#anyway the city art museum had a great exhibition!

[purple-is-great]

Why is it that at home I can barely concentrate on the most engaging and fast-paced movie or tv show without looking at my phone, but at a museum i am more than capable of sitting at rapt attention for almost an hour watching artsy videos

[quirkessake]

open to all —crossovers & ocs welcome

          "Welcome to the Museum of London! I'm Tom Natsworthy, and I will... I will be your guide today! I suppose."

          Tom grinned and rolled excitedly up onto the balls of his feet, his hands folded neatly behind his blue Historian's coat as he addressed the museum's newest visitor. He was only an Apprentice Historian (and a lowly Third Level at that), but he was fortunate today; their unexpected guest had come at an off hour when all the other Historians in the guild had long gone home. Technically, he shouldn't be there either, because technically the museum was closed, but he was, and so was this visitor, and he could hardly let them poke around on their own without guidance or supervision. So naturally that left him to do the big Senior Historian Duty of guiding, and showing, and telling (all three of which he believed he could do very well if only anyone gave him the chance to, thank you very much).

          Another little bounce. Tom cleared his throat and swept his arm ahead of them. "Well! Shall we get started, then?"

          The Museum of London was expansive, one of the largest among all of the predator cities, Tom expected. From natural science to mysterious Old World tech, they had it all. Grand displays of ancient mummified animals in glass cases stood against the tall, stone walls and birds of all sorts (some taxidermy, some merely manufactured depictions of what they believed such creatures must have looked like) hung from the arched ceiling and swayed gently with London's movements. Tom pointed them out as they went, explaining the what, where, and when of each creature: This is what the Ancients called a 'bear', specifically a 'pan-da', which once roamed parts of Shan Guo before the Sixty Minute War... This was known as an elfant... This was a tiger... This was a massive, man-eating lizard mysteriously called a croc o' dials which used its great prehensile tail to... And so on, and so on. Each animal he presented with a muted, fidgeting sort of enthusiasm, as if struggling to strike a balance between professionalism, genuine interest, anxiety, and his delight at finally being able to play tour guide. But no exhibit seemed to fill young Apprentice Tom Natsworthy with quite as much glee as the one he brought them to next:

          "...and this gorgeous creature is the blue whale. The most magnificent megafauna of the ancient world and one of the Museum's most impressive archaelogical discoveries!" Tom spread his arms wide. The exhibit was in part real skeletal remains from the tail to just behind the blow hole, and from blow hole to its broad, smiling face, it was painted fabrics and leathers, carefully stretched over a... mostly accurate wire sculpt. "Recent discoveries suggest that the blue whale was not, in fact, the scourge of the deep seas as previously thought. Instead, we believe it survived largely on a diet of small fish, sea insects, and salt, which it either pulled from the ocean's water or harvested from stones at the floor. The blue whale is a living— erh," Tom flushed pink, "was a living example of a gentle giant. My personal favourite, if I'm honest."

          Still looking a touch embarrassed, Tom cleared his throat.

          "Anyway! Those are the Natural Science highlights," he said. "Down that way we have Old Tech of the Ancients, and to the left there... Art of the Ancients, which, um, includes a small section for Old World gods, if you're interested, but... Well. Enough of my blabber, do you have any questions?"

[wernerherzogs]

hi kasia! I know you’re very busy with the apartment remodeling (I hope that’s going well!! Or not awful at least) but I was wondering if you had any recommendations for places to visit in Poland? I’m visiting one of my friends in Krakow but I’ll have a few extra days to myself so I wanted to see if you had any recs :) thank you!

hi anon! i hope this isn't too late 🏃🏻‍♂️🙈 i apologise for not having had the time to respond earlier!!! unfortch i AM very busy these days ):

but ANYWAY. if it's just a few days, i'd recommend sticking to Kraków or taking a train ride to either the mountains (Zakopane, for example, which is super touristsy, but probably also the easiest to navigate as a foreigner) or Warsaw. keep in mind though (bc idk when you'll be here) that October 31 and November the 1st and then November the 11th are public holidays in Poland (the first two religious, and the latter is Independence Day, def avoid Warsaw around then) and the trains and roads will be super crowded.

i'm only going to stick to Kraków i apologise but i'm sure your friend is gonna help out a lot with recs as well! and Warsaw most certainly has a great web presence for touristsy spots, but if you need me to at list some bigger museums or etc. at least, let me know. LASTLY, i'm about to copy paste recs i gave to another mutual a few months back, so - Steph, if you're seeing this, i hope you don't mind! 🩷

first things first, jakdojade.pl (either the app version, or just www.jakdojade.pl opened via the browser app) is a super handy website that shows you how to get from point A to point B, which buses/tram lines to take, etc. there are some major road renovations taking place right now around the Most Dębnicki area (near the Wawel castle), so please keep that in mind! not sure about the tram lines around the Main Train Station as well. 🤔 i think there were plans to renovate the Lubicz line, but i don't remember when. :(

Kraków is great for sightseeing, because it's quite densely built, so you can see a lot of landmarks just by walking around on foot in the Old City area! the Old City is situated like 7 mins from the main train station. in the Main Square area, the Mariacki church with an altar of a famous polish artist Wit Stwosz is definitely worth seeing, as well as Sukiennice (the building right in the center of the Square) with its underground museum.

near the Main Square, there's a gallery of modern art called Bunkier Sztuki, address: Rynek Główny (Main Square) 20, 31-008 Kraków. i haven't been there in a few years so i'm actually not sure what the current exhibits in there are and if they're worth seeing, but hopefully they are!

there's Muzeum Książąt Czartoryskich on św. Jana street 19, 31-017 Kraków which used to host Da Vinci's The Lady with an Ermine, but i think it's currently on loan for some museum in Warsaw? it was actually transferred to the National Museum of/in Kraków earlier this year, but google is being confusing, so i'm not sure if it's currently there or in warsaw 🤔 the National Museum is another place you might potentially want to visit: Muzeum Narodowe w Krakowie, al. 3 Maja 1 street.

there's obviously the Wawel Castle, the historic residence of Polish kings, as Kraków used to be Poland's capital before Warsaw. i haven't been inside in years, but it's probably still worth it! and even if you don't wanna/decide to go inside, you might want to just stroll around the castle grounds. Wawel is right in the city centre as well, so it's another one of those Kraków's staples you can go to by foot!

around the Main Square, there are several "famous" streets with quirky cafes and shops you can visit. and even if you don't go inside, you can just stroll down those streets to get a feel of the city. for example the Floriańska street, Grodzka street, saint Jan or saint Tomasz streets, the Bracka street. no matter which one of these you decide to take from the Main Square, you'll be getting that Kraków experience :)

then there's the historic Jewish district of Kraków called Kazimierz. on one hand, packed with difficult history, on the other, it's become the most hip part of the city! again, loads of famous cafes, pubs, and shops are situated there, some festivals take place there, and so on. you can just stroll around the district, and then visit the Mocak gallery of contemporary art, for example! https://en.mocak.pl/ , address 4 Lipowa St 30-702 Kraków.

just like with Bunkier Sztuki, i haven't seen the current exhibits there, so idk if they're any good, but i personally like Mocak, and you might like it as well! it's at the edge of the Kazimierz district, and the Kazimierz district is right next to the Old City district. you can go from Old City to Kazimierz on foot or take a few quick tram stops.

https://duze-podroze.pl/krakow-kazimierz/

this site is in Polish, but you can take a look at the bolded names and pics - it's a handy guide re: what to look for when you're strolling around in Kazimierz. there are jewish cemeteries, synagogues, the Boże Ciało church, the Wolnica square with Muzeum Etnograficzne (etnographic museum) on it... (https://etnomuzeum.eu/ , the site has an english version that i can't link to directly for some reason). loads of places to see even if you want to just look at them from an outside, you know?

some other places potentially worth checking out: Jagiellonian University's botanical gardens, address Mikołaja Kopernika 27, 31-501 Kraków.

then there are three locations of the Museum of photography in Kraków BUT i'm gonna come clean and admit i still haven't visited any ajdjd 🏃🏻‍♂️ so idk if they're any good, and also they don't seem to have english versions of their websites? unless my phone is failing me. but street addresses are: Rakowicka 22A, Józefitów 16, Królowej Jadwigi 220.

tl;dr sticking to Kraków is a great idea for a short stay, because you can concentrate on only two districts (Old City/Main Square + Kazimierz), and there'll be PLENTY to see, and you can reach those places by foot or via short tram rides! if you're thinking about taking some trips in the Małopolskie voivodeship where Kraków is situated, there's the historic Wieliczka saltmine which is pretty famous: https://www.wieliczka-saltmine.com/ but you'd need winter clothes for that underground trip. you can reach Wieliczka by regular city buses, which is great.

then there's obviously Oświęcim known as Auschwitz-Birkenau, but that one would be heavy, and it'd take probably at least a half of your day: https://www.auschwitz.org/en/visiting/ as it's further from Kraków than Wieliczka.

please remember that the opening hours tend to be 9 am - 6 pm in most places, sometimes even shorter one day a week (sunday or monday or tuesday, typically), or some of them might be closed one day a week. so always remember to check them beforehand! it's also always worth checking if any place has any dedicated day where they offer a free pass or a discount too, you should find that info on their websites.

some places to eat in you might want to check out, although again, i'm sure your friend will be helping out with these as well: Zapiekanki in okrąglak (legendary, mandatory spot!), Nolio, Hamsa, Akita Ramen, Boccanera ristorante pizzeria, trattoria la campania, ima sushi, Sushi Royal, Viale Verde, Restaurant Martello, Sushi 77, Restauracja Bianka, Chinkalnia Restauracja Gruzinska, Hospudka u Nas

aaand that's all from me, sorry i didn't have the time for more! 🩷 HOPE U ENJOY YOUR STAY!!!!!!!!

[engbergsinfinland]

A fun weekend, with company in town!

Today is Monday and we've been going, going, going since last Friday morning. That's when we left by train for Turku, for the two-day Fulbright event in Turku, hosted by the Department of English at the University of Turku and their North American Studies Program. The event was so fun! It was intended to be a light-hearted event to introduce certain cultural phenomena in the US to students from Finland. So, the key words are no scholarly papers. It was actually really hard for me to comply with this! I was on a panel with two US graduate students on Master's Fulbrights in Finland. One, Drew, is getting his MA in Turku and the other, Natalie, is getting hers in Tampere. Our theme was "The Super Bowl: America's Favorite Holiday." I was super excited to form this panel with other people as interested in Super Bowl parties as I am. And, I finally had a venue in which to spread the gospel that is the "Super Bowl Snack Stadium."

Anyway, the American Voices seminar was so fun, and I loved hearing my fellow Fulbrighters' presentations too. If you check the program here, you can see all of the various topics that were discussed. We also got to meet the next cohort of Finnish students who will be moving to the US for graduate study next Fall, as they are the recently awarded students for that type of award. Turku was a beautiful city and we walked around it some and the Fall colors, or ruska, were gorgeous. As with the other Fulbright events, there were many wonderful meals, and snacks, and coffee breaks. I feel so pampered! At the refreshments break on the first day, Rowan ate four munki (Finnish donuts) and on the second day, he and Cece both ate three croissants, I think. They both really enjoyed hearing the talks and Rowan asked some really smart questions -- and a few fellow Fulbrighters remarked on that to me afterwards. He certainly was not shy about jumping right in and participating!

We came home on a 4 p.m. train on Saturday and we arrived at 5:45 to Tampere and had to dash across the street to our apartment so the kids could get on Zoom for their piano lessons with Mr. Marcus. While they were going on, Kaj and Tina arrived, but their luggage did not! Actually, today is Monday, and their luggage finally got to their hotel here at 3 p.m. after having its own interesting European vacation. It spend some time in Germany, Latvia, and then driving around in a delivery van here in Tampere.

Since Kaj and Tina arrive Saturday night, we've had three very fun dinners here at our apartment; we've gone one a nice four-mile walk around Tampere (on Sunday morning); and we visited a lovely neighborhood that is nestled between two lakes that I had been wanting to walk around. Today, Tina and the kids and I went to a museum I'd been eager to check out, Vapriikki, which actually contains maybe six or more museums: the Postal Museum (which is closed right now for a change of exhibits), the Finlayson museum (about the large textile company founded in Tampere), the Finnish Museum of Games, an art gallery with rotating exhibits (this time featuring an exhibit on Aboriginal Australian women artists), the Natural History Museum, and the Finnish radio museum. We had so much fun there. The Finlayson museum -- and the Finlayson area of town was the setting of the museum-- was so amazing. I have long been a fan of their textiles, so it was great to get the whole company's back story. Also, in this museum was the Finnish Hockey Museum, lest I forget! I have a Finnish museum card, gifted by the Fulbright Finland Foundation, so I can go to almost all museums for free, so this is one I will definitely have to return to. There is so much to see!

The kids are on autumn break here, as am I. So, we will get to do more exploring tomorrow and we will go to see an Ilves game at Nokia arena, too! All the school kids got vouchers to see a Tappara game or an Ilves game, or both!, over the break. Also this week we are going to rent a car and go to Jyvaskyla, which is about 1.5 hours away. It is the home of the Alvar Aalto museum, and I have been very eager to go there! The kids' figure skating training continues this week, but all of their other activities have a week off this week. My ballet is not happening, either.

In other news, I would say it is actually cold now. It is just about freezing. The leaves are still on the trees and the trees are so beautiful -- but I think the leaves are all about to fall off. We have been having so much fun with Kaj and Tina and it's exciting to show them around! They're such good sports for anything the kids want to discus or go to see or whatever. The kids are thrilled to have them here.

Oh, one of the places we walked on our amble around town yesterday was a gorgeous cemetery. I guess it is OK to walk through there, if one is respectful, and we were. One of the first headstones we noticed had "Engberg" on it, which was surprising, given that it is a Danish and Swedish name -- not Finnish. There was also a monument to Finnish soldiers who had died during the Second World War, and that was on the highest point in that area, with views all around. The landscape in that cemetery was just so incredibly gorgeous. What a peaceful place to be laid to rest -- not to sound morose or anything. From there, we walked back to the allotment garden-plot community I wrote about last week. I was so excited to show it to Tina, as she is an excellent gardener!

OK, more soon. Hope your week is off to a good start!

