a margarita. “Look, I would have told you the truth, but—“

Jake shakes his head calmly. “No need. I get it.”

You frown slightly, resting your elbow on the table and propping your chin on top of it. Jerry had sworn to you that this guy was an asshole, and so far, you’re just not seeing it.

Until Jake gets you to laugh for the first time. A passing comment about life in the city that’s accurate enough to warrant a small giggle. Then, you watch him reach out and pick up his glass, and your eyes land on the gold wedding ring on his finger.

Here you are letting him buy you drinks when he has a wife waiting for him at home.

Toying with the straw in your glass, you rest your cheek against your hand. “So, Vulcan,” You start with a shrug, letting him know that you’re disinterested in his work. Jake smiles coolly back at you.

“Why leave the Navy and still work with military contracts?” You push the straw around the glass, letting the ice clink to break up some of the silence.

In the years since he started this, Jake has heard that question almost every day. His answer is polished and perfected.

“Getting out of the military isn’t like quitting any other job. For a lot of people, assimilating into another career path just isn’t feasible after the experiences they’ve been through,” Jake’s exceptionally still, beyond okay with the silence. He watches you fiddle with your drink. “And there was nowhere for them to go before Vulcan.”

Nowhere for him to go, he means. He doesn’t say it, he knows it himself, and when you lift your gaze to look at him through your lashes, he knows that you know it too.

“You really believe in what you’re doing. You know, some people think that there’s something concerning about private companies carrying out military duties.”

“Well, you did your research,” He’s taunting you now, you both know that you didn’t. “You know how strenuous of a process it was for my company to build the impeccable reputation that it has now.” Jake takes no time to consider. He’s firm, decisive. He watches you take one more look down at the wedding ring on his finger.

“A lot of people think that you’re just in it for the money.” By that, you mean Jerry Jones. You don’t have to say it, you know it. And by the way Jake looks at you, you know he knows it too. Unspoken words, your eyes drawn in on each other, your heartbeat in your ears. His wife is a lucky woman.

“I didn’t know that I’d even earn any money when I started. I had a one year old at the time, I needed it to work.” He admits.

“You’ve got kids.” You breathe out. Jake can hear the disappointment in your tone. So, the wedding ring wouldn’t have stopped you. Kids is where you draw the line. Anyway, he decides to test you further.

“Three. Two boys and a girl.”

Blinking across at him, you should be running for the hills by now. Instead, you refuse to let your silence ruin this for you. “How old?”

He should probably be ashamed of himself for sitting in Soho with a girl half his age, telling her about his kids — but he isn’t. He just isn’t. “Five, almost three, and uh… My youngest was born in November.”

Your glossed lips press softly together, almost in consideration. He watches as you cross one knee over the other and flick your gaze back up to him.

“So, what are we doing here, Jake?”

He likes the way his name sounds coming from your mouth. Too much. He likes the way your legs look in the dress that you’ve changed into. He loves the way that your eyes remain on him as your tongue slowly dips from your mouth to a portion of the salt from the rim of your glass.

There’s only about a foot of distance between the two of you and it’s beyond evident that sooner or later, there will be much less.

“Can’t friends get a drink together?” He’s playing coy, and truthfully he wants you to be the one to put an end to this because he has three minutes left until his birthday and he wants nothing more than to pin those pretty fucking legs behind your ears.

“We’re going to be friends?” You huff amusedly at the idea. You’ve been wanting to see what’s under that expensive suit all day.

No, Jake doesn’t want to be your friend. He lifts the glass to his mouth and takes a drink.

“I hear you’re staying at the Plaza.” No job to go back to tomorrow. An ex-boyfriend who will inevitably get a phone call if this doesn’t work out. A masters’ degree that you still haven’t finished, two years in. In lieu of spitting in Jerry Jones’ face, there’s a more wild and infinitely more exciting opportunity right in front of you.

There it is. Jake’s been waiting for that confidence to break through.

“Have you stayed before?” He knows that you haven’t. This cat and mouse game is winding down and Jake’s about to make a decision he won’t be able to take back. You give a slow shake of your head, sitting back in your seat. Jake’s eyes flicker down to his watch. He looks back up to you. “You want to?”

Less than an hour into his birthday, Jake lingers just inside the doorway of his hotel room as you walk ahead of him towards the ten feet tall windows facing the park.

“No fucking way.” You breathe out, eyes wide, heels tapping gently across the floors. Jake’s lips quirk upwards into an amused smirk. He takes a second to look you over, eyes trailing your silhouette in front of the skyline.

Then, he turns and pours himself one last drink. For you, he takes a moment to examine the bar.

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re having.” You call back as you turn, craning your neck to try to see up the stairs. There’s so much to look at, but it’s clear that you’re here to fuck him, not tour his hotel room.

Jake chuckles to himself, already figuring that you probably won’t like it, but pouring you a measure anyway.

When he turns, he finds you resting you palms against the window frame, one ankle crossed over the other, smiling softly at him. The expectation is that he’ll finally touch you, but no. Jake sits down in the armchair and sets your drink on the coffee table in front of him.

“Go, explore. I know you want to.” He permits, settling down comfortably as he takes a sip of the amber coloured liquid. Your lips quirk up, almost smiling at him. That’s a smile that he could get used to seeing.

He watches as you walk back through the way that you came. Closet and a washroom by the door, an impressive study just past that. Upstairs, there’s an even more impressive bedroom. A huge bathroom with a bathtub bigger than you’ve ever seen that leads out onto a private terrace.

You’re in a Penthouse. It starts to finally sink in that you’re here with one of the most powerful men in the city right now, and you’re still wearing his coat.

Shrugging off the expensive wool blend, you hang it in the bedroom closet and then turn to look at yourself in the floor length mirror.

The dress is nice. Your sister had helped pick it out. It’s classy enough for a work event but it fits your body in a way that has always earned you special attention.

Slowly, you touch at the bottom hem of the dress with your fingertips, guiding it up just slightly to expose the tops of your stockings. It’s beyond presumptuous, but you see the way that he looks at you.

Reaching back to catch hold of the zipper of the dress, you think of how humiliating this could be. It doesn’t stop you, though.

…

Tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

#jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin #Glen powell #jake Seresin fic #jake Seresin smut #jake seresin #top gun smut #sugar daddy jake #power and control

[ggfj84]

"You realize we're practically the Gilmore Girls."

"How do you figure?"

Sitting on the edge of a table in Cyborg’s once-pristine lab, Nightwing drew Batman’s cape tighter around his body. "Well, you took me in when I was eight and you were twenty-four. That means I was born when you were sixteen."

"And that makes us the Gilmore Girls?" Bruce asked as his hands ran over the edge of the destroyed concrete and steel.

NIghtwing shrugged or as best he could with his banged-up arm. "It's a TV show about a young mother from a rich family who had a kid at sixteen, runs away, and works her way up from being a maid at an inn.”

“I see the very few similarities. Hard work. Young parent.”

“The biggest difference really is that her front desk personnel is French Canadian, not British, so he doesn't make questionably edible cucumber sandwiches."

Batman let out a noise that could have been misconstrued as a laugh. “Don’t let Alfred hear you.”

“I mean, they’re not terrible, but I wouldn’t call them good.”

The conversation hit a lull then, allowing pain and exhaustion to find Nightwing again. The lab explosion – set off by Lex Luthor or Gorilla Grodd or whoever was now a part of the Secret Society of Super Villains – had trapped them in a collapsed pocket of the Watchtower. Nightwing couldn’t tell how long they’d been holed up, but it had been some time since he regained consciousness.

“Keep talking,” Batman demanded as he picked up his tablet and began to type. 

NIghtwing rolled his eyes. “You know that’ll take up more oxygen, and we don’t know if we’re cut off from the watchtower’s tanks.”  

“We are, but if you lose consciousness again, we’ll be in a worse predicament.”

Which was why Nightwing currently wore Batman’s cape, despite the fact that there could be people who didn’t know Batman’s identity right outside the wall of twisted metal and concrete.

Blood had already caked upon Nightwing’s forehead and cheek from a rogue piece of concrete that hit him. He pointedly ignored the limp arm that lay across his hip as his legs dangled over the edge of the lab table.

“You just had to invite me today, didn’t you?”

“Of course, I did,” Batman said as a matter of fact, not even looking up from his tablet. “Today’s our anniversary.”

“Our what!” NIghtwing let out a high-pitched laugh. “Bruce, last time I checked, you did not put a ring on it.”

“I put one on Selina.” Batman frowned at a particular reading on his tablet and tapped across the screen. “On this day, fifteen years ago, you ran the gauntlet and officially became my partner.”

NIghtwing ducked his head, though he knew it wouldn’t hide the sudden heat that rushed to his cheeks. “You remember that? You have literally forgotten my birthday five times, but you remember Batman and Robin’s anniversary.”

“Twice,” Bruce corrected.

“Twice what?”

“I’ve only forgotten your birthday twice.”

This, Nightwing knew well. “It’s definitely five times.” He lifted a finger for each point. “The latest one, the second one, my eleventh birthday, my fourteenth birthday cuz I wanted a quad and didn’t get it, and my twenty-first.”

Batman sighed, and even though Nightwing could read Batman’s face almost as well as Bruce’s, he found the distressed lines across Bruce’s forehead and the tightening of his jaw unnerving.

“When you were turning fourteen, there was no way I was buying you that death machine, and I didn’t want to see you disappointed. So I left Alfred to give you your consolation present, and Wally was throwing you a birthday party in Central City anyway. You didn’t need me there.

“When you turned twenty-one, you were celebrating most holidays with your friends, and I would have simply been the chaperone you no longer needed. So I gave Wally my credit card number and told him to charge everything to me.”

Why didn’t Wally tell him? “Bruce, I didn’t – ”

“And on your last birthday, I visited you, even brought you drinks at Bea’s. I would have given you a present if I thought you would have taken it.”

Dick thought back to his last birthday. As Ric, he didn’t even remember the day was special. He drove his cab for ten hours and then crashed at Bea’s bar in the evening, where a friendly guy named Matches struck up a conversation and – shit.

“You know what?” Nightwing motioned toward their quasi-cage. “I feel this whole situation is entrapment.”

Batman gave him a flat, exasperated glower. “You just had to say it, didn’t you?”

“I can’t let a good pun go.” Nightwing shrugged. “Any luck finding us a way out?”

“I have a contingency plan.”

“Awesome. Let’s do it.”

Batman looked absolutely pained. “I’d rather wait a few more minutes. Unless you are in need of immediate medical attention, I think I’d like to see if I come up with a different exit strategy.”

“Bruce.” It was not a whine but damn close to one. “We’ve been in here for hours.”

“Twenty-two minutes.”

“My arm is broken, and I probably have a concussion. I just want some painkillers and my bed. Whatever plan you have, do it already.”

“Hm.” Batman grumbled and then said in the lowest, most menacing growl possible, “Superman, help.”

The frustrated and annoyed look on Bruce’s face when Clark arrived was the best present Dick ever received.  

#Dick Grayson #Nightwing #Bruce Wayne #Batman #batfamily #batdad #batfam #batfamily feels #ggfj84 writes

[resowrites]

Suddenly It Happened - oneshot (request).

Summary: Henry’s longtime personal assistant wonders if he’ll ever return her feelings…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Reader

Warnings: fluff, slight angst, brief mention of relationship difficulties, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 2040

A/N: My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Suddenly It Happened - oneshot.

The door to the waiting area closed softly. She looked up to see her boss, smiling casually as he motioned for her to join him. The meeting with his publicist lasted only half an hour but she still had to drive him into central London for a day of press. Naturally, he was dressed to the nines and looking as handsome as ever. She sighed as she got into the car, wondering how despite his ever-increasing popularity, he’d managed to remain single. She'd worked closely with him for the last five years, doing all manner of tasks, many far out of her purview as a personal assistant. But Henry wasn't like the other celebrities she'd met. He was kind, humble, and undemanding, the sort of man she'd always dreamed of meeting but knew was way out of her league. Her personality was very much like his own but whereas his looks were talked about and admired the world over, she was plain and bookish. Hardly his type. But that didn't stop her from daydreaming occasionally or stealing a loving glance. She knew nothing would ever happen, and she was far too serious about her job to ever risk being so stupid. Yet still, she wondered. He looked over at her from the passenger seat, his gaze as warm as his smile. She kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead "Tell me again where we're headed first?"

"The Thistle Hotel, you'll be there hopefully no more than a couple of hours. Did you manage to look over the list of questions I emailed you last night?" His smile grew wider.

"Yep, seems pretty standard stuff. Thanks for making sure there were no personal questions, though I must admit it gets a bit tedious being asked about Kal all the time..." She uncomfortably cleared her throat but otherwise said nothing. "You're still coming to the premiere next week aren't you?" 

"Of course, wouldn't miss it."

"Great, you know how uncomfortable I get at those things. All those flashing lights, the shouting, the hordes of people..."

"Well, don't worry. We'll whip you through it all pretty quickly." She tried to smile reassuringly.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it. And thanks for being with me today."

"No problem. It's what I'm here for." Her voice sounded thick as she finished her sentence and she hoped she hadn't come across too awkwardly.

"No, I'm serious. You make this job a thousand times easier and I don't thank you enough for it." She smiled again but remained silent. "... Are you okay?" Her brow furrowed.

"Of course, why?"

"I dunno, you just seem a little quiet." She tried hard not to blush. Being under such close scrutiny always made her cringe.

"Oh, no I'm fine. Just running through today's checklist in my mind. I've got to email Armani's head office again, your suit for the premiere still hasn't arrived." Henry chuckled softly.

"Well, relax. You work hard enough, and I can always find another suit." She shook her head, amused. "What?!"

"It's not quite that straightforward." He harrumphed.

"Well, it ought to be. I mean it though, don't run yourself ragged--"

"Well, I wouldn't be much of a personal assistant if I didn't." She gave a tired smile and he considered her for a moment. Eventually, she had to look away. "So, who are you taking to the premiere besides your family?" Why had she asked such a thing? She felt her face turn crimson, annoyed that her desperation to change the subject had caused her to well and truly put her foot in it. She certainly had every right to know, but it was information usually offered up by the client first.

"Er, I'm not really sure at the moment..." Henry returned to looking out the passenger window and she could have kicked herself. What did it matter who he invited anyway? She knew he dated around and would probably turn up on the arm of some young starlet. For a moment she both loathed and envied them. She'd worked hard all her life for very little in return. When could she expect the happiness she read about in her books or saw in the films she watched? A melancholy thought then entered her head, that being a personal assistant was the closest she'd ever get to someone like Henry. And she supposed that was fair enough. Surely someone as rich and handsome as him deserved someone equally beautiful and successful? She caught her reflection in her wing mirror and stared crossly at it. There was no use in her pining and indulging selfish thoughts. She had a job to do. Today was all about Henry. "Did you manage to get a table at La Cuchina?"

"Yep, in the private section at your usual table." She relaxed somewhat at the thought of having lunch with him, in private he was great company to be around, always joking and telling stories.

"Brilliant, to tell you the truth I'm already famished." She suddenly remembered the bagel and pecan brownie she'd picked up at Starbucks earlier that morning just in case. Henry had a habit of missing breakfast and she hated the thought of him going hungry. 

"Reach in the glove box, I picked you up something from Starbucks." His face lit up and he happily munched away as they came closer to the hotel. As was her custom on press days, she then moved on to her usual pep talk. "Now remember to relax and have fun, we've kept the questions light and entertaining so just keep your answers brief and focused."

"Is that your way of telling me I'm long-winded?" She shifted in her chair, not quite willing to meet Henry's mischievous gaze.

"Of course not, but I know you get carried away. Especially on your favourite subjects..."

"And what might those be?"

"Well, you do love your history for starters--"

"Oh, that reminds me, I read that one you recommended about Port Royal in the eighteenth century." She glowed inwardly at the thought of him reading something she'd enjoyed.

"Oh yeah, what did you think?"

"It was fascinating... do you think I could play a pirate?" She choked on the bottle of water she was sipping from. "I take that as a 'no?'"

"Well... you might have to drop the accent." They smiled at each other. "Anyway you'd get completely obsessed in the research and muggins here would be sent off on all manner of errands--"

"And when have I ever made you do those?!"

"Are you kidding?! The guys in the Warhammer store know me by name!"

"Ooh I wonder if James will be interviewing me again?" 

"Yes, he is, but remember to stay on track--"

"You call me obsessed, that guy knows everything there is to know. I wonder if he got the custom model I sent him a couple of weeks back?"

"He did, he sent a card to the office, didn't I tell you?"

"No... though you have seemed a little distracted lately." Her brow furrowed, but she didn't get a chance to respond. "How are things going with Simon?" She was afraid Henry would bring him up. Her six-month on-and-off relationship was the last thing she wanted to discuss. The truth was she hadn't heard from Simon for several weeks. 

"Fine," she said a bit too quickly.

"... Is he joining you at the premiere? You know you're allowed to bring a guest."

"No, he's... busy." The next couple of minutes were swallowed up by an uneasy silence.

"Oh, that's a shame. It's a big night for you though, what could he possibly have to do that's more important?" She bristled slightly at the question and decided it was best not to respond. "You know, you're a good person. You deserve someone who treats you well." She felt a curious mixture of embarrassment and delight.

"Nah, I'm nothing special. Besides, I'm married to the job..."

"Tell me about it, I have the exact same problem." She couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh come on, someone like you could have anyone. I bet you're spoiled for choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Well it's just, you know, you're... you. Who wouldn't want that?" She regretted the words the minute they came out of her mouth and her face flushed a deep crimson.

"You'd be surprised. People don't really love me they just love whatever image of me they have in their mind."

"And what makes you think you don't match up to that?"

"Well for one, I'm not always in such great shape." Was he joking? With him, it was sometimes hard to tell. "I think people expect me to be a lot more outgoing than I am as well." That part was certainly true, she'd definitely noticed how shy and introverted Henry could be.

"Well, I'm sure you'll meet the right person eventually." To this, he didn't reply and she began to wonder if she'd overstepped.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why are you still working for me?" She blinked several times, at first wondering if she'd misheard him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're an intelligent, hard-working woman, don't you have an economics degree?" She hardly knew how to respond. If she explained the real reason she kept working for him he could very well leap from a moving car.

"I dunno, I like what I do I guess." Another thought then crossed her mind. "Why? Are you unhappy with my services?"

"No, of course not! You're the best. I'd be totally lost without you. I just... hope I'm not holding you back." Did he mean to keep sending mixed signals? One minute he was singing her praises and the next he was questioning why she was even in his employ.

"To be honest... I have thought about moving on." Henry snapped round to face her.

"What? Why?!"

"Cos you're right, it's not very ambitious of me to keep spinning my wheels."

"But... but I need you." She felt her heart begin to thump.

"Oh stop, you could train a chimp to do what I do."

"... Pull over."

"What? Why? Henry, we're going to be late." But his hand pointed towards a free parking space free on the left-hand side of the road. Reluctantly, she reversed into it and came to a stop. They then sat there quietly for several moments. "Henry, we really need to get going."

"... Do you hate me?"

"What? Look, we really don't have time for this, you can't miss your first interview--"

"Sod the bloody interview!" Henry's outrage almost made her jump. "Answer the question." She sighed and took the key out of the ignition, figuring they were going to be there for a while. 

"No of course I don't hate you, you're one of the nicest people I've ever known." He worked his jaw, clearly choosing his next words carefully.

"... So will you go with me?"

"With you? Where to?"

"The premiere." She stared at Henry, utterly confused.

"I already said I was! Now let's get going, otherwise, we're going to get stuck in traffic." But he put his hand over hers, causing it to jerk away from the steering wheel. 

"No, I mean... will you go with me? As my guest?" The look in her eyes was blank at first and then almost tearful. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and a horrible pit open in her stomach. She snapped off her seatbelt and bolted from the car. "Wait, where are you going?!" For nearly five minutes, Henry chased after her, eventually catching her by the wrist when she turned to head down a quiet side street. "W-where do you think you're going?!" He leaned over for a moment out of breath and she was surprised to realise she'd outrun him.

"I'm sorry... I just needed some air."

"What? Why? Did I upset you?" She bit her quivering lip.

"You know it's not very nice to tease me. I know I'm just a plain Jane from the office but it really hurt my feelings. Please don't do anything like that again." Henry just gawped at her, dumbfounded.

"You think I was joking?" But this time she felt indignation rise up through her stomach.

"Well, aren't you?!"

"Of course not!" She tried to read his expression but then backed away and scoffed.

"Don't be ridiculous - what could you possibly see in me?!" The look on Henry's face was pitiful.

"... I see the sweet, gentle-natured woman who's put up with me for half a decade and gone above and beyond not only to help me but to be my friend when I've needed one most. There are so few people I can trust but with you, I can always be myself. I can't promise it'll be easy, but if you'll have me, I really hope you can be more than just a friend..." She hardly knew what to think, say, or do. These sorts of things just didn't happen, and she had a horrible feeling the trapdoor was going to open any minute.

"But... but why me?" It was his turn to look confused.

"Well, why not you? You're everything I've ever wanted. But, if you still have feelings for someone else--" she didn't let Henry finish. Instead, she threw herself into his arms and they spent the next few minutes kissing amidst the throng of passersby. 

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader

[flightfoot]

Fics with major Alya focus that Alya fans should read

So it's hard to find fics where Alya's a central character, where she has a character arc, focus, development of her own to a significant degree, so I figured I'd rec some fics that Alya fans might appreciate! She's not necessarily the main character in all of them, but if she isn't the MAIN main character, then she's still a major character (and almost certainly POV character) in her own right in the fic. I'm only reccing completed fics for this, btw. If anyone knows the tumblr name for any of the authors involved, let me know!

Also I have a blog dedicated to Alya at alyappreciation, so check that out if you're interested!

---

In Direct Opposition by @generalluxun

Alya Cesaire is a brand new student to Francis Dupont, to Paris even. The first student she meets is one Chloé Bourgeois, and Alya is determined to make a friend. Things advance Chaotically. Her new 'friend' is definitely a handful, and suddenly Paris has a supervillain and two brand new superheroes! Alya finds herself balancing a lot of things, trying to live up to her ideals and those of her icons. And then reality seems to contradict itself. As time progresses it seems to happen more often. Becoming a hero, battling villains, staying alive, working through friendships. Something is lurking, tweaking events at times, changing them, and no one seems aware. Alya will need all her wits to get to the bottom of this. Her investigative mind can only get her so far though, and then she needs to rely on her friends. This is not a foe you can beat head on.

---

Alya's Guide To Surviving A Magical Terrorist Which You Can't Remember by PumpkinPatchworkQuilt

In a world where the fight against Hawkmoth is kept secret from the public, one Alya Césaire sets out to bring the whole thing to light, (and possibly win a journalism award while she's at it)

---

Hold Me By Both Hands by @angelofthequeers

“I know he said never to take you back,” Plagg mutters. “But he’d change his tune if he knew.” He looks Adrien straight in the eye and, more serious than Adrien’s ever seen him before, says, “There’s someone you gotta meet. He’s been looking for that book for ages.” How differently might the events of season 2 have gone if Adrien had also known of Master Fu from the start?

---

Vantage Point by @ashes555

Most of the time, with more information, life get easier and things make more sense. But Alya discovers that sometimes, knowing everything is just plain complicated.

---

Trust by bi_skyes

They thought that because they believed Lila’s lies, they would not be trustworthy to Ladybug anymore. They thought wrong.

---

Closure by bi_skyes

After the events of “Trust”, Alya tries to find closure.

---

Lean In by Rachelea3

Marinette spills her secret, and Alya does the only thing she can do.

---

Alya Cesaire Should Be Allowed To Swear by @stripesandblossoms

Akuma attacks don't stop just because Alya is no longer a Hero, but that's fine, because she can still help clear civilians from the danger zone. Even celebrity-friends like Adrien Agreste.

---

Justifying the Means by @ashes555

When the worst happens, Alya finds that she may be willing to do the unthinkable. Is any sacrifice to big to make for her friends?

---

Accidents Are Also Miracles by @liiinerle

After some turbulent days that end with five people knowing her secret identity as Ladybug, Marinette loses faith in her ability to keep herself hidden. Wracked with doubts and insecurities, she pleads with Alya to take over as Scarabella, and tries to disconnect from heroing altogether. Along the way, she starts to date Kagami. Hard as she tries, though, she can't stop worrying - especially not once Monarch takes a particular, and personal, interest in her. At the same time, Alya tries to adjust to her new role while she works to uncover who Monarch really is, and makes some realisations about her own wishes. Kagami struggles against a controlling and abusive parent, and a girlfriend who seems bent on destroying herself - with or without Monarch's involvement. And in the meantime, Alix keeps popping her head back in with offers to help (because cool though time travel is, she misses hanging out in her own time). [Contains some spoilers for early s5 episodes, but otherwise diverges significantly from the plot of the season.]

---

Alya's Amended Guide For Internet Safety (The RPF Remix) by @redrikki

Alya hadn’t meant to fall down the Ladynoir fic rabbit hole. It just happened. She didn't mean to make Ladybug to read fic about herself either. That just kind of happened too.

---

You Are Just A Grin by Midnightdemonht

Oblivio was the only one to need a second separation, even after the butterfly was torn away.

---

the best laid plans (of bugs and bakers) by @mexicancat-girl

Paris is buzzing with the appearance of a new ladybug-themed hero, Scarabella. Alya decides to use her second hero identity to help her best friend Marinette. A bit of her flirting with Marinette is bound to make Marinette's crushes jealous and finally ask her out! Her plan is fool-proof…! Except when it's not. Not enough people are talking about Scarabella flirting with Marinette. How can Alya properly help her best friend if the news can't be bothered to cover Marinette's budding romance with Scarabella and only posts things about Marinette with Chat Noir?! So Alya puts her all into her plan, upping up her flirting each time she appears as the newbie hero Scarabella. This totally does not backfire in any way.

---

Radio Silence by @into-september

When an inexplicable change between Marinette and Adrien brings the two closer than ever, Alya is left on the outside of a secret too confounding to be about cheesemaking or puppy love. [No S4 AU]

---

Creative Lies and Destructive Truths by @azuriteartist

Alya and Lila are two sides of a never-ending fight. The fight between truth and lies, between honesty and deception, between justice and personal gain. And now they have the powers to elevate that fight to a city-wide level. Can Alya stop the deception before it destroys the city? And can Lila stop the truth before it destroys her?

---

The Investigation by @11jj11

Adrien and Marinette are finally dating-- which is what Alya has always wanted... but yet this sudden transformation in their relationship overnight? Things aren't adding up. They are suddenly so much closer than they ever have been before, Adrien is apparently a flirt, Marinette is no longer a stuttering mess, and not to mention the nicknames that came out of no where. Alya is happy for her friends, but she knows there's something more going on, and the reporter in her is going to get to the bottom of it.