[journey-of-the-ip]

Friday, June 8th

Holy crap coming back to life

I left off the last post at 7am so I’ll start from there I guess, I waited around until 10 and decided to start exploring. I first went to La Rambla, which is this big open street market which tbh I found kinda underwhelming. I think I went too early bc I saw people still setting up their booths and stuff but honestly it wasn’t that much to look at anyways.

At the end of the street I dropped off my first treasure spot. Low key don’t think my family is going to find them and feel like I’m essentially littering, but I also think it’s kinda cute and fun? We’ll see.

Oh also finally ate a real meal. I had only eaten like a piece of toast at noon yesterday and then left over plan snacks in between my bouts of napping so I was STARVING.

I got this thing that looked kinda like an English breakfast but Spanish style? It was okay but I inhaled it like no one’s business.

After checking out the street I walked to an empanada place that Justin recommended. The walk is when Barcelona really opened up to me. Walking around the “old city” (idk if that’s what it’s called but there’s a distinct difference between the part of the city designed for humans and the city I was in yesterday that’s very designed for cars.

Old city Barcelona is just wonderful. It’s the perfect amount of sense to provide a lot of shade and have a lot of human density without being overwhelming or dirty or urban feeling. There are big old trees planted along the streets EVERYwhere providing really great shade. There are big areas just for pedestrians every other street it feels like. Most roads are one way one lane, which makes crossing roads really easy.

There’s a really nice diversity within the city as well. Completely different vibe for me compared to yesterday. It felt very unique and European rather than just “global” (another factor that might have affected my perspective is that I was fed and had more sleep compared to yesterday tbh)

The empenada place was really good, perfectly fresh and flaky and chewy but I got a bad flavor, which was like spicy taco meat (it said picana!)

Then I walked to the National museum which I passed in the Uber on the way to the market street which looked super cool. It was kinda fun to “find” the National museum not from the internet but just walking around being like “that looks interesting!” The park surrounding the museum was also really nice

Inside the museum was nice and air conditioned and quiet which was refreshing after all the walking but also accentuated my sleepiness. The art was kinda cool but it was less fun not having anyone to share it with and comment on. While I was taking a foot break I saw Linda’s IG story where she’s traveling with Simon and it made me really jealous and wish I was traveling with Dumpling :(

I started to get really sleepy but made it to most of the exhibits. Some of the paintings were really impressive. The one pic I included really struck me bc there’s something shot it that’s so photography but when you look so the details it’s actually clearly oil and expressive. Crazy.

Outside I had a little snack with Jamon Iberico ham bc I recognized the name from Brooklyn 99. Turns out the ham is just the wagyu of perscuttio it was just really fancy flavorful salami lol. It was good but bc it’s expensive they really skimped on how much they put in my sandwich

I thought about getting real food but did not have the energy and went home and crashed.

I made it to 7pm today! And was able to sleep till 5am! So feeling more confident about being able to exist at human hours for this trip.

Renita is having a travel nightmare though, her flight was delayed and then cancelled and the airline wasn’t able to rebook her for some reason? Not a ton of info rn but she’s spending the night in’s hotel in Dallas and is hoping to be able to get to tangier a day later? At least that’s the best case scenario rn. Fingers crossed

[musea-reviews]

Kunsthal KAdE (Art Gallery KAdE)

‘’exhibitions on contemporary & modern art, architecture, design, and contemporary visual culture.’’

Location: Amersfoort, Utrecht, The Netherlands Price: 13,- / students 6,- Duration: 0,5 - 1 hour Transport: Walking distance from the station of Amersfoort central. Language: Dutch, but it's more looking than reading Activities: Drawing, making clay figures Date of visit: Thursday 23 February 2023 Expo at that time: Ministry of Fear/Foam by Folkert de Jong website

Since the whole museum has a switching exposition and not a fixed collection, I can not really judge over the museum itself, more about the exposition. The museum is placed at ‘’het Eemsplein’’ locally known for having homeless men harassing you, and they did. The building itself is very modern looking, the whole square it's placed on looks modern, all stone and metal. Just not really my thing.

I was not prepared

I was in the city and had some free time, so I popped in, not knowing what the museum was about. After I was greeted by the friendly staff and put my backpack in a locker and walked thou the big doors, where I saw a naked mannequin (Dick out and all) standing at the end of the hallway, staring at me, holding two heads in his hands. Okay cool anyway, let's walk further. Into a big room with multiple people hanging from the roof. Where the fuck am I??’. I started walking through the exposition and came into a black room with tv’s that played short clips of brain scans, hostages being kicked on the ground, and American soldiers posing with bombs. All the while the sound of a voice was playing, echoing saying things like, you know you're dreaming… right?? And creepy slowed-down music. It made me feel fear, it made me feel uncomfortable. I didn't know what was going on or how I got into this situation. I felt like I was in an Indie horror game like my boyfriend sometimes shows me. I didn't like it.

But the further I walked, the more interesting it got, weird ‘’edgy’’ drawing like that you would see in a high school notebook. I started thinking to myself, what in the ‘’nice guy’’ incel collection is this?? Statues of mutilated dead bodies, and all kinds of colours and textures. As the artist describes, he makes these things from what he has ‘’lying around’’. Looking a bit closer at these characters, I noticed these hands were too detailed to be a mannequin, the wrinkles, and pores and all. It started to scare me, how do I know this guy doesn't just have real humans ‘’lying around’’ based on what I saw earlier I would have believed it.

When you see his work, you already start making a picture in your mind of what this deranged, mentally ill human could look like. But then I saw the interview, a friendly-looking man, a friendly teacher or neighbour vibe to him. Wearing his sweater with soft pink, blue, and yellows. I had judged too quickly, I had made a stereotype and judged the book by its cover. 

Really inspiring

I hated it at first because ‘’these drawings are so stupid, I could make them!’’ ‘’This is not art! He just wants to be edgy’’. I have not made art for myself in a long time, because these are the comments I would get. But this man just does what he wants, he makes great art, and you can see the great skill in his work. He's just having fun, making things up as you go. Doing what he wants or just for the shock value.

In the interview, he talks about how he grew up around bunkers, and his parents always talked about war stories. How he would go to the video store and always rented American horror movies. How he grew up being proud of his country, but the more he learned, the more disappointed he got. How he feels like his mind is an isolation cell he desperately wants to escape. To see what more there is. it suddenly all made sense. And walking thou it a second time with a new view inspired me.

The KAdEStudio

In the studio you can make your own art. The activities you can do here are connected to the art exposition, so it also changes. This time, you could draw your own character/mannequin with crayons and markers. Next to that, you could make clay faces, or I guess clay anything. After you finished with it, there was a display where you can put it. And write your name and age. It was fun to see the different artworks from the ‘’normal people’’ and to see all different ages on this display, from 4 to 80! Sadly, they only had 2 tables to make the clay on, and there were already people sitting there. So I didn't make them. 

TLDR +I would recommend it for Artists and Art students since it's usually not the ‘’mainstream’’ art. + Fun art activities, matching the theme + changing expos making it re-visitable.

- wouldn't recommend it for kids, maybe with a more kid-friendly expo.  - small, Even tho I take my sweet time looking at the art, watching the whole interview, playing at the studio and even looking at the fun things in the gift shop. I was standing outside again in an hour.

Would I pay the price: No, it was too short/small in my opinion Would I revisit it: yes, since the expositions keep changing every so months.

Who do I recommend it to: Artists, Modern Art fans, Art Students of any field. Interactive:         2 Educational: 2 Storytelling: 4 Price: 2 Memorable: 5 Total score: 3

[writingfanfiction]

“My best friend’s wedding” - Chapter Two

Pair: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern AU. On the night of their college graduation, Steve and Y/N made an agreement: if when both of them were 30 neither had gotten married, they would marry each other. Three weeks before their 30th birthday, Steve calls Y/N to tell her that he’s engaged. Having been in love with Steve all along, she is going to do all that is in her power to win Steve’s love.

A/N: Loosely based on the movie of the same name.

“My best friend’s wedding” masterlist | Main masterlist

*****

Previous chapter | Next chapter

*****

“I called because I met someone.”

All air left you, and you forgot how to breath. You started to walk backwards in order to sit down on your bed, but you heavily miscalculated the position in which your bed had been for the last couple of years, and you collapsed on the floor.

You were quiet for a while. Trying to focus on the slight pain you felt in your rear from having had fallen on the floor. Your silence prompted Steve to inquire, “Y/N? Are you there?”

You started to get up from the floor, answering in a monotone, “Well, that’s great. You haven’t really had anybody since that awful Rachel Robinson…” This time you looked at the bed before you sat down.

“Y/N... I’ve never felt this way about anybody!” Never. He never felt that way about anybody. Which meant… Were you hyperventilating? “And she’s so right for me!” Oh, no. So right for him? “Her name is Sharon, she is a master’s student in architecture at MIT, and has just finished a semester abroad in Italy.” A master’s student?! What was she, 23, 24? She was a girl! He was a 30-year-old man! Almost anyway. “She is so smart! And funny! And she is the sweetest person I have ever met in my life!” There was complete adoration in his voice. It deeply unsettled you. “I met her a Saturday that I was at the Centrale Montemartini, and when she passed me, she made this intelligent observation, just to herself, but I heard her, and I just knew that I had to strike up a conversation!”

“Since when do you start conversations with random people?!” He had always been hopeless making conversation with people he didn’t know! You remembered how awkward he was when he asked you to partner with him all those years ago.

“I know, that’s so not me. But I just felt this… Pull towards her. All shyness, all qualms were gone. And she didn’t find me a weirdo for approaching her, I still can’t believe it! We just started walking through the exhibition, talking about the art, about the exhibit design, and soon we were talking about everything! Literally everything. We totally lost track of time, and we had to be told the museum was closing! But I wasn’t ready to tell her goodbye yet, so I asked her to have dinner with me. And she accepted it!” Of course she did. “After dinner we just kept walking around Rome, all night long, talking.” Oh, no. Rome had to be the most romantic city on the planet! Even you knew that, and you didn’t have a single romantic bone in your body! “And when the sun rose, while we were sitting in the Spanish Steps, I just... Knew!” You wanted to ask him exactly what he knew, but he just kept talking, not giving you an opening. “And I don’t know how, but this wonderful woman just felt exactly the same about me!” Of course she did! It’s you, you moron! You’re perfect! But you obviously didn’t voice that. “I was kind of intimidated when she told me her background, because her dad is like this billionaire who owns this huge business empire, and you know how I’ve always been uncomfortable around rich people...”

“Ye-”

However, he didn’t let you finish the one syllable word. In his love infused state he kept going. “But her parents are so down to earth, such wonderful people-”

Now you just had to interrupt him. “You’ve met her parents?!” This was all going way too fast.

“Yeah! They had made plans to spend some time with her there, after school was over.”

There? That caught your attention. “What do you mean there? Aren’t you in Rome?”

“No, my specialisation ended last Friday, I got back this morning.”

“You told me when your specialisation would end, but you also told me you were going to spend a couple of extra weeks in Italy, getting to know the place, appreciating the art...”

“There was a change of plans. We’re getting married. Next Sunday.” Had Steve stuck a knife into your heart and twisted it, it would have hurt less. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were all despair. Your world was crumbling down and you couldn’t even voice it. “Y/N? Y/N, are you there? Y/N?”

You didn’t even know how many times Steve had called your name, but eventually, it was that that made your brain start working again, somehow. “Steve, you can’t possibly be getting married next Sunday! You just met this girl! How is that responsible?” You got up again, pacing your room furiously, and probably sounding furious too.

“Responsible? Y/N, if you had only met her, you would understand! I haven’t been more sure of anything my whole life! I can’t wait for you to meet her! You’re gonna love her!” You shook your head vigorously to yourself, since he couldn’t see you. “But I need you, Y/N. I need my friend to help me through this.” There was so much feeling in his tone. He genuinely needed you. “If you can’t come and hold my hand, I’ll never get through this. There’s so much going on, so much to do. Please come, please.” Well, if he couldn’t get through it without someone holding his hand, maybe he shouldn’t be doing it!

“Steve, I…” What were you going to do?! “Steve, I don’t even know where you are!”

“Boston. Her family is from here, and the wedding will be here.” As you didn’t say anything right away, he went on. “I know you got work, but since your classes are over until September, for you won’t be teaching any summer courses, I thought that maybe you could find some time in your research schedule to come and be with me. But I understand it’s a lot to ask of you, for you to just drop everything in New York to come and be with me.”

He truly needed you. You could hear it in his tone. Besides, if you were to put some sense into his head, you would have to be with him. You had to make him understand that getting married to a girl he barely knew was absurd. Nonsensical. He knew you were the one for him, you just had to make him remember it. And remember he would by spending time with you. So, you did what you had to do. “Can you pick me up tomorrow at the airport?”

*****

After you ended your call with Steve, you threw your phone to the side and collapsed face first on the bed. You buried your face on your pillow and screamed. This was a nightmare. A total and complete nightmare. And you had just a little over a week to handle it. Having some difficulty breathing properly with your face on your pillow, you turned around, caught your phone again and texted Bucky. “James, you are a duckling idiot!” You didn’t even see that the autocorrect had changed what you had written before you sent the text.

Suddenly, your doorbell rang. It was probably Professor Pym, your elderly neighbour from downstairs, who also happened to teach at NYU, and who seemed to hate you. He would constantly bang on your door to complain about your noise. Your feet were too loud, your TV was too loud, your dating was too loud… (There was no dating, there was you and Bucky usually watching TV or playing either Super Mario Bros. or Jenga. Although, the both of you were highly competitive playing Jenga). So you just assumed that the cherry on top of your night was Professor Pym complaining about your scream, which you thought you had managed to muffle pretty well. But when you opened your front door, it wasn’t Professor Pym on the other side, it was Bucky.

Before you could ask what he was doing there, and how he got into the building, he spoke, “I had not a clue about it.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, that much is clear, James. You’re clueless!”

But he didn’t answer to your sarcasm, he just dropped the bag he was carrying on the floor and hugged you. You were never comfortable with physical displays of affection. From pretty much anyone. But there was something about displaying affection with Bucky that never bothered you. It actually comforted you deeply. His hugs always soothed you, no matter what had happened. When he finally let you go, you asked him in a small voice, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here because the love of your life just told you he is marrying another woman. I am here to feed you comfort food, and listen to you, because you’re my friend.”