---

Cat Naps by BookGirlFan

Chat Noir doesn't care if he dies temporarily. Alya's starting to think he doesn't care if he dies permanently. Marinette's way too stressed for this, so it's up to Alya to find out why Chat Noir's willing to let his cat naps turn into the long sleep.

---

Where were you the first time you were possessed? by @zanzquest

It should be an easy assignment: write about the first time a ghost took over your body to make varying degrees of mischief. There’s just one issue: Alya hasn’t been possessed yet.

---

Is it chill that you're in my head? by @bringthestorm

Alya stared at the picture plastered across the homepage of every single tabloid and news site, whispering every curse she could think of under her breath. SHOCKING SECRET ROMANCE BETWEEN LADYBLOGGER AND PARISIAN SUPERVILLAIN REVEALED!!! the headline announced, casually shouting the words she had been dreading for all of Paris to read. --- Alya had always assumed that someday Paris would discover that she had secretly been kissing their most wanted vigilante, but she had never thought it would happen so soon. As the domino effects of her relationship with Ladybug go spiraling through her life, Alya turns her sights towards the one responsible: the elusive superhero Hawkmoth. AKA Someone outs Alya and her girlfriend so she retaliates by deciding to take down Hawkmoth 

---

Lady and the Fox by @ck2k18

Marinette and Alya, known to their subscribers as “Ladybug” and “Rena Rouge,” have a popular cooking vlog using their parents’ kitchens. While moderating comments, Alya realizes that their viewers assume the two anonymous hosts are a couple, and it causes her to look at her relationship with Marinette in a new light.

(punch punch) fall in love by @mexicancat-girl

One day, Sabrina walks up to Alya. Alone. No Chloe in sight. Sabrina wants to learn self defense. Alya agrees to teach her. Alya ends up getting way more invested than she originally thought she'd be, because Sabrina is a quick learner and sometimes her smile makes Alya's insides go weak.

---

When I Grow Up by waltzofthewifi

-I want to be a superhero." The class stifled laughs. "But superheroes aren't real!" Someone called out. A look through Alya's life. One-shot.

---

disconnected by just_an_ordinary_fan

Lady Wifi believes she might be the only one who does not want to obey Hawkmoth's orders. When she sees another akuma hesitate in the battle, she finds she might not be entirely alone.

Walking that Mile by @nomolosk

Nino and Alya wake up in the wrong bodies. Several things result from this, including, but not limited to, identity reveals and a better understanding of what their respective best friends are going through.

---

(may we write it all down) in cursive light by @sunfoxfic

Since retiring as a journalist, Alya hasn't been involved in an interview in several years. But now that her identity is out, that's about to change.

---

Strangely Familiar by @sunfoxfic

Alya Césaire’s life is perfect. Indeed, between the success of the Ladyblog, how well she’s doing in school, and the fact that she’s a superhero who has never bore the weight of a crisis of epic proportions, her life almost couldn’t be better. Almost. But Alya has always been a go-getter, and so she’ll chase after that perfect life if it kills her. Which is how she ends up rushing to move out of her father’s apartment and in with Marinette, Adrien, and a complete stranger: Nino Lahiffe. And in fact, her life does seem perfect — she and Nino are fast friends. They spend a lot of time together and get to know each other really well. But in the end, fortunate situations will bear unfortunate truths, and she learns things about herself that aren’t quite comfortable. Like I said, though: Alya has always been a go-getter, and she won’t let new feelings deter her from chasing after her perfect life.

---

Trust your instincts by @ultrakart

Alya has the instincts of a fox. Nino finds it hilarious.

---

Foxy Lady by WizardlyMagik

In which Nino finds himself unexpectedly attracted to Rena Rouge, tries and fails to tell his friends and get some advice, and desperately attempts to hide it from his girlfriend. (Who in fact, is planning to use it to her advantage)

---

No One Can See Us Here, Alone; or, The Behaviors of Binary Stars by artEngine

"Yeah, about that," Nino turns to fall in step with her out the door, "Hows about we take a small break from the quests? Chillax, enjoy our money and things?" "You say that now," Alya eyes him from the corner of her vision, "but would you still say that if I told you this special quest was to find a hidden genie for three free wishes?" "Dude. Yes." "Fine. Look, I promise to chill if we go on this quest. Okay?" Nino narrows his eyes down at her pleading expression. This dialogue is suspiciously familiar. Somehow, he gets the feeling that this time will be different. And for some reason, he listens to that feeling. "You're lucky I like you," he concedes. Alya hip-checks him with a winning smile. "That I am." : : A series of Alya and Nino's exploits as a part of the 10,000 gamers who found themselves trapped in Akihiko Kayaba's VRMMORPG game, Sword Art Online. For AU April with the Miraculous Fanworks Discord. (Knowledge of and/or interest in SAO or ALO is not required to enjoy this fic)

---

well somewhere along the way in our words i must've gotten lost by @noirshitsuji

Beelya where Queen Bee visits the Césaire house after Alya writes an article about her fighting Mr. Pigeon alone. Normally Chloé would like the publicity but Alya had titled it ‘The Birds and the Bees’. After that she ends up coming back to complain about her mother. And her father. And about the fact that her oldest friend seems uncomfortable around her. Her visits becomes weekly, then almost nightly. (Don’t forget to include Chloé redemption (and some “Bee Movie” jokes).) * Alya isn’t quite sure how she ended up here, in a place where she isn’t even surprised Chloé would seek her out to talk about her dad, where she wouldn’t even mind her doing so, where she would expect it, where she would– (–thud. She might be in trouble.)

---

Me, My Best Friend, and Her Cat by @ladyofthenoodle

Ladybugs aren't known for being particularly sneaky. Good thing this Ladybug has a fox in her corner, watching her back. (And giving Ladybug's love life a nudge along the way. Maybe more than a nudge. In Alya's defense, Ladybug can use all the help she could get.)

---

Best Laid Plans by @captorations

Alya Césaire had always known she was going to be a superhero one day. She even had a rather unique plan to protect her secret identity, and it worked like a charm. But tricksters have to be careful, lest they end up tricking themselves.

---

Outfoxed by @captorations

Lila Rossi is not a Miraculous wielder. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have power. Alya was under her spell, along with so many others, until the day Lila unknowingly overstepped herself. Freed at last, the true Fox recognizes magic when she sees it, even if it doesn’t come from a source she understands. She is none too happy about this pretender abusing her natural gifts to make fools of Alya and those she loves. Alya Césaire might need an enchanted necklace and the aid of a tiny deity to cast illusions, but she swore to use her borrowed abilities for the greater good long ago. There is none better suited to facilitate the liar’s downfall. And maybe she’ll help her best friend sort out her increasingly complex love life along the way.

#miraculous ladybug #alya cesaire #rena rouge #ml fanfic rec

[hotchgirlsummer]

the gift-wrapped suburban dreams ⤷ aaron hotchner x reader

summary ⤷ to start off aaron's birthday, you send him and jack of to a treasure hunt that reveals a surprise

pairing ⤷ aaron hotchner x female bodied!reader ; jack is also in this

warnings ⤷ slight moments of anxiety. fluff. mentions of pregnancy

word count ⤷ 2.5k words

a/n ⤷ hello! this is my second submission for @hotch-central's Aaron Hotchner's birthday celebration 🎉 the prompt is from @creativepromptsforwriting i was thinking of writing one more birthday prompt, then after that i have two wips i have lined up. feedback is much appreciated :) have a great day, everyone!

You want me to guess the present you got me and give me ridiculous little clues that make me kinda afraid to even open it,

“Good morning, my love,” Her sweet voice was the thing that snapped Aaron out of his sleepy daze. Turning over he smiled upon seeing her face, leaning up against the headboard so he could wrap his arms around her smaller frame, kissing their lips sweetly. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“How is the birthday boy feeling?” Snuggling up to him, as they rubbed comforting circles in his chest while still peppering kisses on his chiselled jaw. At that, the unit chief raised an eyebrow as he had an inkling that they were buttering him up because she had an elaborate plan which involved them making a big deal of his birthday.

“Suspicious, now that you’re asking,” He honestly replied as he pecked her lips, “What do you have planned for today, pretty one?” Scoffing at his presumptive guess she just snuggle into their neck and press kisses as she hummed, “Okay if we’re being honest, I may have something planned,” At that he put some space in between them and raised a suspicious eyebrow, “But it’s nothing extravagant or whatever, I promise.”

Sighing exaggeratedly, he then looks at her, “Alright, lay it on me, what’s happening?” Before she could give him any clue of what he can expect she kissed him once more before nodding her head towards the door, “I’d love to tell you more but something tells me we’ve got an incoming little blonde bug.”

And right on cue did Jack knock twice on the door before he excitedly entered the room and jumped right on the bed — thankfully Aaron crossed his legs right on time so when Jack jumped on the bed he didn’t hit a body part, “Happy birthday, daddy! Are you excited for your birthday?”

Sitting on his lap and hugging his dad tight, “Thank you for greeting me, bud. You were the first one to greet me today, you know?” Jack beamed at that but he giggled at Y/N’s scoff and playful slap on his shoulder, “Hey! I greeted you first, didn’t i?”

“You’re getting forgetful now, dad!” Jack teased him as high fived Y/N’s hand who giggled at his joke. “I think you shouldn’t be mean to the birthday boy, Jackers.” A pout graced the little boy’s lips as his dad tickled his sides.

“How about I give something for both of you then? An activity you both will enjoy?” At the sound of a little something the two Hotchner boys could do, even Aaron cheered a little at the prospect. “What are we gonna do, Y/N?”

“Well before I get the two of the brightest minds in the world to work, how about we start with breakfast? I have two plates ready for you boys,” With that said she escorted Jack and Aaron to the dining table whereas she promised, a plate full of breakfast food was waiting for them. As they were all huddled up in the breakfast bar, they shared light stories and laughs. When Jack tried to balance a piece of bacon on top of his lips as a moustache.

“Buddy,” Aaron grinned as he grabbed a napkin that was tucked under the plate to rub off the grease that remained on his upper lip; as he rubbed his son’s face, he noticed a little index card that fell from under. “What’s this, dad?”

“Why don’t you go read it, buddy?” Y/N’s warm smile hinted to Aaron that this had something to do with the little thing she had planned for his birthday; and he would not admit it right now but he appreciated that it was just a scavenger hunt and not some grand celebration like he feared.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Jack giggled at the little rhyme before continuing, “To start the day, why don’t you grab a refreshing drink?” Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he looked up between his dad and Y/N, “Can I get any drink?”

Ruffling his hair she nodded her head towards the fridge, “Why don’t you go see what’s in there for you and your dad hm?” Curiously, Jack pulled his dad’s hand as he led the way into their fridge. Aaron could see that the child was a tad bit apprehensive in seeing what’s on the fridge so he opened it and was pleased to see that their favourite drinks — Jack’s boxed chocolate drink and his energy drink. Nestled in between the drinks was another envelope; this time it was Hotch who opened it and read what was written inside, “Hope this drink quenches your thirst! The following clues will keep you on your toes, so why don’t you go to the place where we place our clothes?”

Jack had his eyebrows furrowed once more when he looked up at his dad, “Does that mean your closet? Or mine, dad?” Hotch did give it some thought and came with the conclusion, “Why don’t we go check both of our closets? Then we can reconvene in the hallway?”

A determined look was on Jack’s face which made Hotch and Y/N giggle before the two boys nodded among each other and rushed to their respective rooms. As the younger Hotchner opened his closet — one that had raptors for handles, seeing as that was Jack’s favourite kind of dinosaur — and checked his clothes that were hung if there was an envelope peeking out. Just as he was about to ruffle through his drawers he noticed something peeking out of the laundry hamper. Grabbing the envelope, he rushed out the hall and was pleased to see his dad sitting cross legged on the floor,  waiting for him too.

“Where’d you find the card, Jack?” Aaron wondered as he looked at the envelope he was waving, “By my dirty clothes! Did you find your clue?” Deciding to kid around, Aaron shook his head as spout was on his lips, “I don’t think I found the clue, bud.”

Trying to cheer his father up, Jack handed his card and said, “Then this can be our clue, dad! We found this together!” Heart melting at how his son was, Hotch cracked a smile and lifted the card he hid in his back, “If we’re trading clues, I think this will be yours then?” Jack gasped out loud at seeing the card his dad had produced and enthusiastically asked, “Did you find yours in your dirty clothes too?”

Aaron shook his head, “Found it by the underwear drawer, bud. Why don’t we open our cards together hm?” As the Hotchner boys opened their respective cards, they noticed that the paper was torn in half in the middle, splitting the clue between the two of them. Jack gave his father a look, asking silently if he could have the paper; when his dad nodded, the little boy placed the paper on the floor, putting them side by side so that they could read what the card said, “Now why don’t we get dressed and ready for the day? Then head to where we sing, dance, and play all day!”

Looking towards each other, Jack still sporting the purposeful look on his face, “Can we wear the same polo shirt that we have, dad?” The older Hotchner nodded his head and held out his hand to help his son stand up on his feet, “I think we can do that, Jackers. But first let’s think about where the card wants us to go next?”

Jack thought about as he looked over his shoulder in their entertainment area by their living room, “Maybe by our stereo?” Aaron nods as he ruffles his son’s hair, “Good idea, bud! See you in a little okay?”

Both Hotchner boys reached for the navy blue polo shirt that Y/N gave them a couple of Christmases ago. Once they were dressed in comfortable jeans, they both decided to split up to cover more ground; Jack searched by their gaming area as well as the surrounding games while Hotch looked at their stereo and DVD system. “I think I got something, Jack,” Hotch called out as he pulled the baby blue envelope that was out of place.

Jack smiled and sat on his father’s thigh as he watched the envelope be opened, when Aaron nodded his head, nudging Jack to read it, “Wanting something more? Why don’t you go see what’s by the front door?” 

“Do you think we’re getting closer, dad?” Jack wondered as he led the way to their foyer, Aaron for the first time in a while was stumped and had no idea where Y/N was going with this little hunt; but instead he put on his assured look and encouraged him, “You know what? I think we are, something tells me we only have two to three clues before we find out what Y/N has planned out!”

Jack once again smiled at that and they both surveyed the coat hanger, little bench, and shoe storage. The younger Hotchner noticed an envelope peeking through one of their coats and handed it over to his father, “You read it this time, dad.”

“Fear not, for your search is over, why don’t you check the kitchen and soon you’ll get your closure.” The two Hotchners looked at each other and were thrilled at the prospect of them having answers to their questions. Rushing over to the kitchen, the two immediately noticed how the oven door was slightly ajar, Aaron opened and felt around making sure it wasn’t hot and pulled the tray wrapped around in foil, an envelope was placed right beside it. Aaron handed Jack the envelope as he carefully pulled the tray out, “What does it say, bud?”

“This is your final clue, I missed you during the whole hunt! why don’t you head over to the backyard and give me some lovin?” Jack and Hotch looked at each other excitedly as they rushed to head to the back door. Upon seeing Y/N sitting on one of their patio chairs while there was a paper bag sitting atop the table. She smiled upon seeing her two Hotchner boys, “Hey guys! You saw the final clue, didn’t you?”

Jack nestled himself in her lap as he recalled how he and his dad worked together to find clues and took turns in reading the clues. “Do we get to know what this hunt for is yet, Y/N?” 

Y/N shot one look at Aaron who had the same eagerness and love in his eyes, “Well since you asked Jack, there is one last card in the paper bag which will explain everything!”

Jack then peeked into the paper bag as Aaron slid his chair closer to where his two loves were sitting; with nimble fingers, Jack reached for the card and read it out loud for the three of them, “The suspense is over! There is a bun in the oven,” As Jack read that portion, Y/N lifted off the foil from the tray to show a little cinnamon bun, “The surprise is our sweet family is extending.”

As Jack removed the card from the envelope, there was a little black and white photograph peeking out that Aaron pulled and had teary eyes as he stared at it before looking at Y/N with all the love he had for their family, “You’re pregnant?”

“I am, Aaron,” She nuzzled her cheek into his hand as she rubbed Jack’s back lovingly, “You’re going to be a big brother, Jackers.” The aforementioned boy excitedly grinned at that as he hugged her tightly, “I can’t wait for them to come, momma!”

Both of them froze up when Jack called her that as it was never something that was discussed or planned. Aaron spoke up first, “Jack, you just called Y/N momma. Is that something you’re comfortable calling her by?”

Jack lifted his head up from her chest where he rested comfortably and looked at his dad and nodded, “Yeah, dad. Y/N takes care of me the same way mommy did. I love mommy and momma! And if my baby sibling gets to call her momma, I wanna do that too,” Jack excitedly gasped as he came to a realisation, “Maybe I should teach them how to talk!”

Y/N giggled at his enthusiasm as she kissed the top of his head, “That sounds like a wonderful plan, Jack. And you calling me momma makes me the happiest, you know? I promise to be the best momma for you, okay?”

Aaron’s heart swelled double its size as he watched the scene in front of him, he lifted her hand and kissed the knuckles gently before catching her attention, “I gotta say, love, I really like this gift you got us.” 

Upon mentioning the gift, Y/N perked up as she wiped some of the stray tears that fell out as she reached for the paper bag once more, “That reminds me, I still have one more gift for you guys.”

The two of them felt cotton beneath their fingertips and fished out two t-shirts. Fortunately,  Jack got the smaller shirt that read, “Best Big Brother.” Whereas Aaron had the shirt where the words “Best Dad to Two Kiddos” embroidered. “Can I go change shirts?” Jack asked excitedly, to which the adults nodded, he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him to the bathroom.

Y/N silently looked at Aaron who was tracing over the embroidered letters over the shirt, grabbing his bigger hand she squeezed it softly as she spoke, “Aar? I just wanted to check in with you. With how you feel about the baby.”

That caused the unit chief to look up, “How do I feel about the baby? Honey, I’m overjoyed,” He revealed as leaned forward to plant a long kiss on her lips, as if he tried to convey every ounce of gratitude and love he had for her — which was more than he could ever put into words, “How could I anything be short of elated and overjoyed,” Both his hands were rubbing her cheeks softly as he smiled genuinely, “You’re giving me another opportunity to be a father, and the woman of my dreams get to carry the product of our love.”

Her heart warmed at that and she turned her head sideways so she could plant a soft kiss on his palm, “I love you, Aaron. So goddamn much,” She sat down on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, one of his hands settled on her nearly there bump while the other rubbed her back lovingly, “I love you too, honey. And I love our growing family.” And right on cue, Jack came barging in with a wide grin as he now sported the new shirt he was recently gifted. As the three hugged each other and relished in the warm, happy bubble they were in, they all were expressing their enthusiasm for the newest Hotchner to join their family.

#aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #thomas gibson #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotch imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotch fic #happybirthdayhotch22

[romaine2424]

For the Love of WIPs (Drarry style)

There's a lot of things I miss about LJ, but right up there was the weekly posting of the H/D Prophet run by @sassy-cissa and groovelover at the conclusion. It began posting in 2005 and It stopped posting in 2021. I know it was a ton of work for the mods to run it, but it truly kept Drarry fandom informed of all the one-shot fics, art released that week, and chapter updates for current Drarry WIPs, recs, etc... Also listed were the fests and what state they were in. Take a look at the links I posted above and see all the goodness. It was very centralized. *sigh happy times*

What made me think of this was I love reading Drarry WIPs but keep finding recent chapter fics that I missed while being posted and only found them completed and others that I'm currently reading but found by chance.

So, I thought I'd share the WIPs I'm keeping track of and those that have been completed recently that I've read.

Notes: Most WIPs (chapter fics) are long fics (over 50K and up to 1M). There are readers that see some lengths of completed fics and wince. That is one reason why chapters are often released weekly or whenever, so you have digestible amounts (5-15K). Sometimes as an author I feel in a Catch 22, readers don't have time to read long fics, but then won't read a WIP until completed. LOL

Below the cut are WIPs that I've read and that have been recently completed. I'll post ongoing WIPs that I'm reading tomorrow! I'm not listing the Warning and Tags for these fics as I'll leave that up for you to decide on what to read or not. But, there are a few here that do have strong warnings in the tags and/or Author Notes. One final note: I'm listing WIPs (chapter fics) that were posted over a time period, not completed chapter fics that were listed on one date as a whole. OMG this is a long post!

Recently completed Drarry WIPs

Passing Stranger (53K) by @lettersbyelise This just completed yesterday! I have 2 chapters left to read. :) Summary: Five years after the war, Harry, listless and depressed, stumbles upon Draco Malfoy playing the violin in an underground bar in Muggle London. The catch? Draco lost his memories five years ago. Ignoring his friends’ advice, Harry befriends an unwitting Draco, overlooking the fact that their mutual attraction might not survive if Draco’s memories return. Comment: Haven't quite finished but I love, love, the Draco in this fic. You could feel that this is Draco stripped of all the heavy responsibilities he grew up with including having a bigoted father. The tension is palpable with Harry being attracted to this Draco but feeling that Draco needs to be Draco Malfoy to move forward. *ugh*. 2. The Boy from the Piano Shop (90.5K) by @soliblomst completed 2/25/24. Summary: After going blind in a reckless attempt to avenge Ginny's death, Harry battles with severe depression. One day, he stumbles upon a quaint piano restoration shop in the heart of London and meets the owner, a kindly old man, and his introverted young apprentice, whose voice sounds strangely familiar. As Harry and Draco slowly reconnect through private piano lessons, the small workshop becomes Harry's refuge, offering him a glimmer of hope in a world without eyes. Set five years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Comment: I binged this fic bad!!! There is so much to love in this fic but one of the standouts is the OC Richard. You will love him, too. The gradual build up of Drarry is so well done. The dealing with Harry's depression is so raw and real. No cutting of corners. The ending was one of the best I've read in celebrating what is to come for Harry and Draco. And Draco, in the final scene will make you cry *happy tears*. 3. The Star Splitter (219K) by @oflights completed 3/22/24. Summary: On a routine time travel assignment to the past, Draco stumbles upon 7-year-old Harry Potter and witnesses his neglect and mistreatment by the Dursleys. In the moment, there is only one solution, even if it goes against all his training as a Time Agent: he has to bring Harry back to the future with him. In which Draco burns his life down for the sake of his former school rival. Comment: I think I followed this one from the start as I do everything @oflights! OMG the action, the tenseness, the magical lore, the worldbuilding, and the sweetness of Draco raising young Harry will have you banging that "next chapter" button. The Drarry in this happens slowly and has its ups and downs but so so worth the wait. The bond is strong and at the end and you will recognize and cheer for this Harry who says Fuck it all, I ain't letting this go.

4. Spotlight (All Eyes on Us) (58K) by @pixiedunhoff completed 3/15/24. This is the 5th and final installment of the Dark Arts to Dance Floor Series (317K) which began posting in July '23. Spotlight Summary: The spotlight can scorch.

“Has the wizarding world ever seen a couple quite like Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter? Though the pair remain frustratingly private and out of the spotlight, hardly ever seen in public together, our readers understandably demand to know more.

‘They’re happy together,’ Minister of Magic Hermione Granger exclusively tells the Prophet, before quickly ducking into a meeting for Squib Rights. ‘They’re so very happy.’”

- Daily Prophet, 2 February 2018 Comment: Pixie says in the notes, you may only need to read the 4th installment to completely get this fic, but hell, I say read them all. Pixie is newer to Drarry writing (longtime reader). I love the casualness and realness of the characters and how they interact. In Spotlight they so capture the feel of being backstage to a 'music rock star' (in the Muggle world) and on the rise in the magical one. As you're reading this fic, it might come across as being a lighter AU type fic, but don't be fooled there is much depth and layers upon layers to both Harry and Draco. Pixie just eases you into it. There were points that I just had to stop reading for a moment and digest exactly what was going on. Pixie will be on my Current WIP list, too! 5. Skybound (61K) by @xanthippe74 Summary: No matter how much Harry Potter wanted to believe he’d left danger behind when the war ended, it found him again anyway. All he had to do was step out his own front door on a Tuesday morning. A Drarry re-imagining of Howl’s Moving Castle.

Comment: I haven't finished this one, yet, but wanted to list it here. It's 6 chapters and I'm only 2 chapters in, but holy hell what world building and magical lore (and one very nasty curse). I'm not familiar with the original source, but that's okay. I'm very happy being carried along in one floating house! I'm a big fan of @xanthippe74 and am fully confident I'll love this as much as the author's other stories. Okay, I'll be back tomorrow with a list of currently posting Drarry WIPs, including two stinging hot A/B/Os, but in very different ways.

Enjoy!

Rom

#romaine2424 recs #drarry fic rec #drarry wips #so much drarry fic awesomeness #drarry wips completed

[wandabear]

Finders Keepers (but keeps it forever) - Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf F!Reader Summary: Wanda and Reader finally find a way to be together, but an awful incident will change R's life completely, forcing R to disappear and leave everything she ever loved.

CHAPTER ONE 

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR 

CHAPTER FIVE

ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ  CHAPTER ONE ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Pine Barrens, New Jersey. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

The dryness on her lips remained; she blinked fast trying to get used to the light that now made her eyes itch unbearably.

But that uncomfortable and annoying feeling could not be compared to the dry texture in her hands. The red spread across her hands, digging into her fingernails. Dead carmine red. The blood, on her hands, on her chest, on her lips.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Little by little, Y/N regained control of her body, if she still owned it.

The ground was rough and harsh, the woman grunted as she got up from it but some warmth in one of her hands as she leaned against it didn't seem right.

The next thing in front of her was something unreal, wishing she had been dreaming, she was in a cabin, some kind of abandoned cabin.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

The ground was covered in blood and huge claw marks, as if something ripped through it with colossal strength. But not just that, but also bloody hand marks, as if someone else tried to escape, and something dragged they into the next room with violence.

Y/N paled even more, as if that were possible. The dryness on her lips got worse, her hands trembled again.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

She got up and noticed the nudity on her body, something disconcerting. How long was she asleep? Why? Where was she?  Why was she naked? Y/N stroked her legs, terrified at the thought that crossed her mind. Something dark and scary.

As she could, the woman got up to find something to wear. Only found a huge jacket and cargo pants so big, they clearly didn't belong to her, but still took them. It looked like a humble home, a… nice place.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Until she realized that the windows were sealed with wood, so that nothing could come out.

Terrifying thoughts and a shiver ran down her spine.

Outside you could hear the birds singing and the cozy silence, perhaps the breeze moving the tops of the trees. The woods maybe? What was she doing there?

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

The last thing she remembered was...