Gosh, he knew exactly how to be there for you. Steve had probably called him before he called you, and Bucky knew you would need someone. You were overcome with emotion and felt like crying. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Oh, we’re back at Buck now, are we?” He bent down to pick up the bag and marched to your kitchen.

“Well, you did come back to my place after having dropped me here just a little over an hour ago, already having had to put up with me during dinner, and after a full day of work.” You said as you followed him.

He put the bag on the kitchen counter and turned to face you. “Darling, I never put up with you. I like spending time with you. You’re my friend.” His tone was so soft, so caring.

The urge to cry was there again, so you changed the course of the conversation as you sat at the kitchen island. “How did you get into the building?”

“Pym was getting in when I arrived and let me in,” he said as he went around your kitchen grabbing plates and spoons.

“Really?” That was surprising.

“Yeah. He did tell me to keep it low, though.”

You rolled your eyes at your neighbour’s antics. You were both quiet for some time, while Bucky prepared you a plate with a brownie and a spoonful of mint chocolate chip ice cream, your favourite. He put the plate in front of you and proceeded to prepare one for himself.

After having a bite of the dish, you asked, “How can he be getting married, Buck?” You sounded so small, but you had no strength to scold yourself for being weak, like you usually would.

Bucky sighed and sat across from you with his own plate. “I really don’t know, darling. I’ve never seen him act like this before, so impulsively. I told him he’s being reckless, that he doesn’t really know that girl, but he keeps saying that when I meet her, I’ll get it.”

“I’m not giving up on him, Buck.” Your voice was stronger now, determined. “I’m flying to Boston, and I’m showing him I am the woman for him, not that total stranger he just met.” He just looked at you, chewing quietly. You continued, “I have to, Buck. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t even try. I can’t just let him be taken away from me without a fight.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, darling.”

*****

The next morning, Bucky drove you to JFK. He had a deadline to meet the next morning, so he couldn’t go to Boston with you. As he pulled to the curb, he gently suggested, “Why don’t we have a drink? You could catch a later fl-”

You interrupted him straight away. You didn’t have time for this, even if you were a nervous wreck. “I’m a busy woman, Barnes. I’ve got a little over a week to break up a wedding, and steal the bride’s fella!” You stopped yourself and inhaled deeply. You couldn’t just snap at him, he was just trying to help. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just that… You said so yourself, Steve and I have been dancing around each other for a decade, he knows her maybe five seconds!” You started to nervously tug at the outer seam of you left jeans leg. Bucky put his own hand on top of yours, to stop your tugging, but didn’t say anything. He just gently started to rub the top of your hand with his thumb. “I’m gonna bring him back, Bucky. Against all odds, you know. Because if I don’t...” Your voice cracked. You proceeded to turn your hand so your palms were touching, and intertwined your fingers. “If I don’t, I gotta live with it forever.” You finally looked up from your connected hands and turned to face him, smiling sadly. “Thank you for dropping me off.” You then leant in and kissed his stubbly cheek before leaving the car.

*****

Previous chapter | Next chapter

*****

Taglist: @winterdrag0n.

[afandomroom]

Run down of what my ocs are doing throughout the Ninjago seasons. 

No one asked for this but it’s being made anyways. 

Season 1

- Sage and Asher have just met, a little before the pilots. They’ve started traveling together after the pilots take place. 

- Jerome has moved to Ninjago City

Season 2

- Jerome saves civilians from the Great Devourer, but ends up getting buried underneath the destruction. He survives but needs to go through physical therapy and needs a walking cane and brace from thereon out. He also loses touch with his magic and is only able to reforge that through unstable means. 

- Marion starts living on his own. 

Season 3

- Sage and Asher are hired by Ronin. This is the unfortunate start to their criminal career. 

- In the Cryptor redemption au, Siege is built and eventually takes Cryptor’s place as general. They are also his primary torturer during his interrogations. 

- Jerome gets married to Keith, they start looking into adopting kids. 

- Zoe was one of Garmadon’s students during his time as a sensei. They took particular interest in the Art of the Silent Fist. 

Season 4

- Daemon meets Safa and takes her in. 

- Katlyn and Asher meet for the first time. They’re stealing from Borg Industries, Katlyn gets away and Asher doesn’t. 

Season 5

- Sage and Asher were stealing from the history museum for Ronin around the same time Morro broke in. They were in different exhibits and their theft went unnoticed for weeks thanks to the ruckus Morro caused. 

- Calvin goes to live with Jerome, his older brother. This is his first time meeting Keith, and his niece and nephews. It’s also his introduction into magic. 

- Safa and Daemon are separated prior to the start of the season, and are reunited a little after. 

- Zee joins the SOG. 

Season 6

- Cryptor officially starts visiting Daemon and Safa. 

- Sage and Asher stop working for Ronin, instead choosing to work independently as thieves. 

Season 7

- N/A

Season 8/Season 9

- Sage and Asher were sought out to steal an Oni Mask. They declined the offer despite the money that would’ve been involved, deciding it was to risky. 

- During the takeover, Marion ends up cornered by SOG members after intervening when they were messing with a civilian. 

- Sage, who felt cooped up in the apartment she was sharing with Asher at the time, sees this. She handles the situation by shooting down the SOG members. 

- Sage ends up taking Marion back to the apartment after finding out he had no where else to go. 

- Sage gets hunted down by Mr.E sometime after this event, only making it out because of Zee. 

- Zee and Katlyn officially end up joining the family, as well as Marion. 

- Zee quits being an SOG member. 

Season 10

- Sage, Asher, and Marion all end up hiding with Jerome, Keith, Calvin, and the triplets during the Oni takeover. Jerome and his family let them into an old tornado shelter beneath their house, where they wait out the attack. 

- It’s at the end of the season that Marion gets his vengestone bracers removed, and for the first time finds out he has an element. 

Season 11

- Puppet Master begins planning and seeking out helpful ‘puppets’

Post-Current-Seasons

- Asher eventually settles down with Katlyn, quitting crime for good. They have twin daughters named Cedar and Willow. 

- Zoe, Calvin, and Marion end up coming together to create their own ninja team. All have become masters of their own powers/crafts and help train a younger generation alongside the ninja. 

- Safa becomes a vigilante. She lives in ninjago city and occasionally (and begrudgingly) fights alongside them. 

- Puppet Master and her ‘puppets’ end up going against them. Marion is taken under her control for a time. 

- Sage finds a quiet life just outside the city, helping run a branch of Jerome’s tea shop. 

[rikumorimachisgirl]

Title: Eyes on you

Pairing: Shaw x You

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2,901

A/N: You (Y/N) are not the MC in MLQC. This is a plunny that's been bugging me for quite a while, I had to write it. I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own MLQC or its characters, but I do own the concept of this fic.

There were a few mysteries in this world that the esteemed Archeology Graduate Professors at Loveland University can't explain - for instance, the formation of the Stonehenge, the exact location of the lost city of Atlantis, the origin of the Nazca lines… and your presence at the Metro Art Gala dressed to the nines, positively gleaming as you strode arm in arm with your classmate and Thesis partner Shaw, who seemed like the perfect gentleman that evening. Thanks to your work at the Loveland Museum, you scored two invites to the gala featuring the recently discovered works of a well-known artist - an event any Archeology fanatic wouldn't let pass. The two of you walked along with LFG's Exhibition Hall, pausing occasionally to admire one of the recently discovered sculptures by the Renaissance artist D'Romani. As you both looked at the intricacies of the artwork in front of you, your charming companion would lean in slightly and whisper something in your ear, causing you to roll your eyes or stifle a giggle. 

To the guests in the prestigious gala, the two of you looked like two young people at the cusp of falling in love, but the members of the Faculty of the Graduate School of Archeology saw it differently - this was a real-life mystery if they'd seen one. 

As your eyes swiftly swept through the entire room, you could see that your professors only had one question in mind - how'd this happen? How did two people as different as day and night, who argued with each other throughout Graduate studies, end up amiably enjoying each other's company tonight? 

You drew a sharp breath and sighed. The answer was simple: Your Thesis defense was right around the corner. You needed him to cooperate, you were willing to go to great lengths to make it happen. And your Thesis partner (unfortunately) was ready to take full advantage of the situation. 

***

"Tell me why we're doing this again, " you said through the door that separated you and your date, as you were putting on the dress you bought (or invested on, as he casually stated) for tonight's gala, which he insisted on attending with you. It was six in the evening on a Friday, and you had just arrived home after cramming your workload at the Loveland Museum and foregoing your meal breaks just so you could leave work at exactly five-thirty. 

"I already told you a couple of times - you want me to cooperate with you so you can pass our Thesis, and I need a reason to be around her," the purple-haired man waiting at the other side of your bedroom door called out nonchalantly. "You can drop your fantasy about me asking you out because I'm attracted to you."

You hissed silently at his snarky remark and counted to ten. You haven't even left your apartment yet you already wanted this night to be over. "How do you even know she's gonna be there?"

She - the Miracle Finder Producer, the object of your Thesis Partner's fantasies, and as fate would have it, his brother's girlfriend. 

"They're doing a show featuring our Thesis adviser. Didn't he tell us about it during our last consultation?" He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I wasn't listening," you shot back, as you took off your ponytail and started styling your hair with your curling iron. You chose a one-shoulder fitted black dress that stops right above your knees, so you thought of wearing your hair down for a change. 

"Ah, yes. You were too busy looking at your notes, trying to prove me wrong as always."

You closed your eyes, as you continued to make big beach waves and prayed to the gods you wouldn't commit murder tonight. 

"How much longer are you gonna take?"

"Excited much?" You asked, smirking while you now removed your glasses and put on your contacts. "You sound like a teenager excited to see his crush in a school fair!"

"Don't compare me to you!" 

"I don't have designs on anyone in the party," you called back. "Unless your brother's attending the event, that is. From what you've been telling me, he seems like a great guy."

Silence. You arched an eyebrow as you strained your ear to listen for any sign of life outside your bedroom door. What must your grunge-rock skater boy-turned-date-for-the-evening be thinking? 

"Do you want to pass our Thesis or not?"

You struck a victory pose at his remark. Finally, one point - you, Shaw - about twenty. 

"Are you done yet? This suit is really uncomfortable. Damn, why do people even wear these?"

"Because they're decent?" You shot back. "You know, you can always go home if you're not comfortable in your attire because when we get there, you need to act decent, too. Can't have your usual swagger in a formal affair."

"Just hurry it up already!"

You rolled your eyes as you applied your nude-colored lipstick to finish off your look before putting on your black stilettos, and stuffing your phone, wallet, and your makeup in your purse. 

"All done," you replied, as you finally emerged from your room. 

***

A part of you wished that the dynamics between you and Shaw were different. While he was a pain in the neck, and too carefree for his own good, you also thought he made for a good intellectual sparring partner, quite attractive, and it was hard to deny that he's got your heart beating double-time whenever he got too close for comfort like he was at that very moment. 

"My, you two kids seem to be having fun tonight."

You gasped, at the sound of the voice behind you, and you felt your date nudge you ever-so-subtly while straightening.

"Hey, Professor Adler," he said in his usual unruffled tone, his lips stretched into a smirk as he held his hand out to your Anthropology professor and Thesis adviser, who watched you both amusedly. His gesture made your eyes shot wide open, you thought they'd fall right off. Shaw shaking someone's hand? That's one for the books. 

"Shaw. Fancy seeing you here," the stout middle-aged man greeted while shaking your date's hand. "This isn't your usual scene though."

"Yeah, I know, but I can't exactly turn a pretty lady down, can I?" 

"I can see that," your professor said as he looked at you appraisingly. "Well, well, you clean up well, Miss (y/n)."

You fought the urge to squirm at the older man's words when you heard your date cluck his cheeks with his tongue and suddenly felt his arm around your shoulders, pressing you protectively close to his side. 

***

"All done!" You happily announced as you stepped into the living room of your small apartment where your date was impatiently waiting for you. 

You could've sworn he was stunned for a second or two before he shook his head and tried to regain his usual impassive expression. Finally, he stood and walked closer to assess you better. 

"You're not wearing your glasses. I thought you said you're practically blind without them?" 

You cocked your head to one side. Out of all the things he could've complimented or called out, that's the first thing he noticed? 

"Wouldn't it look awkward if I wore glasses to a formal event?"

"Your hair is all curly," he continued as if you didn't say anything. "And your shoes are so tall, won't you trip? Also, surely you have a jacket to go with that dress, right?" 

You stared at him in disbelief. Why did this carefree, bass-playing skater boy turn into your dad all of a sudden? 

"Uh…"

"Well, at least you're not wearing red lipstick. You don't have to try too hard to look sexy. Geez! I've got plans of my own this evening, so don't expect me to be your bodyguard," he continued to mumble as he circled around you. Before long, you felt something warm and heavy on your shoulder. His coat?

"It's just until we get to the venue," he shrugged as he led you to the car he borrowed for tonight. "I don't want people seeing you freeze to death."

You sighed, your shoulders slumped as you followed your date to the car. You already expected he wouldn't throw you a compliment for looking like a proper human tonight, and you cursed yourself for feeling gutted over it anyway. 

 ***

"So, which one of these sculptures did you like best, Professor?" You sighed in relief as Shaw changed the subject, his arm still wrapped around you, making you blush furiously. 

"Oh, I have to say I liked Eros and Psyche best. In case you haven't seen it yet, it's located a little further down the hall near the bar area," the older man was starting to explain when someone tapped his shoulder from behind. 

"Excuse me, Professor Adler," a gentle voice called out, making both the professor and Shaw jump. From behind the old man, a pretty petite with brown hair and big brown eyes, and the biggest smile on her face stepped up. "My name is MC from Miracle Finder."

Almost immediately, Shaw withdrew his arm around you, almost causing you to stagger backward. He straightened up and feigned disinterest. 

"Hey. It's a little rude how you stepped in while I was talking to the Professor," he said, his tone teasing. 

"Oh, I didn't notice you here. Do you mind if I talk to your Professor? We've invited him for an interview about the exhibit," the girl said sweetly. 

Based on how unconsciously coy she acted around Shaw, and the way he kept egging her, there was no doubt that this was the girl he was crushing on. You felt like the odd person out all of a sudden and needed to step away. 