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

“Think, Y/N, think.” She said to herself, rubbing her head in desperation. Y/N closed her eyes and tried with all her might to find something in her memories. An answer.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

She remembered a friendly smile, a look full of hope and happy laughter. A girl's hand was dragging her among the people, they were looking for something... something... but what were they looking for?

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

It was night.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

It was a Fair. It was some kind of event… a food Fair, carnival rides, food trucks.

Y/N wrinkled her nose, remembering the strong smell of the meat roasting with the beer. She remembered drunken laughter, dancing to Irish music. The dark haired woman sank back into that memory, remembering the pleasant warmth when she felt the girl's hand.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

“Wanda.” The soft voice, creating an eternal echo in her mind and in her heart.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

“Come on! You have to try this…”  Such a lovely voice and a slight foreign accent, possibly from central-southeast Europe. She took her hand and entwined her fingers in such a… intimate way.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

As if it were a first date.

Oh, Wanda.

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

ㅤㅤ ㅤFLASHBACK

ㅤㅤ ㅤ

“I’m telling you. Saturday is one of the best days of the week.” Y/N said as they got out of that car together after parking outside the huge event tent.

ㅤㅤ

"That's not what I asked, Y/N/N!" Wanda pouted. People laughed and chatted, walking together towards the entrance of that big fair . Apparently this time it was celebrated outside of New Jersey.

ㅤㅤ

“Are you going to tell me where you brought me? Forests are kinda romantic, but not at night...” Wanda asked curiously as she looked around her with some excitement, but once they reached the huge tent welcoming everyone, she opened her mouth in surprise. “Is it a fair?”

ㅤㅤ

“It's a Fair, yes, but a special one. It’s a Festival de Colectividades.” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

ㅤㅤ

“A… what?” She asked, so enchanted with that spanish accent. Y/N giggled.

ㅤㅤ

Just wait… You're going to love this." Y/N said with a smile.

ㅤㅤ

Specifically, year after year during that month, some events, sports tournaments, some symbolic landings were held, celebrating the “Festival of the Immigrant Communities”, where everyone could taste the exquisite meals of each country, made by the members of the different communities of the world.

ㅤㅤ

“Y/N… This is so…” The Sokovian tried to say something more, but she just nodded happily, smiling, taking that girl's hand to enter the fair.

ㅤㅤ

They walked around and tasted many delicious dishes from different cultures. Between the spicy 'chilaquiles' and roast beef tacos, they both came out laughing and exclaiming how spicy they had been. Then they had shawarma, a small bowl of Vareniki, as well as a delicious strawberry cake from the kind people of Poland.

 ㅤㅤ

But the best of all was when almost at the end, they arrived at the food trucks of Central and Eastern Europe.

 ㅤㅤ  

“Oh my… is this?” She turned to see Y/N, quite moved. A small truck, very nice and pleasant, honoring Sokovia.

ㅤㅤ

"Yeah." She smiled a bit smug. "I planned this a bit."

ㅤㅤ

"Thank you. This is so… so important to me. I don't know what to say morethan thank you.” She seemed emotional, and that was all Y/N wanted. See her happy, excited, complete.

ㅤㅤ

“Come on! You have to try this…” Wanda exclaimed with excitement and that slight Sokovian accent that drove her crazy. She took Y/N’s hand and entwined her fingers in such a… intimate way.

ㅤㅤ

“What is this?” Y/N asked a bit curious, frowning but smiling, seeing how Wanda paid for it and approached her, sniffing the delicious smell of the food.

ㅤㅤ

“Chicken Paprikash.” The green-eyed girl said proudly. “My mom used to cook this for me and Pietro when we were kids.”

ㅤㅤ

“Smells pretty good.” Y/N admitted as the Sokovian cut up a piece of chicken and then brought it to her lips, in a playful way, even blowing on it a bit so she wouldn't burn her lips. Oh, she knew how to be lovely.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“This is more than good, Wands. It's delicious.” Y/N exclaimed, somewhat surprised but happy to see Wanda fangirling too, like an cute child. After that, Wanda cut a piece of chicken to bring to her own lips, she closed her eyes enjoying the taste as if it were the first time.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Oh… It smells like home. Do you know that feeling? The one where… you feel comfortable and happy, where everything is fine.” The green eyes of that girl shone with a certain melancholy. Y/N knew perfectly well how much Wanda missed Sokovia, but also understood that her parents wanted a better life for her and her twin brother.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

And yes, she knew that feeling perfectly. It was her.

Y/N felt dazed and bewitched by that woman since she met her. Wanda, a beautiful, smart, kind and humble woman. Wanda had always been there for her, to listen, to understand her.

She never judged her, even when she – in a very babbling way –  asked her out.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Her heart had been beating for Wanda Maximoff since that fall where they finally met, a gray and awful day where Y/N decided to have a latte and a donut, and found the love of her life.

Now she was in front of her, those eyes full of tenderness. Holding a small bowl of Chicken paprikash in one hand, and her whole heart in the other.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“You look beautiful, Wanda.” The brunette whispered back, as if her lips decided to speak for her without even warning.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“You flatter me. Tell me more…” Oh. That smile on Wanda's lips made her heart skip a beat again, but she didn't say anything else. They just kept walking together, finishing that delicious dish and discovering new trucks, sharing some jokes while they saw a very dumb man -an asshole - trying to prove that he was the strongest guy in the place, competing to win a huge stuffed animal... and come third, because the first had been won by a girl half his size.

Or laugh together while dancing hand in hand with the Irish, drinking a delicious green beer to the beat of Celtic music.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Tonight has been really amazing.” Wanda whispered, resting her head on the brunette's shoulder.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

They were sitting on the hood of Y/N’s car, enjoying the lights of the fair and the fireworks that were beginning to light up the sky. The bright colors reflected on their faces, contrasting with the darkness of the forest behind them.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Y/N turned to see her. Oh, that beautiful woman. Just look at her.

Those big green eyes that sparkled as if she were the most precious object on earth. Her lips, her nose. Those little birthmarks.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“I think I'm… I think I'm crazy about you” Y/N confessed without further ado, making Wanda turn to look at her. There was nothing that interested her more right now than hearing those words. “I'm in love with you, Wanda… since I met you. I know maybe it's… well, I don't know how to define it. I don't know whether to say it's fast, because we've known each other for a long time. But I haven't stopped thinking about you.”

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Wanda Maximoff, that woman who drove her crazy since she started college, the dumb freshman year. Y/N was studying  to be a Biologist while Wanda studied and worked at the coffee shop near campus.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

The tension between the two became tangible, the silence and the fireworks in front of them.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“That's good…” Wanda finally broke the silence, almost like a sigh. Maybe they weren't the words Y/N expected and she could tell, yet she knew it could be worse. A bit dissapointed, Y/N just turned to watch the fireworks show, happy to at least be able to drop all that weight. She can release all the truth inside of her.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Because I'm in love with you too.” added Wanda with a tender smile, making Y/N look at her again, this time with a look full of hope.

And without further ado, her lips came together in perfect harmony. Such a unique caress, like that first time... that first kiss that ended up sealing a unique moment and a love that would undoubtedly be memorable. And forever. Just one kiss was all it took to seal the future.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ NOW

That night. The night of the Fair, just outside of town.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

But as if a huge black storm cloud had settled over her, a horrible scream in her memories made her to widen her eyes in shock and horror.

The screams of pain. Eyes full of sorrow and fear.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

The girl walked through the cabin ready to take any kind of supply, her phone, find out where the heck she was and quickly walk away when another memory came to her.

The big forest.

Something in the dark, moving, crouching under the light of the huge full moon. The growls and the sound of her teeth gnawing through bone and skin.

Something was devouring a body beneath the trees, biting and growling like a scavenger.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

It was normal in a place like this, there were wild animals in the forest but... something ended up completely terrifying her. Those eyes…

Dangerous reddish eyes.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Oh my god.” She said to herself, panicking but a sharp stabbing pain forced her to stop.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Her headache was killing her, how is it possible to remember something while feeling so bad?

Y/N walked to one of the doors ready to go but when she opened it, just found that it was sealed, as if it were a trap door. Silver chains hung on the wall. What the hell was that place?

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Falling into despair and rubbing her temple, she walked to another of the doors,  her legs so wobbly she feared she would fall. Y/N held on to the doorknob and as she opened it all the way, but what she saw… Believe me, it made her blood run cold.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

The light in the room was flickering, making that image even more chilling and creepier.

Y/N held onto the door to keep from falling and made a supernatural effort to not vomit in front of that devastating landscape.

In that blood-soaked room, three completely mangled bodies lay on the floor.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

The walls marked with bloody hands, broken glass and blood everywhere.

She had never seen anything like it.

She had seen blood and bodies at her college practices, but this scene was… heartbreaking.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

And perhaps because deep down, deep down in her heart, something inside  told her that it was her.  It was her fault.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

The dark haired woman couldn't even allow herself to cry or even walk, she could only back away until a movement in the room made her jump. A man who was hiding left the room completely terrified, crashing against her body desperately, looking around as if he feared something was following him.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Where I am? Who are you?” Y/N asked, but the man didn't say anything. He seemed more worried about something around him, so paranoid that when the guy saw Y/N, walked away ready to hit her if she came near.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

The man stammered a few words in spanish, something she managed to understand.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Do you understand me? Where are we? ¿Dónde estamos?” She repeated, but the man just continued to babble so fast. He looked so hurt and paranoid.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Señor… do you have a phone? I lost mine...  I'm a doctor, I won't hurt you, sir.”

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

But the man screamed again, this time more desperately, shaking his head as if nothing else mattered. All he did was run to the third door and finally open it, but before crossing the threshold he pointed to the bodies and said: “Go away, there’s a beast here. Among us. Run.”

And he was right, there was a beast. An awful one.

A huge beast inside her; Y/N felt her heart pounding, beating even faster. Almost in an abnormal way.

Was this a punishment? She finally brought her hand to her neck and could feel the scar, deep, fresh. Her neck, part of her jaw.

If she were to run away right now, she wouldn't have enough strength to hold on. She wouldn't go far, because the beast would always be with her.

Inside.

The landscape blurred, her mind didn't seem to keep still. All those voices over and over, chasing her for the rest of her life. Like a haunting promise.

Y/N hugged herself, pressing her forehead against the cold glass of the car window.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Y/N?” A female voice caught her attention, a husky one. Her best friend, Yelena Belova, was driving the car on the rainy day. The blonde seemed quite worried, her best friend was shocked, bloodied and wearing clothes that weren't hers. None of this seemed right.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Yelena came when Y/N called her from a gas station on the road near the Pine Barrens. Her shaking voice made Yelena leave the warm bed she shared with her beloved, and ran to her friend as soon as she could.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Y/N just kept silent. The road was endless.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Y/N? Are you going to tell me what happened there?” Yelena insisted once more. “We can go to the police station, Natasha can help you and-”

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“No.” That was sharp. “I don't want the police involved in this.”  Y/N finally spoke, a little scared maybe. No one could or should know about all this.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

"Y/N, you've been missing for a fucking month... The police should know."

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

"What?" Her lips trembled again, terrified. How was that possible?

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

"I haven't heard from you since the night at the fair, remember? That was a month ago!" Yelena frowned, even more confused and worried. "What happened? I talked to Wanda, she said that you left alone that night… She was worried too."

“I…” Y/N hesitated. "I don't know. I don't-"

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

“Y/N? Please, tell me…” she reached out to take her friend's hand, but Y/N jerked it away in fear.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Y/N gulped. “Please, just take me home.”

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

Somewhat doubtful, Yelena was about to contradict her but the brunette looked up from her. Pleading, her eyes teary, Y/N insisted once more: “Please, Lena, just take me home.”

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

Nodding, Yelena drove home without saying anything else. Knowing both that what happened that night, would mark the lives of both forever.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ

If you want to be tagged, just ask! This is something I have had for a long time. I'm not leaving other stories behind, I promise. Thanks you so muuuuch to the people who leave a ❤️ , 🔁 and leave comments -even as an anon on my mystery box of questions and requests-, you make me keep writing. 🐻ㅤㅤ

#wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x reader

[divinum-pacis]

March 14, 2023: Followers of the Sabean Mandaean faith, a pre-Christian sect that follows the teachings of the Bible’s John the Baptist, perform rituals in the Tigris River during a celebration marking “Banja,” or Creation Feast, in central Baghdad, Iraq. Iraqi Sabaean Mandaeans view John the Baptist as their central prophet and submerge themselves in the Tigris during an annual five-day ritual.

(AP Photo/Hadi Mizban)

#religion #mandaeism #mandaeans #people #holy water #baghdad #iraq #divinum-pacis

[belit0]

can you do a yandere madara who’s like closed off and reserved from his wife but eventually she gives up and he’s like oh ur not leaving! omg this sounds dumb asffff

Oh, don't even say this is dumb! If there's an Uchiha I can totally picture as a Yandere, it's definitely Madara, so this was fun!

TW: Yandere! Madara

Pairing: Uchiha Madara / reader

Despite being an arranged marriage, (Y/N) was genuinely excited to be paired with one of the strongest shinobi in the world. It wasn't just his legend she was drawn to, but the beauty this man carried. How could one be so handsome and powerful at the same time?

When the proposal came to her village, her father was quick to respond, unable to turn down the opportunity to marry his firstborn to one of the most influential men in the five nations. To have the Uchiha as allies, more so, as a family, was an opportunity only a fool would turn down.

As soon as the arrangements were made, (Y/N) was sent to their lands to embark on her new destiny, having to live with a man she had never seen in person. Nothing stopped her from keeping positive thoughts, visualizing the wonderful future she would lead with the head of the largest clan in the country.

She was greeted with a warm welcome from the entire village except for Madara.

The man she was supposed to love for eternity simply waved at her from afar, complied with all the formalities, was present at the wedding, and disappeared completely. Not caring if (Y/N) was all alone in an unknown land and far from her family, he chose to keep busy with his duties as leader rather than spend time with her.

He would arrive late at night when she was already asleep, and leave early in the mornings before she woke up, (Y/N) would hopefully bump into him at some point during the day, while walking around the village or socializing with whomever she encountered.

It became a very lonely situation, the opposite of what she thought she would experience being here. She ended up as the pretty doll of the headman, who barely spoke to her.

All her obligations, as her father had instructed her, were fulfilled, and she avoided causing a scene about her situation just so as not to bring conflict to her family. She did not feel comfortable enough with anyone to discuss what was troubling her, having minimal and general contact with the women of the clan, and none with the men, who stayed away from her out of respect for their leader.

It all culminated in chaos when they had to attend her brother-in-law's birthday party. Izuna was celebrating in splendor, throwing a party for everyone in the family at the central house, and not skimping on food or drink. Everyone would celebrate along with him on a magnificent night, full of light, fun, and fire.

(Y/N) was adorned and dressed in luxurious and expensive clothes, things she would have marveled at long ago had she not been going through what she was currently enduring. "Lord Madara sent these to you, Madam (Y/N). He hopes they are to your liking."  Reported the maid who was helping her dress and beautify herself.

She had been there for three months, and it was the first gesture the Uchiha had made to her. What infuriated her the most, was the man not even deigning to hand them to her, as if he wanted to avoid her at all costs. Did he hate her? Did he sacrifice himself in marriage as a political move, with no hope of getting anything positive out of the experience? Did he even want her there?

A million questions ran through her mind daily, and receiving that gorgeous attire simply triggered more. (Y/N) could not utter a word on the matter, allowing her maid to help her in silence. She finished getting ready when the night was well advanced, and the birthday boy was supposed to finally announce his presence with a triumphant entrance.

Izuna's orders required Madara to be there watching him play out his scene, and that meant, according to the policy of their marriage, so did she. As appearances and laws demanded, she would sit like a precious puppet, smiling vacantly and interacting with whoever approached her, feigning happiness and gratitude to her husband.

Thus, she spent most of the evening perched next to her husband at the main table, eating and watching as everyone wanted to be near him, trying to generate conversation about even the simplest things.

At some point in the night, when almost everyone was already drunk, Izuna decided to say some special words of appreciation. He called for everyone to gather around him, and requested Madara's presence at his side.

(Y/N) expected him to at least pretend, take her by the hand and invite her to join her in the center of the meeting with his younger brother, but to no avail. The man simply stood and ignored her completely, smiling at Izuna. The crowd cheered for him and everyone applauded, closing the circle as the two brothers hugged and laughed at the night protagonist’s drunken words.

She decided enough was enough. It was one thing to ignore her in private and keep up appearances in public for everyone to trust in their romantic and perfect relationship. It was something else entirely to disregard her in front of everyone, not even validating her presence at his side, not recognizing her as his wife in front of an event as important as someone's birthday in the family.

Shut away and forgotten at the edge of the limelight, she decided that was it. She would sneak off and lock herself in the room they were both supposed to share and write a letter to be sent immediately to her father, in hopes he would understand the situation, and allow her to continue the marriage from afar, from the happiness of her home.

It's not like the Uchiha would care if she was there or not, having scorned and neglected her since her arrival. They probably shared the most eye contact at their wedding, with the man not even bothering to consummate their marriage. Madara avoided getting into bed with her, disappearing into the evening festivities.

(Y/N) slipped away slyly, ignoring the curious glances directed at her. She was almost at the door, when one of her maids called out to her, "Madam (Y/N)! Where are you going in such a hurry? Aren't you enjoying the party?"

Despite the ambient noise, people shouting and laughing, and all the chaos of the celebration, the girl felt a pair of special eyes boring into the back of her head. Meters away and among all the family separating them, Madara was staring intently.

She felt apprehensive about those black orbs, his invasive and violent gaze, and had the urge to run, to hide where he couldn't find her.

Ignoring him, (Y/N) made a successful exit, making her way to the privacy of her chamber. She set to work immediately, looking for paper and ink to write. Halfway through her letter, she heard the sliding bedroom door open, and footsteps approaching her.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing (Y/N)?" The first time her husband had articulated more than two words in a sentence to her. He caught her in the act, making her scratch the paper with an unplanned line of ink.

"So, you know my name, I'm impressed..." She was trying to maintain the appearance of a strong woman, stand up to the man everyone fears, and not be intimidated. Her lucky attempt ended when the Uchiha lifted her by the arm, pushing her away from the desk and slamming her against the wall.

He enclosed her in his arms, leaning dangerously close to her personal space. "You're going to stop acting like a spoiled brat and face the reality of your new life. You're not going anywhere, and if you try to escape, your family's village will be reduced to ashes by my own hands."

He kissed her hard, catching her off guard and forcibly, (Y/N) wasn't sure whether to shift her face or give in, but Madara's momentum left her no choice but to take it and reciprocate. She finally got what she had longed for, but at what cost?

"You don't want me here, you don't desire me as a woman, you don't see me as a wife, you won't even talk to me or look at me!" Her eyes filled with tears, humiliated in front of the man who should love her.

"Things don't work the way you want them because I call the shots, I dictate how everything works. You will be my beautiful wife and you will open your legs when I want you to like the good woman you are, otherwise, I will force them open for you. Fuck, maybe we'll even love each other at some point. Behave yourself, (Y/N)."

With the end of his statement, he lifts her into the air, scooping her up in his arms and tossing her carelessly onto the bed.

"Now, let's finally consummate this marriage, shall we?"

#madara x reader #madara uchiha x reader #uchiha madara x reader #madara #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto #uchiha clan #naruto x reader #naruto scenarios

[etherati]

Taproot - (1/25)

To celebrate finally finishing this monster of a fic after 4 goddamned years, I'm going to be posting the full chapters here on Tumblr, serialized like in the olden days, to make it easier to digest a bit at a time. Expect an installment once a week. This is a sequel to Wellspring, and is a post-S2 AU with, at this point, established Trephacard--plus some historical flashbacks, family drama, bloody showdowns, and a lot of secrets waiting in the wings. And feels. All the feels. If you like those things--or, for reasons I cannot disclose at this time, dear old Leon Belmont--consider giving this one a spin.

Summary from Ao3:

Taproot (n): The oldest, most central root; that from which all else arises.

Every family has its roots, diving down into the shadowy, secretive earth--and there's no such thing as a bloodless inheritance.

🎵 Music pairing: The Old Ways - Loreena McKennitt

Next -- >

Go to part: one | two | three | four | five | six

Sunrise over the Black Sea—golden light spilling into the water like its own sort of glowing, glittering liquid, diffusing through the brine and illuminating it in hues of orange and amber and violet-pink—is one of the most beautiful sights the natural world has to offer. There are other striking sunrises to be had, and other bodies of water prone to making a person feel overwhelmingly small, but nowhere else do the two combine into such a spectacle, delighting the eyes even as it harrows the soul.

At least, nowhere else that Sypha has been, and she has been a lot of places.

She twists the end of her walking stick into the damp sand and gravel. This means that she’s close; she can tell by the particular mineral-laden smell of the salt and the angle of the light that she’s still a bit north of Enisala, but not by very far. There’s no shame in having arrived at the sea slightly off from her target. The only truly accurate navigation is by the stars—and the lingering presence of the night creatures and the winter’s bitter chill have had her travelling mostly with the sun.

Overhead, the keening cries of shorebirds as they dip and weave, coming in low to gather at the waterline, to pick over the tide pools and sandbars. The breakers beat the rocky shore, relentless. There’s a stark beauty to the place, to the way life struggles forward despite its days being filled only with further struggle. Tenacity. Tenacity, she understands, and all the spoils it brings.

This would be a lovely place to bring Adrian and Trevor to, she thinks; let them see this dawn, let the three of them roughhouse in the waves and drink sweet fruit wine in the sun and make love in the cool, damp sand once twilight settles in, all softness and blue-black shadows and the murmur of the tide. When the weather is warmer. When the sea is greener than it is grey, and the wind coming off of it doesn’t threaten to peel the skin from her face and hands. When they feel safe, leaving the castle unguarded for a while.

That time is, with certainty, not yet now. But she’s working on it. She’s still not gotten used to travelling alone, honestly hopes she won’t ever have to, but sometimes needs must. And that’s the entire point of this, of having to be away from them for so long.

She misses them—misses her family, too, but that’s an old ache that she’s grown accustomed to. Missing Adrian and Trevor is a different kind of hurt, sharp and fresh, made worse by knowing how badly they’re missing her in return. When she was growing up, travelling constantly on journeys measured in seasons, a month had felt like nothing. Now, it feels like an eternity.

There’s no snow and ice out here, this close to the water; there never is, in her experience, until you get to the deep, deep north. The sand is wet and the coarse stone crushed into it grinds under her staff. It’s blunt and thick, as writing implements go, and there’s no way to get any detail—and anyway, she’s no artist.

She still leaves a chunky, lopsided heart in the sand, as if marking the spot to return to later—as if the waves won’t wash it away mere hours after she’s left this place.

The sun is high overhead by the time the crumbling stone fortress of Enisala comes into view on the horizon. It feels wonderful, even if winter sun never warms one through the same way summer sun does; she drops her hood to bask in it, shifting her pack on her shoulders.

The ruins themselves are all beige-grey rock, the sky even more devoid of color, stormy and brooding. As she gets closer, though, she can see little pops of color all around the perimeter of the old fortress—blanket-draped caravans, colorful paper lanterns, artifacts of every culture the trains have come into contact with over the past year. Anything to make the space lively.

This place has always felt oddly significant to her—with its ruins that no one will claim ownership over, that seem to belong only to themselves, like slumbering giants from the birth of the world. Really, anywhere on the eastern edge of a landmass would do, for the Speakers’ winter solstice celebrations. But this is where her family group has always come, and so she knows she will find them here. For a week on either side of the solstice, many trains gather here in the sprawl of the mysterious ruins, and they eat and dance and share stories, all the stories of the year before, and Sypha knows she has a few that will make even the elders jealous.

She smiles to herself, framing the narrative in her head as she sets off down the narrow, meandering path to the gathering below.

“Sypha!” a familiar voice calls out, along with the clatter of scattered and dropped firewood; she’s barely made the edge of camp, is still lost in thought, but that voice would snap her out of just about anything.

“Kiri,” she oofs out, as the woman barrels into her, catching her up in a crushing embrace that’s more robes than anything else—layers and layers of them, to keep out the damp chill. Sypha hugs back just as hard; she’d been expecting her family and the others, the ones she’d watched leave Greşit all those months ago and then had to say farewell to again late in the spring. She hadn’t been expecting Kiri, Kiri who knows all her secrets and remembers what she looked like when she was young enough to go about with her hair unshorn, who she spent more time with growing up than she did her own family—throwing rocks into rivers and climbing trees and playing rough games with the boys. Testing every limit, challenging every rule, pushing for every wild dream.

Kiri, who’d been away from their clan for at least three years now, off studying the healing arts with the Ottoman scholars in the east when their own collective knowledge had proved insufficient for her. Three years that now feel like nothing—and isn’t it odd, how the friends of childhood are so often forgotten when the demands of adult life catch up, but the body never forgets what it’s like to hold them?

“I’m so glad you made it,” Kiri says, her face buried in Sypha’s hair. “My first Solstice back with our people and you weren’t here! I was getting worried.”

“What, did you think I would miss it?” Sypha asks, faux indignation through her own laughter. “Never.”

“Well, I’ve been told that you have your hunter, now,” Kiri says, pulling away, a sudden swell of distance blooming between them. No wonder—too often, Speakers who marry outside the tribe never quite find their way back. She and Trevor hadn’t been that to each other the last time she’d seen her family, had just been circling ever closer without quite making contact, but fair assumptions could be, and often were, made. “And your sleeping soldier?”

“Mm, yes,” Sypha says; it’s been a long time since she’s thought of Adrian that way, though he’s never stopped fighting for them. “But this is important, being here. And seeing everyone again! How have your studies been?”

Kiri’s eyes flash with excitement, bright against the wind-bitten redness of her cheeks; her skittishness evaporates in an instant. “It is incredible, Sypha! The things they know, in the south—the things they’ve kept track of, that others have forgotten. There is a book one man there has written on how to repair a person as if they were a torn garment or a broken wagon. It’s remarkable.” Adrian probably has a copy of that, somewhere in his mother’s medical library—if not, she’ll have to remember to track one down. “I understand why we do not record our stories, but after three years there, I wonder if we are foolish to not record knowledge itself? Raw knowledge I mean, the kind that is hard to frame in the context of a story.”

My people are idiots, she remembers saying, during that

interminable stay in the Belmont hold; she’s usually more inclined to be generous, but there’d been an infectious kind of frustration and cynicism they’d all been fighting, after a certain point. 

“I’ve wondered that, too,” she says now, far more diplomatic; the journey has done her outlook a lot of good. “About an entirely different body of knowledge! Not something that would be as useful as the medicine you’re learning, but yes—if having something written down can save a life, how can that be wrong?” 

“Don’t let the elders hear you say that!” Kiri admonishes, laughing.