You backed away slowly, careful not to rouse their attention because it would probably suck if you knew how Shaw would introduce you to his little crush. As soon as you were in a safe distance, you turned and walked aimlessly down the hall, pausing briefly at paintings or sculptures that caught your fancy, looking at its intricacies as you did so earlier. But somehow, it wasn't as fun as it was before, so you moved on quickly, to give way to the other guests who also wanted to view the artwork.

Finally, you came upon the bar and decided to rest your tired feet at the far corner, hidden from the rest of the world. Sighing, you slipped your feet off your stilettos and quietly watched as the guests around you - mostly couples - happily chatting away as they enjoyed the beauty of the art around them and the wonderful music that filled the air. You knew somewhere in the crowd, your date was fawning over his lady love, probably getting in the way of her filming your professor. 

Tch. 

You knew he liked her - he always told you he did. And why wouldn't he? MC was pretty, seemingly sweet, and dainty - the kind of girl any guy would like to protect. And you. You were the opposite. You lived for your work, were 'one of the boys', and didn't need anyone to protect you - that's just how you were - and now you started to realize that maybe guys don't exactly like that. At least not Shaw. 

Wait, what were you thinking? You scolded yourself as you shook your head. Why were you even thinking of what he liked when you don't even like him to start with. Or did you? 

"Ugh. What the hell is wrong with me?" You groaned when a cold bottle of beer and a frozen glass was placed in front of you. 

"I was gonna ask you that myself." 

You straightened up in your seat and shot a look at the guy seated beside you. Dressed in a nice grey suit, he smiled as he raised his beer bottle in front of you. 

"You look like you needed a drink. I hope the beer is okay. They don't have fruit beer or soda," he said calmly, his amber-colored eyes never leaving yours. 

"Y-yeah. Beer is perfect," you replied while pouring the amber liquid into the glass. "Thanks," you muttered before raising the glass to your lips to gulp down some liquid courage. 

"I saw you with Shaw earlier -"

The name on his lips drove you to a coughing fit, as you choked on your drink. "Sorry, " you mumbled in between coughs. 

"No, I'm sorry," the brown-haired guy said, as he cautiously and politely patted your back. "I didn't mean to bring that up. I was just curious."

"It's fine," you replied when you finally regained your composure. "Yes, we're just classmates in Grad school who decided to check this exhibit out for the heck of it."

"Classmates, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what we are," you said, taking a sip off your glass. "Grad school classmates."

"Are you telling me or telling yourself?"

You looked up and saw him smiling. There was something about Dreamy McHandsome who was seated beside you that felt so familiar yet different at the same time, but you couldn't point a finger at what it was exactly. 

"We're classmates, and we're working on our thesis together. But we're not friends - far from it even. We hate each other's guts."

"Can't blame you for doing so," he shrugged as he drank his beer. 

"Yeah. He dragged me here so he can get with someone he's been crushing on for so long," you rambled on, frowning. 

"Oh? And who might that be?"

"The Miracle Finder Producer. You know, the pretty girl in a blue top and white skirt. He's been going on and on about her for weeks…"

"You mean my girlfriend?" 

His girlfriend. You choked on your drink once again. "Y-y-your girlfriend? You mean to say…" You gasped. Has the beer made you stupid? You've barely drunk half of it, you thought as you fought to regain your dignity. This was Shaw's brother you were talking to - and boy, we're they blessed with good genes…

… And the same social awkwardness, you noticed, judging by how he kept his hand at your back, but not exactly touching it, as if trying to assess if he had to pat you or not. 

When you finally calmed down, he cleared his throat and gave you a small smile. "Don't worry. She talks to me about their conversations. I know what that guy is playing at, and I most definitely know he's not after my girl," he said, his voice broke no room for doubt. "My name is Gavin..."

"Yeah, I know…"

"You - what?"

"Oh," you said, tapping on your glass nervously. "Shaw kinda mentioned it in passing before."

"I see."

"So, what were you saying earlier about Shaw?"

"Oh. From what my girlfriend tells me, he's got his sights set on…"

"Ahem," you heard someone say loud enough for you and Gavin to turn your heads around. And there, standing behind you, was an angry-looking Shaw. You sat up, your gaze shifting between the two brothers as the air started to thicken with tension. "I talk to someone for a minute and the next thing I knew, my date walks out on me and right into the one person I'd hate for her to meet."

"Well, if you were just honest with her as with a lot of other things in your life, maybe she wouldn't have left your side earlier," Gavin retorted flippantly. "Is she finally done with filming?"

Shaw simply grunted in reply as he watched his older brother finish his bottle of beer and stand. "Well, Miss, there's a lot I've heard about you. Seems somebody couldn't stop talking about you, but I'll leave it at that." 

With a wink and a mischievous smile upon his face, the brown-haired guy sauntered off to look for his better half, as you and Shaw watched in awkward silence. 

He cleared his throat and glanced at you. "Hey."

"Hey," you replied, shakily. 

"So, about what that jerk said -"

"Yes?" You asked, feeling your heart hammer against your chest by the second.

"Whatever he said is not true," he said dismissively, as he took his coat off and draped it over your shoulders. "I told you before, I don't find you the least bit attractive."

You felt tears starting to sting your eyes, as he continued with his harsh commentary. "You're tough, highly opinionated, and you always want to come out on top. I don't find those attractive at all," he said. "I prefer a damsel in distress. I want someone clingy… someone, needy."

"I know that -"

"Oh do you?" He teased, his amber eyes twinkling. "You seem to know a lot about me."

"We've been working together for months now," you said. "Of course, I'd know more about you."

"I see," he said, as he took a step closer to you and touched your cheek, rubbing the stray tear that had managed to slip down the side of your face. "So, you must know I'm also a good liar. After all, I've kept all these feelings to myself for quite some time."

He snickered when he saw your frown deepen and he bent down just as he had done so earlier, to whisper. "I made you think I liked someone else when in fact," his low voice made you shiver. "I've always eyes for you."

The End.

[rhysismydaddy]

An Artful Revenge Pt. 2

Feyre’s part of The Damnation Series. Part 1 is here.

I am proud of myself for finishing this shit, because it’s long as fuck. Whoops.

~Feyre~

Honestly, I should’ve known.

I should’ve known that somehow, with whatever endless resources he has, he would find me. 

That’s all I can think as I find my way into the Impressionists exhibit and find Rhysand Azara, real estate agent to the stars, leaning against the wall, sipping a cup of coffee and looking at Dancers in Blue with narrowed eyes. 

It’s been five days since our date, and like the cliché I am, I’ve spent the entire time thinking about him. I’ve checked my phone countless times, and I even decided to stalk him and Googled his name. 

When--just like he’d said--nothing came up, I googled Dancers in Pink. He said he had it, but it had been sold a few years ago in an auction to “Amren Valenta.”

Unless Rhysand had a stage name, that was definitely not him. 

I dug some more, but after three hours all I discovered was that he owned Azara Industries, which owned a lot of buildings downtown. Oh, and he never let himself be photographed. 

Which was upsetting, because it means I had nothing to stare at whilst stalking him. 

Pathetic. I am so pathetic.

But anyway, I should’ve known he’d come here. He’d said he’d call, but he didn’t have my number. Plus, I’d told him I come here pretty much every day, so really, what did I expect?

I still laugh as I spot him though, somehow surprised, and ask, “Here to flirt with more art students?”

“Just one,” he answers, running his eyes over me as I draw closer. 

Gods, this man is seductive. He’s just looking at me, but I feel his gaze like a touch, dragging over my entire body with slow, intentional grazes. 

My breath hitches, and his eyes twinkle, like he’s well aware to the dirty place my mind has wondered. I can tell he’s holding in some likely-male comment, but he refrains from embarrassing me and he holds out another cup of coffee. 

I take it, grateful for the caffeine boost, and find it somehow made exactly the way I like it. Maybe I’m not the only one stalking. 

Although his methods have to be better than mine if he already knows about the definitely unhealthy amount of sugar I put in my coffee. 

“How many times have you been here this week?” I ask, curious to see his level of devotion. 

“Three. Not a very convenient way of communicating with someone, I admit. I was about to send a smoke signal.” He watches me sip the coffee, watches my tongue dart over my lip. “Plans tonight?”

I fight a sigh and decide to be a student worthy of my scholarship for once. “I told myself I’d work on my senior project.”

His lips twitch at my dejected tone. “What is it?”

A ginormous pain in my ass. “Bad,” I say simply. 

He shakes his head, sipping his coffee and eyeing me over the rim of the cup. “Details.”

For someone who offers no information, he loves demanding it from me. Instead of fight it, I groan and give in to the patriarchy. “It’s just bad! It’s supposed to be a mix of different styles and mediums, but it’s going so poorly I might just start over. Or drop out and become a starving artist a year ahead of schedule.”

Rhysand smiles at my phrasing. “I would never let you starve. And what do you mean, mixing styles and mediums?”

“For someone who frequents museums and has millions of dollars in art, you don’t know much about it, do you?”

“I have people for that.”

“Amren Valenta?” I ask without thinking, exposing myself as a stalker. 

He pauses, cup halfway to his smirking mouth, and raises a brow. “Clever, creepy little woman,” he teases. “But yes. Amren is my curator, and we use her name because I don’t want media attention. As I’m sure you know.”

Busted and blushing to high hell, I roll my eyes and become a junior detective. “Isn’t it illegal to buy something with someone else’s name? What if the IRS comes after you?”

Rhysand looks at a loss for words at that. If I weren’t serious, it would make me laugh how shocked he looks. “I guess,” he says after a moment, “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

I roll my eyes again, because we both know he doesn’t give a shit. It’s not like the IRS actually enforces rules for the one percent, anyway.

“Now tell me about your project.”

Rolling my eyes at how bossy he is, I tell him, “I wanted to combine photography and painting. And I wanted it to be kind of abstract, but also realistic enough.”

“Ambitious.”

I sigh, not able to repress it this time. “Stupid, is what it is. I don’t even know where to start. I have no motivation, let alone inspiration, to work on it.”

A contemplative look crosses his face. “I know where you could find inspiration.”

I raise an eyebrow and gesture around us, because in case he’s missed it, we’re in a museum. Inspiration abounds. But he scoffs and whispers, “This is child’s play compared to a certain someone’s private collection.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, playing along and pretending I don’t know the someone he’s talking about.

He nods, looking around as if making sure there are no spies in the completely empty room listening we’re standing in. “He has Degas, Monet, Dali, you name it. And he’s generous enough to let you come over tonight.”

Pursing my lips, I scan his face, trying to see if he’s serious. I mean... I am dying to see his collection. But, “Is this just a ploy to get me naked?”

He puts a hand on his chest, offense written across his face. “You think I’d try to seduce you while you study?”

“Yes.”

“You’re probably right.” He chuckles, then says, “If you need to get naked to look at art, I certainly won’t complain. But no, Feyre darling, this isn’t a ploy.”

I pause, half stuck on the whole darling thing and half contemplating what to do. 

Ploy or not, I know that if I go to his apartment or house or mansion or castle, I’ll probably sleep with him. He’s too attractive, and my resolve just isn’t that great where’s he’s concerned. 

Plus, I know it’s insane, but art just... Never mind.

I tell myself nothing’s going to happen and that I’m going because of the art--both lies--as I say, “Okay.”

He extends a hand, and I slide mine into it, almost sighing at how perfect we fit together. Would that be the case everywhere? 

Feyre.

I avoid looking at him as he leads me from the room and outside, where a very beefy guy holds open the door to a black sedan. “Seriously?” I ask Rhysand as he ushers me in the back, then climbs in beside me.

“I usually drive myself,” he says in defense, smiling when I roll my eyes.

The city blurs around us as Beefcakes drives, and I’m about to ask where the hell he lives when the car pulls to a stop and the door opens. Climbing out, I look up at the black, shiny penthouse tower, and say, “Of course you live here.”

It’s expensive and in the city and has a million floors, and I bet he lives at the very tippy top.

He gives me a strange look but pulls me in the lobby, then into an elevator. We shoot up flight after flight till we reach the penthouse, confirming my suspicions. 

For what feels like the millionth time, I ask myself why the hell Rhysand’s taken an interest in me. I mean, a year of therapy got me to admit I’m decent looking and all, but I’m... I’m a college student. He’s older and richer and has his life together. Why does he want me?

I don’t have long to contemplate life’s great mysteries because the elevator doors slide open, revealing his apartment, and I become too busy trying to mask my surprise.

I thought the place would be... I don’t know, like him. Sleek. Modern. Luxurious. 

And it is, at least that last part. Everything is obviously expensive. But there’s also a homey quality created by a fireplace, plush couches, decorative rugs, tapestries.

It’s burgundy and black and cream, and so unexpected I smile.

I step in and walk automatically toward the huge windows, taking in the view and realizing we’re at the dead center of the city. In all directions, Chicago’s spread out, lights and traffic and Lake Michigan surrounding us.

Even though the place is beyond wonderful, there’s one thing missing. 

I turn to Rhysand and raise a brow. “No art?”

“One floor down.”

I have to press my lips together to keep the questions in. One floor down, as in it takes up the whole floor. As in he has a private museum. As in I’m so fucking excited I can hardly walk. 

But he seems to be baiting me, seeing how long I’ll last before demanding to be taken down there, so I casually walk around his apartment, taking in all the little details. “It’s more... lived in than I would’ve thought.”

He nods, knowing what I mean even though it was a poor way of explaining it. “I have a few places around the city, but this is the one I prefer.” Nodding to the kitchen, he asks, “Hungry?”

“You cook?” The thought of him covered in flour seems absurd, but we all have our hobbies.

He smiles like I’ve said something funny. “No, but I have takeout menus in there.”

“Hopeless,” I tease, going to the kitchen and opening the fridge like I’m the one who lives here. “I’ll find something.”

I end up finding beer, wine, cheese, and various fruits and vegetables.

Not a lot, but enough to make a charcuterie board, which just so happens to be my specialty. I search for a few minutes before finding a wooden cutting board, then start to assemble whatever snacks I can find.

Cherries and grapes, two types of cheeses, carrots, and crackers fill most of the board, and I fill in gaps with blackberries and chocolate chips I’m surprised he has. 

Once it’s completed and visually appealing enough, I slide it over to where he’s seated on a barstool and bow dramatically. “I’m a master cheese plate maker.”

“I see that. Wine?”

Nodding, I reach in the fridge and grab the first bottle I see. Setting it in front of him, I move to the cabinet and get two glasses and an opener.

Rhysand takes the opener and eyes the bottle, lips twitching as he smoothly uncorks it.

“What?” I ask, unable to figure out what’s funny. Was it weird to make a board or something? Surely even rich guys like cheese and crackers, right?

He pours two glasses, shaking his head and silently refusing to let me in on the joke.

Eyes narrowed, I sit next to him and suspiciously take a small sip from my glass. He watches me, probably expecting me to say something about it, so I offer, “It’s good.”

He bites his lip but can’t keep the laugh in at that, so I finally demand, “What?”

“It’s an $800 bottle of wine, Feyre.”

I almost spit it all over him, which would indeed be a shame, because there’s probably $50 in my mouth. Managing to swallow it down, I sputter, “You... you should’ve said something!”

He’s still laughing, but he stops to take a huge swallow and shrug. “I say we drink the whole bottle.”

I put my head in my hands, blushing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I couldn’t care less.” He pries my hands away. “Seriously. I just wanted to tease you.”

Now that, I believe. But I still ask, “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He smiles, taking another sip. “I keep the really expensive stuff at the townhouse, anyway.”

I roll my eyes and drink some more, somehow trying to taste it better or something now that I know it’s liquid gold. Shifting to put my foot on the stool, I lean across him to grab the platter.

His gaze glides over me slowly, and there’s surprise in his eyes, like he can’t believe I’m sitting in front of him so casually. 

It’s probably weird to be so... open around a stranger, but he’s not exactly normal, so I don’t feel any pressure to be, either.

Regardless, it’s a little hard to breathe with him looking at me like that, so to break the tension, I grab a cherry, pull the stem off, and hold it an inch in front of his face. 

“Ready?”

His eyes cross and he pushes my hand away so he can actually see what I’m holding. “Ready,” he confirms.”

I stick the stem in my mouth, using a trick I spent three hours teaching myself on a rainy afternoon to tie it in a knot, then pull it out with a victorious grin.

“Very impressive,” he notes, but before I can gloat about my supreme cherry-knotting abilities, he steals the stem and sticks it in his own mouth.

My eyes are wide, but I don’t have time to ask what the hell he’s doing before he pulls it out. 

Unknotted.

“Impressive,” I repeat, actually meaning it. “How’d you do that?”

“I’m good with my tongue,” he says immediately, obviously having been lying in wait for the question, and I huff a laugh.

If I called my sisters and told them what I’m going right now, they’d probably try to have me committed. I’m sitting in a billionaire’s penthouse apartment, drinking expensive wine and watching him untie cherry stems with his tongue. 

“How was your week?” I ask to get us back in semi-normal territory, grabbing a cracker off the plate.

He answers vaguely and asks me about mine, and just like that, we fall into easy conversation.

It’s honestly strange to me that after one date, we can talk like this. With my ex, it took weeks before I was really comfortable around him, and yet I feel completely at home with Rhysand.

He tells he’s from the south side of Chicago and asks about my hometown, and I it feels natural. It’s just... easy.

“By the way, you can just call me Rhys,” he tells me as we finish off the platter. “Using my full name reminds me of when I got in trouble in grade school.”

I drain my wine glass, a slight buzz in my veins, and ask, “So I only call you Rhysand when I’m about to spank you?”

He howls with laughter, then surprises me by asking, “What’s your middle name?”

“Adalene. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out what I’ll call you when we get around to spanking.” I blush as he continues, “Feyre Adalene should do.”

He puts the empty wine bottle in the trash and runs a finger over my red cheek. I bat it away, embarrassed, but he just laughs and asks, “Ready to go downstairs?”

For some reason, I get a little nervous, but I put on my big girl pants and nod, taking his hand when he offers it.

Then we’re back in the elevator, coasting down a floor, and just before the doors open, he says, “Close your eyes.”

Anticipation makes it difficult to follow the request but I manage, and he guides me out of the elevator and turns me slightly. “Open.”

I open my eyes and come face to face with something I never thought I’d see. 

“You... you have a...” I whisper, not quite able to get the word out.  

“Meule.”

One of eight left in private collectors hands, Monet’s Meules--or Grainstacks--are some of the most recognizable, renown works of art in the world. The last was sold four years ago for over $80 million.

Amren Valenta is a very, very rich woman, according to her art collection. 

I’m standing inches from it now, mildly unsure of how that happened, looking at the sunset colors bleed into the shadows of the grain, taking in the easy lines and brushwork.

Turning to look at him, I see he’s leaned against the wall next to the painting, head tilted as if I’m the most interesting thing in the room.

“I can’t believe I’m here right now,” I say honestly, my voice airy and light.

He just smiles and motions to my right. “The collection goes in a loop.”

I nod, and after a few more minutes staring at the Monet, I start to walk.

Or more like mosey. 

If he’s irritated with how long I’m taking, he doesn’t mention it. He follows me as I stare after pieces of art I never dreamed of being close to. Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Klimt, Pollock, Munch.

And then, at the edge of my peripheral, I see it.

Dancers in Pink hangs besides a smaller Degas, but it’s all I can look at. The dancer’s skirts are so bright in person, the tulle layers seeming to come off the canvas. The gold in the background is vibrant and metallic, in sharp contrast with the dark wall it hangs on.

Gods, it’s beautiful.

I know there are more famous paintings in here, but I’ve spent three years going to look at Dancers in Blue, never imagining I’d see one a similar work. 

Tears slide down my face and a laugh bubbles out of me, the two reactions complete opposites but both somehow feeling right.

Strong arms wrap around my waist, and I feel Rhysand’s chin settle on my shoulder as he hugs me from behind. “You know,” he whispers, seeming to not want to disrupt my moment with loud noises, “I never understood how important this is to people.”

“Oh, Rhysand. It’s... wonderful.”

It’s an inadequate way to say what I want to say, but it’s all I can come up with at the moment. I lean into him, and we stand like that, me staring at the painting, him at me, for a long while. 

When I start to get tired, I turn in his embrace, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and kiss him softly. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I somehow finish the loop, and by the time we’re in the elevator again, I’m so emotionally spent I can’t hardly breathe.

“Inspired?” he questions, linking our hands and pulling me closer to his side.

I nod, but inspired doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m grateful and overwhelmed and so happy I could burst.

A professor once told me that art is a gift that lasts forever and never stops giving, and I never really understood what she meant until now. Over a hundred years after Dancers in Pink was completed, it still brings people to tears.

It’s a powerful and beautiful and eternal way to send a message, and it makes me feel like a small piece of the puzzle, but at the same time, so important and alive.

We glide smoothly back up to his apartment, but neither of us move once the doors ding open. 

Because technically, there’s no longer a reason for me to be here. 

I’ve seen the art, drank his expensive wine. I should get my bag and go. 

I should... but I don’t want to. 

Rhysand’s perfectly quiet and still beside me, patiently waiting for me to make up my mind. 

The angel on my shoulder tells me how sweet and considerate he’s being. The devil tells me to reward this behavior with a few sinful ideas. 

Running a hand through my hair, I debate my options. Be smart and leave, or stay and try and fight the urge to throw myself at him. 

“Oh, fuck it,” I mutter, dramatically taking a step forward like I’m going into war.

He laughs as he follows me off the elevator, strolling back to the kitchen. “More wine?”

I nod, because at this point, I’m already a lost cause. He opens a new bottle and pours me some. “How much was this one?”

“Ten dollars,” he lies, fighting a smile. “On sale at Walmart.”

“I’m surprised you even know what Walmart is,” I laugh, taking my seat back at the bar. 

“You forget I’m from the south side. All this,” he motions around us, as he takes the seat next to me. “Used to be nothing more than a dream.”

“How’d you do it?” I ask, genuinely curious. Most people with his kind of wealth were born into it and given every advantage possible. “What’d you do?”

He looks down at the floor, but there’s a sudden set of his jaw, a tightness in his shoulders. “Whatever I had to.”

I don’t point out he’s given me yet another non-answer. Instead I say simply, “I find working for something makes you value it more, anyway.”

His eyes find me again, and there’s something I can’t read in his gaze. “Yes, it does. And it makes you do whatever it takes to keep it.”

I swallow and nod slowly, trying to figure out what exactly he means.

He takes a deep breath, then drinks the wine in his glass in a single swallow. There’s a story there, and it’s easy to see it burdens him, but it’s his to tell in his own time. 

Just to get that strain out of his gaze, I switch topics completely. “Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out how you untied that damn cherry stem.”

Rhysand smiles, a full one that showcases all his pretty little teeth, and leans in, the intent clear in his eyes. 

“Come here and I’ll show you,” he whispers.

I press my lips to his and open them immediately--for the lesson, of course--and his tongue meets mine in a slow glide. 

Where our first kiss was all heat and drifting hands, this one’s slow and sensual and like ice cream melting on a summer day. 

His mouth fits mine perfectly, and his hands seem to be made to hold me, sliding up my thighs to settle on my hips. The hair at his nape is soft against my fingers, and I lean on the stool to get closer and wrap my arms around his neck.

I suck on his tongue, and he makes a low sound, then his hands are tightening and lifting, and I’m being settled on his lap.

Both of us on one stool isn’t ideal, but I wrap my legs around his waist and hope we don’t go crashing over. 

Gravity comes into play and I start sliding, so he turns the stool and traps between him and the counter. The granite digs into my spin, but I can’t be bothered to care, because the new position gives his hands freedom to roam again, and he slides them over my thighs, across my ass, up my sides. 

His thumbs brush the sides of my breasts, and they become heavy and aching against his chest.

His mouth slowly drags down to my neck, and I sigh as he finds that one spot that drives me crazy. His nips the skin, tongue smoothing the small hurt, and his name slips out of me in a quiet moan. 

Everything seems to change at once.

Cursing creatively, he sweeps me into his arms and stands, then walks us into his living room and plops onto a plush couch. 

My ADHD kicks in and I’m momentarily distracted by how soft the leather is, but then his tongue runs across the seam of my lip and I snap back into focus.

My hips are churning against him, desperate for some friction, and I kiss him without restraint, abandoning our slow, peaceful rhythm from earlier. I hadn’t realized I’d been working on the buttons of his shirt, but then a band of tan skin is exposed, and I dip my head to press my lips against it. 

He tugs my hair to bring my mouth back to his, and I practically attack him, biting his lip and pulling his hair and generally acting like a depraved cavewoman.

He doesn’t complain, though. His hands drag my hips closer, then slip under the hem of my sweater. 

The scrape of his callouses on my sides snaps me back to the shocking reality where I’m--yet again--making out with a man I hardly know, and I gasp, then curse, then practically jump backwards off his lap. 

Standing in front of him, I put a hand over my mouth like that’ll stop me from using it and look him over. 

He’s all sprawling legs and swollen lips and beautiful eyes, and I force my eyes to the ceiling. “You look like a hot, virginal dork I just deflowered in the back of my minivan,” I tell him. 

“I feel a bit like that,” he laughs, running a thumb over his bruised lips almost in shock. “Although it’s always nice to be desired.”

I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so distracted by him looking so thoroughly messy. 

But I know that despite what just happened, I can’t do this with him yet. 

I mean, I definitely could, and it definitely would be enjoyed by all parties involved, but I would regret it. 

Rhysand isn’t someone I can just sleep with and forget. I’ve known him a week, and I already feel a strange sort of bond with him. 

If we slept together, then never spoke again, it would hurt me more than I’d care to admit. 

“I think I should leave.”

He nods like he was expecting this, but asks, “Why?”

Putting my hands on my hips, I repeat what I said earlier. “Working for something makes you value it more, remember?”

He smiles and stands, taking a minute to straighten the clothes I’d pawed out of place.

“It also makes you do whatever it takes to keep it,” he reminds me, a shiver sweeping over me at the words. “Come on; I’ll walk you out.”

We go to the elevator and stay on opposite ends the entire ride down. I’m a little proud, because I most certainly thought about crossing over to his half. 

Stepping outside, Rhysand motions for Beefcakes to open the door. “He’ll drive you home.”

“Thank you,” I say, starting towards the car. 

I take two whole steps before he’s somehow in front of me, blocking the path. “Two more things.”

He kisses me, gently but firmly, then pulls back and slips a piece of paper in my hand. “It’s your turn to send smoke signals.”

I look down at the paper and see a number written in a slashing scrawl, intelligently putting together that it’s his phone number. I look back up to respond, but he’s already back at the entrance to the building. 

Rhysand looks over his shoulder, winks, and disappears inside. 

I get in the SUV and tell Beefcakes my address, and off we go. I study the piece of paper the entire way there, mind reeling with everything that happened today. 

The easy conversation, the art, the kiss. 

Is this how it feels to be swept off your feet?

And how long, exactly, do I have to wait before calling him?

________________________________________________

This took me so long to edit holy FUCK. Part 3

@perseusannabeth​ @cursebreaker29​ @a-bit-of-a-cactus​ @elriel4life​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @shinya-hiiragi​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @highqueenofelfhame​ @nahthanks​ @ghostlyrose2​ @tillyrubes10​ @claralady​ @tswaney17​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @thegoddessofyou​ @awesomelena555​ @booksofthemoon​ @greerlunna​ @jlinez​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @bamchickawowow​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​ @elorcan-trash​ @emikadreams​ @alpha-omegas​ @joyceortiz13​ @sapphic-beauty​ @meowsekai​ @ahappyhistorianreader​

[sope-and-shine]

The Right of a King: Pt. 1

-> SFW // Soulmate!AU // fluff, angst // mummy!Namjoon -> Pairing: Namjoon x Reader -> Word Count: 15.1k  -> Summary: Life as the night guard for your local high-end museum was supposed to be simple and easy. The most dangerous part of your job was only supposed to be the middle-aged patrons who insisted they get a discount for a line being too long. Nowhere in your contract did it say you’d be taking care of a 1,000 year old king that had been mummified. Thankfully, for you he’s harmless, but the storm that comes with him is not as welcoming. -> Warning(s): mild language, brief crude humor, Namjoon is kind of a jerk but he gets better...kinda, also a bit of a misogynist, technology abuse RIP the museum equipment, Jimin IS that salesman that uses his charm to steal your money - but will anyone complain? no.  