Sypha blows a dismissive breath through her nose. “I am sure they already think I’m a terrible member of our tribe, just for raising a hand against the enemies of humanity. I cannot imagine their opinion of me can get much worse.”

Kiri throws an arm over her shoulder, pulls her in. “It’s not that bad,” she says, trying to be encouraging, but there's a tension there. “Our Sypha, the warrior of Wallachia. But I always knew you were destined for something special.”

Sypha frowns in thought, takes a few steps in silence. Did you? She wants to ask, and she wants to ask, Why?

Destined. Destiny is too large an idea, is the sort of thing that hovers around other people, people with remarkable families, with mysterious pasts. Sypha is a magician like any other Speaker magician; her father was the same, and his mother before him, and there is nothing unusual about any of it. These things run in families, and magic users are common, and sure, she'd gotten herself sucked up into an epic story because of it, but it could as easily have been another.

Couldn't it have?

Would another scholar of magic have done just as good a job? Would another magician have melded into the team as well as she did, have communicated in battle so effortlessly, have picked up the slack the other two dropped and protected them when they needed it? Could just any magician have snatched Dracula’s castle out of the aether like it was a feather on the breeze?

Would another Speaker have tossed aside the principles of a lifetime to stand up and fight, or is there really something dark and burning in her that sets her aside?

If there is, is that a good thing or a bad thing? Is that even the question to be asking?

“...how does it feel, to fulfill a prophecy?” Kiri asks, as they start to make their way toward the rest of the camp. It’s clear from the suddenly uncomfortable undercurrent in her voice that she’s not talking about the whole killing Dracula part; that story, her family has already heard, and it’s surely made the rounds. No—she’s talking about the rest of the prophecy. The part that’d had Sypha so uneasy clambering down into the catacombs and so defensive when she awoke there in the face of a hunter; the part that she’d like to believe any random magician would not have been able to fulfill.

“Strangely?” Sypha says, pitching her voice low. “Like I did have a choice in the matter.”

“Truly? You did not feel fate’s hand pushing the issue?” A pause, a few scuffing steps in the snow. Then, carefully: “Or another hand entirely?”

And oh, Sypha understands why her old friend is concerned, understands all too well given the way the world has sometimes treated their people. How non-Speaker men have often regarded them—worldly and experienced and incapable of ever saying no, as if rejection of the church’s self-loathing, oppressive morality somehow made them into succubi. But the implication is so absurd in context that she still laughs, conspiratorial. “No. My God. I had to push them. I thought I was going to go crazy.”

A smile then, more genuine. The tension drains out of the arm across Sypha’s shoulders. “What kind of heroic warriors are they, if they’re not fighting for the hand of maiden fair?”

“In what world, I wonder, would I be considered a fair maiden?” Sypha asks, smiling despite herself. Her robes are ragged with wear, her hair recently chopped short again, her feet swathed in cloth bandages beneath her sandals to keep out the cold. Fair indeed. But she knows that society outside of their caravans frames the world in certain ways. “And they were fighting with me, not for me.” 

“Still. Most would expect some sort of reward for saving the world—even if only from fate.”

Sypha shakes her head, remembering that sunrise through the castle doors, the way they’d all started drifting apart before she’d pulled them back together. Those first few hours of having no idea what to even do with themselves, in this tomorrow that they hadn’t expected to see. “We were all shocked to still be alive, in the end. I imagine that would be reward enough for anyone.”

Kiri looks to her feet, swallows. They walk in silence for a moment. It had, perhaps, been unfair to go into such dark territory—to invoke how close they’d all come to dying that night. But these are the stakes Sypha has gotten used to, the way she’s become accustomed to thinking of the world. Speakers don’t fight; they are always in danger from those who don’t understand them, but that is a danger that brings itself to one’s door. The memory of choosing to walk across an enemy’s threshold, certain she would not ever cross it again, is uniquely hers.

“If you met them,” she says, gently bringing the topic back around, “you would understand. They honestly are good men. They understand what trust and respect are.” And they have enough baggage to fill an entire wagon, between them both, but that’s not for her to say. She’s not so dense as to think that they’d been dragging their feet just to frustrate her. “They do respect me, and I had to do nothing extraordinary to earn it—only what I’m truly capable of. We are equals.”

“Enough so that they trusted you to make this journey alone,” says a voice from her other side, mild and gentle, and Sypha turns without thinking, throwing herself into her grandfather’s arms.

“My angel,” he says, stroking her hair, and as it always does, the endearment makes her heart clench up a little around something—something hard and painful, like a rock in her chest, that she has never understood.

She huffs a laugh against his robes, pushes through it. “It was more a matter of whether I trusted them to survive a month without me.” Kiri laughs then, and her grandfather does too, and it warms her to know, with this kind of certainty, just how lucky she really is.

“…and it was in this way that the houses were joined, the scorched land of one family and the usurped fortress of their oldest enemy, and from the ashes of tragedy and loss and centuries of discord arose the hope of an unexpected and brilliant future.”

A long silence, broken up by the crackle of logs in the fire, by the quiet rustle of voices from elsewhere in the camp. There’s no need to pronounce the end of a story here, not if one is half decent at telling it; Sypha knows that they are just letting it sink in.

“A remarkable story, more so even than the first telling, which we have all heard,” one of the elders says, one she isn’t familiar with. In front of the old woman’s feet, a pair of young children are still staring raptly at Sypha. The elder’s voice is warm, pleased. “It will be quite a thing to add to our memory stores. And quite a thing to know that one of our own played a role, in such a difficult time for our country.”

“One of ours, one of Dracula’s, and one of their own that they threw out,” says a young man a few places to Sypha’s left; his voice carries the twist of a smile. “I wonder how the church must feel, in the face of such irony.”

And oh, that’s a thought that has given Sypha much satisfaction over the last year—to be a fly on the wall when the heads of the church met to discuss what had happened!—but the old woman frowns. “I imagine they feel as though they nearly caused the extinction of all human life in Wallachia,” she says, a touch sharp. “Perhaps that is enough?”

One of the children at her feet giggles, a Look who’s in trouble kind of sound, and the man ducks his head. But he’s not in trouble. That isn’t how they do things. “Pardon me, Elder,” he says, “but I disagree. That they made a horrible mistake is knowledge that can fade or be downplayed over time. That they were saved by the very people they ostracized and cast out—that carries weight that cannot so easily be shrugged off. Even if we cannot share this with the rest of the people of Wallachia, that lesson should at least be preserved.”

Because it is about hubris as much as it is about blame, she can remember saying, after that first meeting they’d had with Acasă’s strange new church. Blame can be washed away with a convincing enough apology, and hubris will make the same mistakes over and over again. Both must be undermined if any progress is to be made.

It had been a hard sell. Adrian tends to want to place blame if only to have something to aim all of his anger and sadness at, now that he’s allowed himself to start navigating them; Trevor only wants the world to feel more just than it is. But in the end she’d brought them around: more needs to be done than to just rub the church’s nose in the mess it’d made.

Which is why they’d agreed, in the end, for her to finally tell the story in its entirety—nothing masked or obfuscated, no details left aside. Only for her people’s ears; a closed telling, a rarely invoked practice used when the full story needs preserving but would put the participants in danger, should it get out into the general populace. The people of Acasă are just now starting to truly accept Trevor for who he is; tolerating a witch and a vampire is a bit much to expect of them, just yet.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she says now, “as a participant in the story? I agree. How this was ended, and by who, is just as important as who started it in the first place. There are lessons in both of those things."

The elder regards her for a long moment, thoughtful. Then nods, just a tiny dip of her face into the firelight. “Very well. This story will sit alongside the previous version. The nature of Wallachia’s saviors is to be preserved, as a means of emphasizing the church’s shortsightedness and the need for it to not repeat that mistake.”

Sypha nods deeply, a long and slow dip of her head nearly to her knees. “My thanks, Elder. May your tribe live happily and well, in the coming year.”

“And yours.”

The crowd disperses, some going to hear or tell other stories, some retiring to their caravans for the evening meal. One figure stays nearby, hunched over a nearby fire, close enough to have heard her telling but not actually part of the group receiving it. In the fading light, the shape is just that: a shape, a silhouette, blue-black against the blue-white of the snow, limned in the cold violet light of sunset. They have a branch in their hands, are stripping it of its side-shoots methodically, tossing them one by one into the fire.

It’s a silhouette Sypha would know anywhere. 

“What stories have you to tell,” Sypha asks, settling down alongside her, the ritualistic question feeling strange in her mouth, “since this time last year?”

Kiri huffs a laugh. “None as exciting as yours. You’re a hard act to follow, Sypha.”

“You seemed excited about all the knowledge you’d gained, earlier.”

Twist, pull, snap. “That’s nothing, compared to having a grand destiny.”

“I still say that destiny is too strong a word. We basically fell down a hole.” 

“Directly into the vault of Greşit’s sleeping soldier. At precisely the time the three of you were most needed. That sounds like kismet to me.”

Sypha can’t help but laugh, remembering. “It felt more like incredible clumsiness, from where I was standing.”

“Falling.”

“From where I was falling, yes.”

A stretch of quiet, then, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“So,” Kiri says after a while, tossing an entire handful of twigs into the flames. There’s a smile on her face but the firelight has turned it bitter, all shadows and edges. “Your soldier is a vampire.”

“Dhampir, really,” Sypha corrects, kneejerk. For so long, it’d been Trevor she was correcting, then after a while, Adrian himself; she’s used to being quick on the draw with it, because either of them saying vampire had generally been a sign of badness brewing.

Kiri breaks another few twigs free from the branch, twists them in her fingers. “I don’t know what that means.”

Right. Of course she doesn’t. “It means his mother was human.”

“Oh,” Kiri says, seemingly still not sure what to do with this information. “I knew that, I guess. From the story itself. I didn’t realize the distinction mattered.”

“Yes, it… it matters. A great deal. I do not think a true vampire would have ever sided with humanity.”

"Still. I wonder if I would have been able to guess, had we met in the summer instead of the winter."

Sypha plucks at the scarf around her neck, the wool scratchy but warm, dyed in a hundred vibrant colors. It’d come from the market in Acasă, knitted by an old blind woman, and had been a gift—gratitude for the work they’d done securing the town against the demon attacks. They had saved her son’s entire family, and gone home that night and celebrated it, a battle with no casualties save the demons themselves. She’s wearing it because of the cold, but she knows what Kiri is asking. "Perhaps."

A huff of breath. “So much for your gentle warriors.”

“You would probably be surprised,” Sypha says with a shrug, not even bothering to take offense on Adrian’s behalf, because she can tell this isn’t what Kiri’s actually upset about. Some people compare words to weapons, and it’s truer than they know; you can dodge and feint and mislead with them as well as you can with steel. “But that isn’t—Kiri. What’s going on?”

For a long moment, no reply. The fire cracks and pops, splitting the wood apart in a spattering of sparks. Kiri throws the whole branch into it like a spear, a hard burst of frustration.

“Taerna married, this summer,” she finally says, the words quiet. 

That stops Sypha cold, her fingers poised in mid-reach for a branch of her own. She curls them back up around the empty air, feels the nails bite into her palm. “She always said she would wait for you.”

“Why should she have bothered? We were only friends.”

“You were more than that.”

“She married,” Kiri repeats, short, face tightening as if to hold something inside. “Like all of my friends and sisters did. Marriage and children and… it’s all anyone does. We had plans. We were going to, to travel, and she was going to hunt our food and I was going to heal people and we were going to see the world together. But this is the only life anyone seems to care about.”

And even you’re going down that path, Sypha can hear, unsaid. You and your prophecy, your exiled hunter and your inhuman soldier. 

Sypha closes her eyes, takes a breath. “She cares about you.”

“She also cares about her hound.”

“She loves you,” Sypha says, insistent.

Kiri laughs, bitter, tears threatening. It’s like watching an old dam crumble, flawless limestone threading through with cracks and stress fractures, and then: an outrushing of things held back for far too long. “Not enough,” she says, curling forward over herself, arms tight around her belly. “Not more than she loved the idea of having a child. Not enough to be with me.”

“Oh, Kiri. I’m sorry,” Sypha says, threading an arm over her shoulders, pulling her in. “I’m sorry.”

“Do yours love you?” Kiri asks after a moment, muffled by the layers of robes. “Enough to change the world, to defy everything for you?”

Sypha thinks about Trevor punching Dracula in a ridiculous, suicidal attempt to keep him away from her, thinks about Adrian in her garden, enduring the sun to make her happy—about a castle and a watchtower and the ending of the story she’d told, and her grasp on her friend tightens. “They do. And each other.”

A laugh into her shoulder, rough and wet. “I’ve always thought it would be terrible, to be involved in a prophecy,” she says, barely audible. “I never thought I’d be so jealous.”

There’s a stream that runs past the ruins, a narrow but swift-moving current that cuts through the ground here like a knife. It leads into the tough, gnarled pines and firs that grow this close to the sea, into these dark and uninviting woods that are nevertheless filled with a thousand secret places.

Sypha follows it, as she always has, year after year. 

Things are different, this year.

She finds them by the water, bundled up and talking quietly. There’s a fire burning, but it’s been banked and allowed to subside down to embers, giving off heat but very little light. In the heavily filtered winter moonlight, they look like faery folk—Arn with his delicate, dignified features, Lily with the luminescent white bone beads threaded into hair the color of pitch, both of them beautiful and earnest.

They look up when she steps closer, their faces dark, shadowed. Painfully anxious.