A/N: This whole fic is a BEAST i sWEAR! I am however really excited to share this fic with everyone! This was originally for a collab that never got to happen -RIP - but I liked the idea too much to just throw her away!

I do want to give a huge shout out to @sakuraguks-main​ for beta reading this as well as my squad for their constant encouragement throughout the writing process.

Now if you excuse me, I need to get back to writing part 2 

Masterlist

* * *

“Just the lunch box and the banana milk this time?” 

“Uh…” You look up from your wallet to view your items on the counter. It was just one prepackaged lunch and a few banana milks, much less than you usually buy on your routine dinner stop. You don’t want to buy too much, but you’d need something for later in the morning too. 

You settle for grabbing a few bags of chips off the rack next to you and set them on the counter, “I’ll take those too.”  

He nods and rings them up, bagging them while you pay with your card. He grabs your receipt and tucks it in the bag, handing them to you as you slide your wallet back into your bag, “Have a good evening, (Y/n)!”

You nod, “Thank you! See you tomorrow, Gyu!” You wave to him as you exit the convenience store and step back into the bustling city.  

Stopping for food is always a must for you before every shift with it being smack in the middle of your route. If you were to spend 10:00p.m. to 8a.m. by yourself with no food, you would probably go insane. It wasn’t like you couldn’t bring them from home, but it was much more convenient to stop on your way there. Occasionally, you’ll attempt to pull back on your snack intake, but Gyu never makes it easy on you when you do. He just makes it another typical day for you.

Wake up at 2:30, take a shower, do your school work, get ready for work, leave the house, stop to buy food from Gyu, and then arrive at the grand entrance to the Seoul Museum of History and Art.

The building itself is 4 stories high - not including the lower level storage it sits on top of - and 1 city block in length and width. It’s exterior is grand and extravagant with 3 large pillars that encase the 4 doorways that lead into the lobby. A large staircase greets you at the sidewalk, flower beds decorating the front along the brick railing on either side of the stairs. You never take the stairs on your way in, choosing to take the ramp hidden in the flowers up to the entrance instead. You’d have enough problems walking around the entire museum, adding more stairs to the mix would only ruin your mood.

Thankfully, Jin is always there to greet you on your way in. He never fails to brighten your day when you see him. Dressed sharp in a white button down tucked into fitted black dress pants with a grey suit jacket on top, he stands with his hands together in front of him and a large welcoming smile. His hair is parted just off center, not losing shape even as he nods to the patron in front of him.

You wait for him to finish his conversation before you greet him, “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Worldwide Handsome himself.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Jin chuckles. He lets his shoulders relax, moving his neck from side to side before looking at his watch. He looks impressed, “Wow, you’re earlier than usual.”

You shrug, “Yeah, Hoseok said he needed to talk to me about the exhibit pieces that are coming in.” 

“Say no more,” Jin raises his hands in front of him and shakes his head, “I’ve heard all I need to.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel,” You laugh. You shake your head and sigh, “I should get going so I can get ready to clear the last minute rush.”

“Don’t work too hard, night guard.” He gives you a mock salute and you turn away, waving goodbye to him as you continue down the corridor into a sea of people.

Most people would think a museum wouldn’t be so popular, but your crowds never seemed to dwindle. You suppose you’d have Yoongi to thank for that. He ran the museum so smoothly it was almost like clockwork. Doors opened at 9 and they closed at 9, new exhibits rotate in and out every 7 ½ months to the day, and employees were put through severe background checks and training just to make sure they’d be competent enough to work in his museum. Everyone that works in the museum was handpicked by Yoongi himself, and everyone chosen contributes everything they have to be here.

You pass by the gift shop, spying Jimin at the counter helping a few kids pick out candies. He notices you passing and smiles, giving you a quick wave that you return before he gives his attention to the children in front of him.

You continue on down the hall, passing the cafe and the restrooms. The walls begin to lose their decor the farther you go, becoming planer and planer until you reach the break room doors. 

“He was like, ‘do you think toys for cavemen were any different from present day? Like that shit must be wild bro’ and then they all started laughing at me when I said they didn’t have a Toys R Us, so yeah, they were different from now.” Jeongguk says as you enter the room. His impeccable timing for ‘strange conversation’ never ceases to amaze you every time you walk through the door.

Jeongguk’s a great guy, always very respectful and eager to learn more, but he’s been working as a tour guide in the museum for about a year now and he still hasn’t seemed to pick up on anything. You’re pretty sure Yoongi only hired him to keep the single ladies coming back. It was hard to correct someone with such a cute, bunny smile and such remarkable enthusiasm in the work place.

“Do you think it was an inside joke?” He proceeds to ask, his attention trained on Johnny who stands at the locker to the right of yours.

The man in question can’t stop himself from giving the younger a disappointed frown, “Dude...you’re the joke…”

Jeongguk tilts his head in confusion and you jump into the conversation, “I’m sure they’re just being teenagers, Guk. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” You turn to briefly glare at your locker mate as you open it, turning your frown into a smile when you face Jeongguk again, “Tomorrow is another day!”

“You’re right!” He closes his locker and throws his bag over his shoulder, his confidence already returning, “I’ll learn everything I can about cavemen toys and come back tomorrow prepared to tell all of my tours about them!”

He leaves before you can say anything back, off to do whatever it is he usually does after work. You don’t mind though, it’s a little hard to understand the college sophomore anyways. At least with him leaving you can relax before your shift starts.

Johnny sighs next to you, “You mother him too much.”

“I don’t mother him. I just don’t want to explain to him what they’re actually talking about.” You argue, placing your bags on the hooks in your locker. You take off your overcoat and replace it with your black security jacket, fixing the collar, “Besides, he’ll figure it out by this weekend and then he won’t make eye contact with either one of us for the next week.”

“Whatever you say.” He pulls out a lint roller and hands it to you before closing his locker, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Waving behind you with the roller in hand, you say, “Have a good night!” You hear the door open and close behind you, leaving you alone in the room to sort yourself out. 

You make quick work to de-lint your black work pants, setting the roller at the top of your locker. Then you take the bags you set down and pull them over to the table at the center of the room, leaving your locker open while you take out your food to be refrigerated. When you have everything you need, you place the leftover snacks back on the hook and shut the door. 

The door opens on your way to the fridge, Hoseok walking in with a folder in his hands. He looks up from whatever he’s reading and his eyes widen in surprise, “You’re here!”

You open the fridge, “Yeah, you told me to come in a little early.” You set your bag on the top shelf, close the door, and turn to him, “You wanted to talk to me about tomorrow?”

“Right.” He approaches the table and sets his stuff down, sorting through a few papers before he pulls one from his stack. He extends it to you,  “This is all the information about who we’ll be meeting with tomorrow. It has times, names, and a manifest.”

“Everything is the same from the texts you sent me, right?” You ask, eyes skimming over the sheet for anything new.

“Yes! Each artifact was individually packed, so we should only have 12 new pieces coming in tomorrow.” 

“Okay, so we just need to keep an eye on what they bring in.” You say, more to yourself than to him. You take a moment to let the information sink in, nodding in understanding when you’re sure you have it all down. You look back up to Hoseok who’s already discarding his security jacket, “Did you have any luck on new night guard help?”

“Ah-...no,” Hoseok sets his jacket over the back of the chair in front of him. He’d been searching for new help ever since Chanyeol left, leaving you to run the night shift alone. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t ideal for a museum in the middle of the city. You knew that and so did Hoseok. “I’ve been working on it, but it’s been hard with the new arrivals. Besides, you know how Yoongi is when he’s hiring new employees.”

You nod, knowing exactly how anal the museum director could truly be, “Yeah, I know. Just keep me updated though?” 

You don’t really mind working by yourself, but you could only go so many days without a single day off. Thankfully, Hoseok was understanding of this, “I will! I’ll work something out, I promise!”

“Thank you,” You smile. You grab your bag off the table and hoist it over your shoulder, “I’m gonna go clock in and see about ushering the night crowd out.” 

“Hyuk should be starting on level 1.” He informs you. 

“I’ll take level 4 then.” You bid Hoseok goodbye and head across the hall to the security room, setting your stuff down in your chair and clocking in at the main computer. You take a moment to check the camera’s, looking for the most populated areas to look out for and which exhibits you could close as you go through.

This was something you did everyday. You’d find the unpopulated areas first so you could sweep the rooms and lock the exhibits behind you. One by one, you make sure to clear the floor before you move to the next level.

The third level is much busier than the other levels, having had the most change to it’s layout since the new exhibit was brought in 2 weeks prior. Families make their way to the stairs while couples try to catch one last look at exhibits they missed in favor for another.

Walking into the Ancient Dynasties Exhibit, you nod to the partons that you pass on their way out, stopping by the occasional straggler to let them know it’s time to go. You rarely ever have problems with getting someone to leave - maybe once or twice you’ve had to get physical with someone or call the police to escort them out of the museum - but the number of times is so small you could count them on one hand. There’s only one person you have to repeatedly kick out of the exhibit, and he’s worse than any patron you’ve ever dealt with.

“Taehyung, I need you to leave.” You tell him, approaching him from behind. His green, 3 piece suit is only slightly wrinkled from his work throughout the day, his jacket discarded and set off to his side.

The bubbly curator turns his head over his shoulder, dirty blonde locks still kept in a perfect side-sweep thanks to his “very essential” hair gel. His smile is almost a tease as he says, “Just a few more minutes.”

You cross your arms and sigh, “I’m counting.”

The saying “Just a few more minutes” has lost all meaning with Taehyung. You haven’t believed him since your third day of working together. He’s never been good at leaving his exhibits, wanting to take pride in his work. Despite having the ability to take pictures of the area as it’s curator, he insists on committing them all to memory. In hindsight, it’s very endearing. However, his wants tend to put you behind your own schedule.

He turns back around and you take a seat next to him on the bench. You take an obligatory look around the section he sits in, glancing over each artifact that decorates the walls. From tapestries or writing displays that hang on the walls, to small podiums with items far more fragile encased in glass. In front of you - roped off and on a placed on a small stage - is a large sarcophagus covered in gold with two lit candle placed beside it. Behind it is a wall of flowers, all apparently favorites from when the King was alive. 

“Have I told you about Namjoon hyung?” He asks, referencing the mummy in front of you.

King Kim Namjoon of the Kim Dynasty. The only king of Korea to be mummified. Of all the exhibits you’ve been through with Taehyung, this one was his favorite. You could really say he’s obsessed with the dead King! Even with 6 more exhibits to his name. Taehyung spent almost all of his time in this section.

“I think I could talk about this guy in my sleep!” You laugh, nudging his side playfully, “And should you really be calling him ‘hyung’? If anything, he’s an ‘ahjussi’ to you.”

“Yes, but I know so much about him that he feels like a hyung to me!” He argues with a certain admiration in his eyes, “I’ve spent years waiting for this moment to have him in one of my exhibits, and now he’s right at my fingertips!”

He really isn’t exaggerating either. Before the king arrived, Taehyung would show you continuous updates about his uncovering and the updates on how his body was kept. The day his exhibit was approved, you thought he was going to explode. Of all the curators and all of the possible museums, he got King Namjoon. Anyone who didn’t know would’ve thought he won the lottery. In a way, he did.

“His exhibit here is a permanent one, Tae. He’s not going anywhere, so you don’t have to worry about him leaving anytime soon.” You assure him, placing a hand on his arm. Your smile turns into a grin, “What I am worried about is you leaving soon. Get out of my museum before I go find Yoongi.”

“I’m not afraid of Yoongi.” You raise an eyebrow at him and his shoulders drop, “Okay, so maybe I’m terrified of Yoongi, but that’s not important right now!”

You give his shoulder a light nudge, “Go home, Taehyung. The rest of your hyung will be here tomorrow.” You tease.

He sighs and leans his head back, “You say that like he didn’t arrive all put together. He’s a mummy, not Frankenstein.”

You hit his arm, “Get out of here.”

“Okay!” He stands up and turns to you with a boxy grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”

“I never do.” You wave him off, watching him saunter out of the exhibit with a little jump in his step. Even after 14 hours on the clock of rounding the museum to look at his works, he’s still running like he just woke up. Some days you wish you could be as happy with your job as Taehyung is, but how many people truly loved working the night shift in a dark, quiet museum?

* * *

“Alright, let’s make this fast and efficient everyone!” Yoongi barks, walking up to the loading dock where you and Hoseok stand on opposite sides of the doors. He eyes the unloading crew unlocking the truck and sends them a warning glare, “It’s a full moon tonight, and I will not be out at 3am like last time.”

“You need to relax, Yoongi,” Hoseok warns him, still standing across from you, “It’s just a few small pieces and then we’ll be out of here before your ‘witching hour’ is here.”

Hoseok wiggles his fingers for a “spooky emphasis” and you stifle a chuckle. Yoongi is not as amused, “Laugh all you want, but at least I won’t be dead.”

“Is that a threat? Can I file an HR complaint?” Hoseok asks.

Yoongi sighs, “Just do your job while they unload so we can leave.”

You offer a teasing grin and a nod, “Yes sir~”

Yoongi walks away and Taehyung replaces him, standing next to you instead of in the way of the workers. He rolls back and forth on his feet, watching happily as if he were a child at Christmas.

“Did I tell you what’s coming today?” He asks.

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure you may have mentioned it here or there.”

Of course, you know what was coming in. Your job is to protect it with your life. Hoseok gave you the run down via text on your last 5 shifts and again today as soon as you walked through the doors. More paintings, a chair, a dusty old book, and the shining jewel of the King’s tomb.

“His lover’s necklace!” Taehyung beams, “According to what we know, this necklace was used by the King to find his soulmate. We believe that because he didn’t take a queen, he never found his other half.”

You shrug, “Maybe he wasn’t really looking.”

“Maybe...maybe not. Most historians believe he mummified himself so when fate brings his soulmate to him, he’d wake again and they’d spend eternity together.” He turns to you and flicks your forehead, “You would know if you actually paid attention to me.”

You push him back, “Well, excuse me if I can’t listen to you talk about his majesty for more than 10 minutes a week.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes and turns back to the movers. His annoyance quickly turns to excitement as he catches sight on the last box being carried in, “Is that the necklace?”

“Uh…” The man carrying the box looks at the label on the side, nodding to Taehyung in confirmation, “Yes sir.”

“Oh! Follow me!” Taehyung grabs your arm and pulls you after him. You turn your head back to Hoseok for help but he’s already waving you off while he closes the loading doors. You both follow the crew member to the table where a few other small items are being opened already, waiting long enough for the man to open the box for you. You can’t see the inside of the crate with Taehyung in your way, but he gets the first look at whatever dingy piece of jewelry is inside. He flails in excitement, “Look at this!”

Taehyung rushes forward, pushing the man helping him out of the way to reach into the box. When he turns around, he holds a smaller box in his hand, “It’s right here!”

“That’s another box…” You point out, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“It’s not just another box!” He argues. He undoes the latch and pulls the lid back towards him, revealing the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. A delicate string of silver stones bedazzled with small fuschia gems all laced together with a golden band weaving under and over. It glistens in the shine of the storage room work lights, drawing you in with every hypnotizing twinkle. 

Taehyung smiles knowingly, enjoying your sudden engrossment in the artifact, “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

You nod, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch the delicate jewel. It takes a surprising amount of restraint from you just to pull away, “It’s definitely pretty.”

Yoongi claps his hands from the table beside you, “Let’s get these up to the Ancient Dynasties exhibit and in their places so we can get out of here.”

Everyone takes a box and begins to move upstairs, you and Hoseok helping the men with the old chair to ensure it doesn’t get stuck on anything. With the few items left to be brought into the exhibit, it didn’t take long at all for everything to be settled into their rightful places. 

“Perfect! It’s all perfect!” Taehyung cheers, clapping his hands and squeezing them together. His excitement for this event was unmatched, and you know that in the morning when you see him next, he’ll be bouncing up and down just as he is now.

Hoseok nods to you, “Let’s lock them up.”

“Right.” You pull out your keyring and begin the process of going case to case while Hoseok sets their alarms after you. You make it all the way around the room until you stand in front of the necklace again. It’s beauty draws you in, having never seen something like this before. Many would think it too bulky and busy for someone to wear everyday, but a part of you could see it’s appeal.

A part of you wouldn’t mind wearing it at all. 

Taehyung walks over to where you stand locking the cases and audibly gasps behind you, “Fix it!”

You jump, “Fix what?”

“The necklace! It’s not straight!” He points at the case and you turn your attention back to the object beneath the glass. Staring at with a clearer mind, it is indeed tilted just slightly to the left. If you were to just glance at it, you probably would have never noticed. But nothing could get past a perfectionist like Taehyung, “We have to fix it now!”

“Okay!” To appease the overly attentive curator, you unlock the case and adjust the necklace yourself. You pull the delicate string of stone and gem into place, locking it back up when you’re done. It glimmers in the corner of your eye as you turn back to Taehyung, “Better?”

He grins, knowing fully well that you’re more than annoyed with him, “Perfect.”

“Alright, now that we’re all done, everyone needs to leave so I can go home.” Yoongi announces.

Hoseok chuckles, “You really don’t want to be up past midnight do you?”

“I don’t care about being up past midnight. I don’t want to be out past midnight.” The older man grumbles, most likely cursing the other in the back of his mind, “There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.” Hoseok teases, making Yoongi glare at him even harder than before. He turns to the movers and waves for them to follow him, “Gentlemen, let me show you back to your truck. We wouldn’t want the grump over here to bite your head off.”

The group follows after Hoseok and so does Yoongi, “You’re so lucky you’re my friend, Hoseok, or I would fire you so fast.”

Hoseok only laughs at his loose threat, “Well, if you’d like to take the bus then be my guest.”

They all leave the exhibit and you turn to Taehyung who still stands in front of the case admiring the necklace inside, “So, I’ll see you early tomorrow, Tae?”

He turns back to you and gives you a large, reassuring smile, “Bright and early.” 

“Go and get some rest for your big day then.” You say, placing a hand on his back and nudging him towards the door.

You watch him leave the exhibit, laughing at the way he dances to the music playing in his head. You take the responsibility of closing the gate, glancing over the exhibits contents between the bars before following Taehyung yourself. You say goodbye to Yoongi and Hoseok at the front door, ensuring the door gets locked behind them before getting to your own duties that were halted because of the shipment.

---

It’s later in the evening when you finally get to make your rounds through the empty halls of the museum. You’d checked every camera in the building twice, filling out your night paperwork as well as the visitor log for Hoseok to look over in the morning as you went. All you really had to do was roam the halls every now and then, keeping an eye on the monitors for anything suspicious.

The night shift was never quite as tiring as the day shift. Your interaction with patrons or real people was always far below what Hoseok and the dayshift would have to deal with - that was part of the reason you chose to take over the night shift. It was a bit more time consuming with just you, but hopefully Hoseok will find someone to replace Chanyeol before the New Year.

You hear a faint bang down the corridor and you pause. You’ve heard bumps like this before, mostly when it would rain and the tree by the ramp outside would hit the window. Rain wasn’t on the forecast for the evening, but that had never stopped it before. Not so easily scared, you continue on down the hall, stopping at the end of the hall when you hear it again.

“What the fuck…?” You say to yourself, a slight shake in your voice. The bang sounds again and you reach for your flashlight, it being the only protection against intruders. 

In the three years you’ve worked as a security guard, you’ve never had a break in. Even before you, there had never once been an attempt by anyone to steal anything. In reality, the alarms should’ve gone off by now if someone had made their way into the museum. That meant that someone was smart enough to get past the security system, or you were going crazy.

You really hope you’re going crazy.

You make your way down the hallway, following the bumps and bangs into the Ancient Dynasties exhibit. The gate is locked - it hasn’t been unlocked since you left the room at midnight - but the noise isn’t one easily mistaken. 

Against your better judgement you unlock the gate, stepping in and leaving the gate cracked behind you. If you needed a quick escape, then you wanted to be able to yank it closed as well. The noises cease as soon as you’re completely past the gate, sending an ominous chill up your spine. At a glance, nothing in the room seems out of place. Nothing looks to have been moved or damaged, but that does little to settle your unease.

“This is normal...everything is normal.” You say to yourself, trying to trick yourself into having the courage to move forward.

You spot the necklace in it’s spot close to the sarcophagus. It’s glass remains intact, just like every other item within the exhibit’s walls. It would make sense for someone to come after it considering it’s value, yet there it remains untouched.

“So where did the banging come fr-Agh!” You scream as the sarcophagus lid bursts open, falling to the floor in front of it and ripping the ropes connected to the wall right out.  

Inside the now open casket, the ancient king covered in tattered, dusty cloth rolls his head. You can see his mouth move from underneath the dirt as he yawns. His arms raise to stretch in front of him, the mummy taking one step out of his box.

You can only stand in shock as you watch what happens in front of you. You had to be dreaming. There was no way you were actually awake witnessing a dead king coming to life in front of you. This had to be some sort of sick joke from Yoongi for calling him short. Maybe Johnny for calling him out in front of that group of fourth graders. Someone has to be messing with you. 

The mummy turns his head to you and your breath hitches. You’ve never wanted to have seen The Mummy so much in one moment than this one, wishing you knew what exactly to do in this situation. You wish your feet would move, but they’re planted so firmly to the ground that they feel more like cement than limbs.

The monster before you takes a step in your direction, and you scream. You will yourself to move back, but you can’t stop yourself from stumbling over your own feet. You trip and land on your bottom, your body not even registering the pain as you attempt to scoot back away from the danger that continues to follow after you.

Every step he takes is another scream that releases from your lungs, your fear getting the best of you. It isn’t until your back hits the large display case that helps to divide the room that you realize you have nowhere else to go. You turn your head away, preparing yourself for whatever is about to come.

But nothing does.

You take a peek at the tall being before you and notice that he’s stopped moving, towering over your cowering form with his head tilted. His mouth opens and sounds come out, but his speech is muffled by the bandages. He seems to realize this though as his bandaged hands fly to his face.

You watch him pat around his face and neck until he finds a loose cloth, pulling it out and beginning the process of unwrapping his face. You watch in horror, unsure if the image before you will haunt you forever or not. To see what’s left of a 1,000 year old decomposed body that’s been “preserved” was something you never thought you would ever have to bear witness to. Hopefully, your therapist for this experience will understand.

If you get that far.

However, you weren’t expecting to see a full head of healthy brown hair appear as he went, nor did you expect to see healthy, tanned skin be freed from the confines as well. Brown eyes meet yours and a smile is uncovered, “Hello.” 

“Hi...” You blink rapidly, hoping if you do it enough times your vision will clear, but the man in front of you still half-covered in gauze doesn’t disappear. You shake your head, “Am I awake?”

“You are as awake as I am.” He says with a pleasant smile.

“That’s not a very reassuring answer...” You can’t help but stare at him in awe and wonder just how this was happening. Of course, Taehyung had told you countless times about this supposed curse or whatever it was, but you thought it was all just a hoax your ancestors believed in. There is no possible way that you are actually awake and experiencing reincarnation or rebirth or whatever this is firsthand.

“Ow!” You feel a pinch on your calf, pulling you from your thoughts and back to the matter at hand. Or more specifically, the person before you. 

“Well, did you feel that?” He asks. In your dazed state, you hadn’t noticed the man bend to your level and reach out to pinch you with rag covered fingers. The dust and mold leave a stain on your work pants and you can’t help but frown in disgust, “Yeah. Yeah, unfortunately I did.”

“You must be frightened and confused. Allow me to introduce myself-” He bows his head to you from where he kneels on the floor, “-I am King Kim Namjoon of Korea.” He looks back up and smiles bright, showcasing his dimples, “It is my pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” 

You tilt your head in confusion at his choice of words, “I’m sorry, you’ve been waiting for me? I don’t understand.”

“Are you not aware of our bond?” He asks, tilting his own head to the side.

Of course you know about his bond, it’s all that Taehyung has ever told you about! His necklace was gifted by the moon goddess so that when his soulmate touches it, he’ll wake up and they’l-

It takes you a moment to realize that he believes you to be his long lost soulmate, and you’re ready to spiral into another frenzy when you do, “No…” 

Soulmates aren’t real. Nobody just walks around and bumps into their soulmate on the street. They don’t hear their voice in the back of their heads. They don’t wait over 1,000 years to be matched with a fucking dead guy.

“No.” You repeat, more confident in yourself. 

“I understand you may be confused as to what this all must mean, but I’ll explain it to you-” Namjoon tries to reach out to you again, but you’re quick to push him away this time.

You stand from the floor in a rush and take two steps towards the center of the room where the two display cases separate and show a clear path to the exhibit’s only exit, “No, you won’t. Please return to your box.” 

He stands up after you but stops when he sees you step back again, “But we’re destined to be together!”

“Destiny isn’t real! This-” You gesture with both hands from you to him, “-isn’t real!”

“Our bond is as real as you and I!” He argues. You can feel the want and passion dripping from his voice. It isn’t hard to tell how much he truly believes you’re his soulmate, but he’s dead wrong - no pun intended. “I’ve spent so long waiting for you.”

“Nope.” It didn’t matter how many times he flashes you that lovestruck look. Soulmates weren’t real, and whatever is going on in front of you isn’t real either, “This isn’t happening.” You turn away from him, resorting to pacing out your frustrations instead of voicing them. 

Namjoon watches you with a disappointed frown and slumped shoulders, “Well, this isn’t how this was supposed to happen.” He mumbles.

You attempt to calm your breathing, pleading with your rationale to find some way - any way - to explain what’s happening. The whole interaction felt like a crazy fever dream that manifested on the worst day of a cold. They’re always weird, but they’re never this realistic. 

You turn back around to address the not-so-dead king and yelp when you see him pulling at his wrap, “What are you doing?!” You ask as he tugs and pulls at the rotten fabric.

Namjoon looks up, pausing his ministrations to give you an answer, “I’m removing these incessant wrappings.”

He returns to his unwrapping, leaving you to watch him as he goes. He wasn’t naked - thankfully - but you weren’t prepared for him to immediately unwrap himself. In all honesty, you wanted him to wrap himself back up and return to his box. Fortunately for you, under his wrappings he wears a loose white shirt and loose tan pants, his shoes long forgotten. 

When he finally frees himself, he takes a moment to look around the room. His gaze trails over the walls, “What is this place? Why are we not in my tomb?”

“You’re in a museum.” You explain, watching closely to gauge his reaction. In a way, he wasn’t really that old in retrospect, but you doubt he’d seen a museum before.

He turns to look at you, just as confused as you expected him to be, “What is that?”

You shrug, “It’s a place where people go to see old things and art.”

Namjoon breaks into a smile, a red tint coloring his cheeks, “I wouldn’t say I’m art.”

“I didn’t.” You say, causing Namjoon’s face to drop just the slightest.

He’s quick to mask his disappointment with a polite smile. Turning to the side of the case he stands on, he looks back to the exhibit around him. He looks up and his eyes trail over the lights above him, “What dynasty is this?” He asks. 

“Uh...the capitalist dynasty?” You reply, unsure of what you would call this era of time. Namjoon looks confused and you sigh, “You’re in the 21st century.”

“Fascinating…” He takes a long look over the glass case a few feet in front of him - the one that holds the crown made for his queen - before he moves forward, reaches out, and swipes a hand over top of it, collecting a thin sheen of dust on his fingertips.

“Don’t do that!” You rush forward and grab his wrist, pulling it away in fear of the alarm going off. Anybody who even got too close to it should set it off, yet no siren wails at his touch. The alarms had been set by Hoseok himself, so they have to be broken if neither of you were setting it off, “What…?”

“Can I have my arm back, or is this a new rude custom I’m unaware of?” Namjoon asks, staring at the place on his wrist your hand holds hostage. 

“No, just-...” You release his arm and take a breath as a poor attempt to remain calm, “-just don’t touch anything.”

“We’ll need to touch the case to get your necklace so we can return to my home together.” He says as if what he suggested was completely normal for him.

You’re once again taken aback by his words, unsure if you heard him correctly or not, “I’m sorry?” You ask.

“We’re soulmates,” He explains, “It’s only natural for you to come live with me, so we can spend our days together.”

“We will not be going anywhere together!” You tell him. You step forward and grab him by the shoulders, turning him around so he faces his sarcophagus. You attempt to push him, “You will be staying here in your box, and you’re going to go back to sleep.”