She sits down on the ground, near to them, facing them. She is just as filled with anxiety. She has never done this, has no idea how to approach it—she knows they are not being blindsided like Kiri was, knows they have had time to adjust to the idea of this, but all she can see is her old friend’s face, broken up in grief over a friend-love she—and everyone else—had thought was something more. For once in her life, Sypha cannot find the words.

Then Lily smiles, the brilliant, passionate smile Sypha remembers, and holds out her hands, and Sypha lets herself fall into the woman’s arms, nearabout crushing her in the embrace.

“It’s all right,” she whispers, against Sypha’s ear. “You’ve found your loves. It was always bound to happen to one of us.”

Sypha nods against her, feeling the tears welling up. Turns to embrace Arn, the familiarity of his touch painful in this context, in knowing what she has to do.

“Are you set to marry?” Arn asks, quiet, solemn.

Sypha shakes her head. “I haven’t brought up the subject yet. There are a lot of complications—no human establishment would ever welcome us. But...”

“But you would like to.”

“Yes.”

“Will you come back to us then, for the ceremony?” Lily asks, and her voice sounds like the fear of paths diverging, not knowing if they will ever converge again. “Or even just to visit? You know there are none here who wouldn’t welcome all of you—or if there are…”

“Lily will convince them to change their minds,” Arn finishes for her, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

Sypha closes her eyes, takes Lily’s hand. “Of course. I could not stay away for long. And you can always visit us—we’ll have a lot of space, once we rebuild.”

Visiting, seeing old friends: it’s not the same, won’t ever be the same. And sometimes things change, and people change and what they are to each other changes. But these two were always dear friends first and foremost, and that will never—can never—be any different. She gathers them both into her arms, and it’s a sweet, comfortable place to be.

“Please tell me,” Arn whispers into her hair after another long moment, “that Belmont at least bathes regularly, now?”

And like that, the seriousness of the night vanishes, goes up like a twist of smoke into the black. Sypha laughs, and keeps laughing, until it turns to tears again and she can’t sort out which she’s feeling more of. 

“Yes,” she says, with a little hiccup of sob-laughter. “He does. He fights the darkness and protects the innocent—like he was born for. And washes the monster blood off, after.”

“Good,” Arn says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We could tell from the beginning, that he was capable of being more than he was pretending to be.”

A long measure of silence, only the water rushing past, too swift to freeze even in the heart of winter.

“Will you let us give you a proper farewell?” Lily asks, hesitant. “Do they know—”

“They know,” Sypha says, biting her lip. “I talked with them about it before I left. They don’t mind.” As long as it’s a farewell, she hears Trevor saying, laughter in his voice even as he’d tried to be serious about this. And not a ‘till next time’.

Adrian had just been quiet, and had smiled softly in that way that is always disarming to her, and had simply said that traditions, and closure, are important. For everyone involved.

“Do you want this from us?” Lily asks. “Whether they mind is not the only question.”

It’s secluded in the little copse of trees, even the starlight blocked by the arching branches thick with green needles, and warm from the banked fire. Sypha nods, and reaches out with both hands, palms up in invitation. They each press a kiss to her open hands, and they hold her and she holds them, all of them swathed in the shadows of this secret place. She lets them say goodbye to this part of their collective lives, lets them put their hands and their mouths on her and push her to giddy exhaustion—one last gift from her youth, and one that will have to hold her over through the winter chill until these two weeks are out and she can begin to make her way home.

When they wander back to camp late that night, appetites sated and tension shaken away, things are different between them, always will be different, now—but that’s all right, in the end. Change, like liquor in a wound, can sting, but it is sometimes the only thing that makes the blood run truly clean.

The next day passes quickly and well. She gives her grandfather the gifts that Adrian and Trevor had sent along with her; scouring the castle library, Adrian had found a rare volume of supposedly true stories from the far east that he thought the tribe would appreciate having to add to their memory stores, and    Trevor, feeling some cabin fever in all of the early season snow they’ve gotten, has taken up carving—which is to say, he isn’t very good at it yet, may never really be. But the two simplistic figures he’s sent are easily recognizable as rough caricatures of priests, one missing a finger and one missing an eye. In memory of the day we all met! he’d said, performative, trying to disguise the sentimentality as tactless humor.

Her grandfather laughs to himself as he holds the figures up, and she can tell he’s trying hard to mask how entertained he is; violence is so anathema to their people and yet, somehow, this particular act of violence never seems to have unsettled him. Context, she supposes; Trevor had been acting specifically to save his life, and he could have done far worse.

She wanders the camp, looks at all of the lovely exotic decorations, and plays with the children, an odd pang in her heart as she watches their innocent games. She helps prepare lunch, lighting the fires for the ones doing the cooking, chopping vegetables and kneading dough for flatbread, and she goes into the woods with Kiri to gather more firewood—they will need a lot of it, tonight. 

They don’t talk, while they gather. It’s not awkward, just an understanding that the space between them needs some quiet, needs time to breathe.

She visits with the others in her family, with the surrogate aunts and uncles that are not actually related to her by blood, with the childhood playmates and the mentors, and with Taerna and her husband, a man from another tribe who’d chosen to join hers

instead of the other way around, had chosen to take her name. He seems sweet enough, and Taerna seems happy, if a little haunted around the edges of her eyes. Everyone she asks says that yes, of course they will be there, tonight.

Last night had been for stories, and tomorrow will be as well. But tonight is for celebration. All things in equal measure.

Hours in, Sypha drops onto one of the logs around the edges of the clearing; she slumps forward with a happy groan, reaching to rub the knots and strings out of her calves. Her walking muscles are conditioned like no others, but dancing muscles are a different story. It’s a good ache, though, like that burn in the cheeks that comes from too much smiling, too much laughter. She feels overheated from the exertion and the fire, no matter the chill in the air, and she unwinds the scarf, loosens the top layer of her robes to let the air move through.

Between where she sits and where the fire burns, silhouettes move, a chaotic display of human joy and beauty. They have no structured dances, really, though longtime partners often grow into each other’s steps. She can smell warm food nearby, bread and stew and hot mead, sees all of her family and friends and the strangers that come here as well, all her people, all dressed as she is, and wonders again: could any of them, the ones with magic at least, have done what she did?

She stares into the fire, remembers the feel of the castle’s engine between her fingers, the way she’d felt reality bending and brittle fracturing around her, so much more power at her disposal in that moment than she’d ever brought to bear conjuring fire or ice—and she thinks that no, maybe not. She’s met other magicians; she’s not sure any of them have ever trapped an eldritch monstrosity or blown apart an Enochian ward or—or done the things she’s come here to learn how to do. The things her father and her grandmother could do.

Later. Later, when the Nasaii tribe arrives. They should be here by morning. She will learn what she needs to, and she will go home, and she will be able to protect that home more thoroughly than she ever has before.

In the meantime, she watches the dancers, contemplates getting some stew, contemplates whether her legs will fall off if she tries—watches Arn and Lily together on the far side of the clearing, twisting in a tight curl that makes Lily’s hair lift, the fire lighting up her bone beads and glinting in Arn’s eyes. Watches the children imitating the adults, the youngest pairing off with their siblings, stumbling all over each other. Watches strong, tough Taerna with her husband, insisting on leading him, as much as anyone can lead in this sort of dance. 

Watches the elder she’d told her story to last night, sitting across the fire from her, watching Sypha right back with a gentle smile that says Don’t worry,  that says You will be with them soon.

And there’s nothing inherently romantic about these dances on the solstice—friends dance with friends, parents with children, and many dance alone—but she remembers being young and everything being about those early, tentative relationships, remembers that there was a thrill in getting the chance to dance with those people she called heart-mates, or to be asked to dance by someone she wished to be that close to.

So she can’t help but smile when she sees Taerna whisper something to her husband and break away from him, sidling hesitantly up to where Kiri sits. She’s poking at the dirt with a crooked, bare stick, and her sandals haven’t touched the dance ring—are clean of the dust and soot that coats the ground here, the

remains of a hundred years of bonfires.

Taerna holds out a hand, uncertain.

It won’t solve all of the problems, won’t make Kiri’s love hurt less or magically mend things between them. But there’s something of healing in Kiri’s eyes as she reaches up to take that hand, leaves the stick behind in the dirt, lets herself be pulled up and into the ring of dancers, the two of them falling into each other’s space with an ease that says We belong here, that says Even if we must change, there is still us, that says You will never be a stranger in these arms.

Next -- >

Go to part: one | two | three | four | five | six

#castlevania #fanfic #netflix castlevania #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #adrian tepes #alucard #fanfiction #taproot #wellspring #trephacard #post s2

[shuacore]

everything so far :)

joshua

no thorns, no roses (11.4K) mature, 18+ — a modeling gig turns into a test of your patience (and your self-control) warm glow (1.1K) teen & up — early mornings with joshua are always the best ones WIPs five stars for beezus! mature, 18+ — you rent a house in rural Vermont and... shit, your host is a lot hotter than you realized.

mingyu

like real people do (4.3K) gen audiences — in a (pointless) effort to get your workaholic boyfriend to rest, mingyu teaches you how to dance. WIPs national effing geographic — college au mature, 18+ — your photography professor gives you an assignment that requires you to follow a subject around for two weeks and take at least one photo every day. naturally, you choose the school’s in-house celebrity athlete, Kim Mingyu.  to win a prince — regency au mature, 18+ — a tale as old as time. you have a duty to uphold. he's brash and loves to break the rules. naturally, chaos ensues.

jeonghan

say something (like you love me) (4.5K) mature, 18+ — "don't go on that date," he had said. in the six years you had lived with yoon jeonghan, you had never seen him look so forlorn. it's unfamiliarity scared you.

dokyeom

never gonna be alone (3.1K) mature, 18+ — seokmin asks you what you do when you're all alone. barcelona nights (6.9K) mature, 18+ — "The music is all but static in the background, and for a moment it’s just the two of you again, drinking in the airless summer night and the sounds of other couples enjoying each other’s company. You run your thumb across Seokmin’s bottom lip, completely enraptured. His eyes are dangerously dark."

jun

skating in central park (1.7K) gen audiences — you visit a christmas market with your boyfriend, jun.

series

lizzy mcalpine series (ot13) — WIP

misc.

apes — castlecomer — vn (18+) bad omens — ww (18+) clubbing w/ josh

#shuacore masterlist #masterlist #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt smut #svt fluff

[howtomuslim]

The Unifying Power of Islam: Binding Diverse People Together

In a world fragmented by differences, Islam stands out as a unifying force that transcends cultural, racial, and geographical boundaries. Its ability to bring together individuals from diverse backgrounds into an international community is a testament to its enduring beauty and relevance in today’s society. 

One of the most fascinating ways in which Muslims feel a connection between fellow muslims worldwide is by the means of a common and endearing greeting: “Assalamu Alaykum” (peace be upon you, commonly shortened to “Salam” or peace)

Islam emphasises the fundamental unity of humanity, teaching that all people are descendants of Adam and Eve, and thus, all races and communities are equal in the eyes of the Divine. The Quran states: 

“O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another. Indeed, the most noble of you in the sight of Allah is the most righteous of you. Indeed, Allah is Knowing and Acquainted” (Quran 49:13). 

This verse underscores the importance of recognising our shared humanity and fostering mutual understanding among diverse communities.

The Brotherhood of Believers

Central to Islam is the concept of brotherhood/sisterhood among believers. 

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, “The believers in their mutual kindness, compassion, and sympathy are just like one body. When one of the limbs suffers, the whole body responds to it with wakefulness and fever” (Sahih Bukhari). 

This Hadith highlights the interconnectedness of believers and emphasizes the importance of empathy and support within the Muslim community.

Unity in Worship

Five times a day, Muslims around the world turn towards the Kaaba in Mecca, united in prayer, united in direction and united in purpose of worship. This act of collective worship, known as Salah, serves as a powerful symbol of unity and solidarity among Muslims regardless of their geographical location or cultural background. It reinforces the notion that despite our differences, we are bound together by a common faith and devotion to God.

“We have been seeing you turning your face to the heavens. So, We will certainly assign to you a Qiblah that you would like. Now, turn your face in the direction of the Sacred Mosque (Al-Masjid-ul-Harām), and (O Muslims), wherever you are, turn your faces in its direction. Even those who have been given the Book know well that it is the truth from their Lord, and Allah is not unaware of what they do.” [Quran 2:144]

Social Justice and Equality

Islam places a strong emphasis on social justice and equality, advocating for the fair treatment of all individuals irrespective of their race, ethnicity, or socioeconomic status. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said, “None of you truly believes until he loves for his brother what he loves for himself” (Sahih Bukhari). This Hadith underscores the importance of empathy and fairness in our interactions with others, fostering a sense of unity and inclusivity within society.

Cultural Diversity within Islam

Islam is not monolithic, but rather encompasses a rich mosaic of cultures, languages, and traditions from around the world. This diversity is celebrated within the Islamic framework, with different communities bringing their unique customs and practices to the fold of Islam while maintaining their identity as Muslims. The Quran affirms this diversity, stating:

“And among His signs is the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the diversity of your languages and colours. Indeed, in that are signs for those of knowledge” (Quran 30:22)

In a world marked by division and discord, Islam offers a path towards unity, compassion, and understanding. Its teachings inspire individuals to transcend their differences and come together in pursuit of a common purpose: to worship Allah and serve humanity. 

#muslim #islamic #allah #quran #islamiyet #islamdaily #islamicreminders #islam #mosque #new article #new blog #newblog