Namjoon fights against your attempts, digging his feet into the hardwood floor beneath him. He scowls at the realization of what you’re trying to do, “Did you not hear what I said earlier? You are my destined lover. That’s how this is supposed to work!”

“And I told you that destiny isn’t real!” You argue, now using your shoulder to push all of your weight against him.

Namjoon turns to face you, causing you to lose your balance and fall forward. Namjoon grabs your arms before you can fall to the floor, using this opportunity to hold you close, “Is my life not enough proof for you?”

Dark brown eyes bore into your own, his sincerity written all over his features. You can tell he’s hurt, but you can’t help but continue to fight against him, “I don’t know! I’m still trying to process everything that’s happening right now!” 

“As soon as we leave, I will explain everything to you in much greater detail.” He says, now offering a smile. However, leaving with him is the last thing you wish to do.

You push away from him and take a few steps back towards the exhibit's entrance, “We are not leaving.”

“I am a king, I have wealth beyond your wildest dreams! I can take care of you and it is my job to do so.” He reaches out and takes you by your wrist, “We’re going!”

“I don’t even know you!” You yell, pulling your arm away from him once more and stepping closer towards the exit behind you.

Namjoon looks annoyed, but he takes a deep breath before he continues to try and pursued you, “Why don’t you allow us to get to know each other then? At least tell me your name.”

“Just-” You pause, unsure of what you should even do. You take a few more steps back and he follows, “Stay there!” You demand, raising a finger to him. He does as told - whether he wishes to or not - and allows you to take a few more steps back until you catch sight of the gate in your peripherals. As long as he stays where he is, you could slip out without him, “Good.”

Namjoon, however, takes offense to you keeping your distance from him. This was no way to treat a king, especially ‘your’ king nonetheless, “Do not speak to me as if I am a child! I am a king, may I remind you.”

“You may. But may I also remind you that your rule ended over 1,000 years ago and you no longer hold any power.” You say, watching the frown on his features deepen into a scowl. With every minute that passes, his calm exterior continues to break, showing you his true nature. You take this moment of weakness against him and reach for his exhibit key on your belt, “I, however, am in charge of this museum after hours, so you have to listen to me.”

“I am a man-” He tries to argue, but you’re quick to shut his misogyny down.

“-And I am a woman,” You retort, thumbing through the labeled keys. Hoseok always made fun of you for trying to organize them, but it looks like the jokes on him. Not that he would really believe you if you told him. 

“Your man card doesn’t work in this age, so try something else, your highness~” You tease.

Namjoon crosses his arms over his chest and glares, “You have quite the tongue when you’re not screaming.”

“Thank you, I get it from my grandmother. Now-” You slip through the crack you left in the gate and pull it close, pulling his key from it’s retractable clip and locking him in, “-go back to sleep.”

He blinks a few times before he moves towards you. He places his hands on the bars and pulls at them, but they don’t budge under him. His eyes widen in shock and he turns to you, “Did you just lock me in here?”

“I did.” You nod, smug smile and all.

“Unlock it. Now.” He demands, tightening his hold on the bars.

“Hm…” You pretend to contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your chin before you come to a fake decision, “No.” 

“You insolent girl!” Namjoon yells, banging his fists against the gate that holds him.

You step back with wide eyes, stunned by his sudden outburst. You knew you were making him angry, but not this angry, “Wow, that’s one way to talk to your apparent soulmate.”

“I’ve been pleasant long enough! It’s time for you to accept the truth and let. Me. Out!” He demands.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I will.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” He huffs. 

Staring at him through the bars, you take in his features. He’s angry, that much is clear. But there’s something else about him that just seems more hurt than anything. You don’t want to feel bad for him, but you have to give him credit where it’s due.

You release an exasperated sigh, “Look, I’m sorry, okay? This is probably hard for you and...a fever dream for me-” Fever dream is perhaps the most lax way to describe this experience, “-but I think your necklace chose the wrong person.”

Namjoon stiffens and he almost looks offended at your assumption, “The moon goddess is never wrong.”

“Well, this time she is,” You insist.

“So what do you expect me to do?” He asks.

You shrug, “I’d prefer it if you went back into your box.”

“You want me to live my life in a box? After I’ve already spent so much time in it?!” He asks.

“Yes! No...I-” You’re unsure of what to say. On one hand, you feel a bit guilty asking him to return to a box he’s spent 1,000 years in. He died once, believing that when he woke he’d be greeted by his one true love. Instead he woke up to you screaming at him. 

But on the other hand, he was supposed to be dead. 

You sigh, “I don’t know what I want, but I can’t deal with-...” You raise your hands, grasping at the air before gesturing to him, “-this.”

The king looks offended, but he holds his tongue. Instead he crosses his arms and straightens his posture, “Well, I will not be going back in that box.”

“Wha-?” You cut yourself off, in disbelief of this man’s stubbornness. You huff, “Then go find your palace or wherever you lived before!”

He shakes his head, “I won’t leave if you refuse to leave with me.”

“Then you better get used to your view, because this is all you’ll be seeing!” You state, finally having enough of him. You turn on your heel and begin to walk away, something you should have done when you first came up to the exhibit.

“You’ll come to realize that our intertwined fates will not go away just because you wish them to!” He calls after you, his voice echoing off the walls around you, “And then you’ll be crawling back to me!”

When you continue walking and refuse to answer him, he yells again, “At least let me explore!”

“Not happening!” You call over your shoulder.

“This is humiliating! You can’t do this!” You hear him rattling the gate again, but you pay him no mind. “Come back here, you insolent child!”

You bypass every other exhibit that you were supposed to check, instead rushing back to the safety of your office. Once you’re in you bolt the door behind you, just in case anything else in the building decided it needed to come to life as well. You drop yourself in your office chair and take a moment to yourself, giving yourself time to take in all of the events that just transpired.

The mummy from the new exhibit just came to life, you were somehow able to talk to him without passing out, he thinks you’re his soulmate, and now he’s upset with you because you locked him in his exhibit that he shouldn’t be freely roaming in. 

You turn to your monitor and switch through feeds until you find Namjoon’s exhibit. He’s still standing by the closed gate, his hands slipped through the bars to try and fiddle with the lock. His posture that he once held with you is lacking, not as pristine as it was before. You can’t help but watch him with pity as his attempts to get out continue to fail.

But you can’t bring yourself to go back before the night ends.

30 minutes before the morning shift was due to come in, you use the intercom to tell Namjoon he’d have to return to his sarcophagus for the day. You couldn’t hear him, but you didn’t need a microphone to know he was not only confused but also very unhappy about that. You managed to convince him by informing him they would take him away to rot in a cell without you if he didn’t, and that seemed to kick him into gear. 

Thankfully, he didn’t need your help making it back to his bed or putting the cover on top. You were not about to go down to his exhibit. Especially when the room itself looked completely untouched on the camera. The ropes that had been torn from the wall were back in their place as if nothing had ever happened, and the wrappings the King decided to discard were nowhere to be seen.

After that, you sat and waited for the morning shift to come and take over for you. You said good morning to all of your coworkers, and then you left. You went home and you went to bed, but waking again didn’t feel like a new experience. The looming feeling of knowing what awaits when you get to work again haunts you until your once again clearing the exhibits for the night. 

You make it to the exhibit that has weighed you down for the past 12 hours and you hesitate to step inside. Clearing the room and locking it up will start the night, and then you’re left with the chances of seeing him again. Seeing him again means that everything you saw last night wasn’t a joke, and that you really have a living mummy in your museum.

What’s worse is he thinks you're his true love. 

You come across Taehyung, once again sitting on the bench in front of the king’s sarcophagus. He wears a loose white button down and a pair of black dress pants, balancing a sketch pad on his thigh. He attempts to draw the exhibits main attraction with the altar that took weeks to create. If only he knew the object of his affections was alive and well only 15 feet away from him.

“Having fun there?” You ask, sitting next to the fashionable curator.

He takes a moment to answer, defining a line on his paper before he acknowledges you, “I always do when I’m here with Namjoon-hyung.” You roll your eyes at his use of ‘hyung’ and he chuckles. He turns his attention back to his paper, “Did you have a good rest of your night?”

You feel every bone in your body tense at the mention of the previous night. Last night was almost an out of body experience for you, and there was no real way to describe what you went through.

You shrug, “It was okay, same old same old.”

“That’s good! I’m glad you’re doing well here on your own at night.” He looks up from his shading and sets his pencil down, his expression becoming somber, “It must be hard without Chanyeol.”

“Yeah, it can be...” Working without Chanyeol really wasn’t any worse than working together. The only thing is now your new coworker is a 1,000 year old un-dead guy, but that’s a little much to explain, “But it’s fine! It really isn’t that strenuous on me at all.”

He smiles at your response and turns to look at his drawing, “I guess I’m holding you up aren’t I?” 

You want to tell him more than anything that today you want him to stay just a little longer. Today is the day you want to hear all about every exhibit in the museum. More than anything, you just don’t want to face Namjoon alone, but no one would believe you if you told them the truth. So instead, you hum in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll get out of here. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Once again, you watch him pack up and dance his way out of the exhibit. Only today you follow close behind, locking the king’s exhibit and rushing to the next - much more normal - exhibit.

 ---

It’s surreal to watch Namjoon through a screen. Sure, seeing him the other night was an experience, but to see that your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you is another trip entirely! With Namjoon truly existing, that leads you to really question his claims. You did touch the necklace, but so had plenty of others. Not to mention, it took him almost 3 hours after you’d touched it to wake up, so who’s to say that Taehyung isn’t his true soulmate? Even Yoongi could be!

Anyone but you.

He’s much more different now that he’s ‘chilled out’ from last night’s events. He’s no longer pacing back and forth or banging on his exhibit’s gate - though he has tried to pull it open once or twice. Now, he just sits on the bench where you had sat with Taehyung, only he sits facing away from his final resting place. 

He looks to be in deep thought, as if he’s contemplating something as he stares ahead of him. You like him better this way, calm and quiet instead of trying too hard to convince you to run away with him. This king you could babysit until he fell back asleep as he should’ve been in the first place.

With him seemingly content, you allow yourself to work on other things you’d normally do throughout the night. You mainly focus on the online coursework you didn’t get done due to the distraction on the screen in front of you, organizing your office in between assignments. You don’t really pay any mind to your cameras until you catch movement coming from Namjoon’s.

On the screen, he appears to be waving his arms and yelling, resembling those people you see on TV when someone gets injured. You can’t help but sigh. You’ve been putting off your rounds just so you wouldn’t have to go by his exhibit for him to accost you, now you didn’t have a choice but to go see what was troubling him before he broke something.

You grab your flashlight and tuck it into its place on your belt clip, leaving the safety of your office to see what his majesty so desperately needs from you. It must be desperate if he’s yelling for the entire city to hear. You quicken your pace to get there faster, hopefully before anybody besides you has the chance to hear his cries.

“Soulmate!” He yells, his voice clear as day as you reach level 3, “Come here! I demand your presence!” 

“If you don’t stop yelling for everyone to hear you, then I’m going to turn around and leave you alone!” You yell back, assuming he hears you when the yelling doesn’t continue. You make it to the gate of his exhibit and find him waiting for you with his arms crossed, no longer as relaxed as he was when the night began. 

“What?” You ask, stopping in front of him.

He doesn’t give you the pleasure of knowing right away. Instead, he looks you up and down with a hard glare, “You didn’t bring me food.”

“That’s what you’re yelling about?” You ask in disbelief.

Namjoon takes offense to your indifference, “Yes! For your information, I am very hungry for someone who hasn’t eaten in over 1,000 years.”

In hindsight, you’d most likely be a little angry too if you hadn’t eaten in so long as well - though it’s not really an excuse for his behavior last night. But explaining why an unconscious guy was chilling on the floor of a locked exhibit with security footage showing him coming out of the sarcophagus would not be fun for anyone involved. 

“I’ll be right back.” You leave him to run back to the break room, grabbing the prepackaged lunch you had bought for yourself, a pair of disposable chopsticks, and a banana milk that you kept stashed behind Hoseok’s forgotten lunchbox before heading back up. 

Namjoon gives you a strange look when you come back, his eyes trained on the box in your hand, “What is that?”

“It was my lunch, but you probably need this more than me.” You look for the key to his exhibit on your belt, sifting through until you find the right label and pull it up to unlock the gate. You pause before turning the lock, “Move back to the case.”

“Really?” Namjoon asks, his eyes narrowed in a glare. You return your own glare until he finally gives in and takes the steps back to the case as you asked him to, “Happy?”

You nod and turn the lock over, opening the gate and slipping inside with the food you brought for him. You hand him the lunchbox and the milk before you reach into your back pocket for the chopsticks, “Sorry if it’s not what you’re used to, but this is all I’ve got-”

“-There’s no need.” He raises a hand to stop you - an action that irks you to no end - and sits on the floor with the food you’ve given him. You watch as he struggles with the tape that holds it together, holding back your laughter when he manages to get it off the box and stuck to his fingers instead. He seems to relax when he rubs it off on the floor, but his next challenge comes when he opens the packet of chopsticks and there’s only one inside, “What this?!”

“I’m going to assume you’ve never seen this before.” You bend down to his level to take the chopsticks from him, holding each one and pulling them apart to create two, perfectly good chopsticks. You bite back a laugh when you see the amazement written across Namjoon’s face, “Pretty cool, yeah?”

“Very…” He says. You hand him the chopsticks, watching with amusement as he tries to fit them back together. One drops and he fumbles to catch it before he realizes you’re still watching him, quickly using the utensils to shove food in his mouth as a distraction. 

“Here.” Not wanting him to embarrass himself further, you take his banana milk and open it for him, setting it beside him while he eats. He takes a moment to take a sip and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What is this?” He asks, holding the bottle close to his face to inspect the label.

You shrug, “It’s just banana milk.” 

“Well, it tastes fantastic!” He tilts his head back and chugs the rest of it, wiping his mouth before turning back to you with the same expression of a puppy ready to play, “Is there more?”

“Uh…” You hesitate to answer, afraid he’ll try to boss you around again, “Yeah, we do.”

“Bring me-!” He stops when he sees your expression sour. Instead, he clears his throat and bows his head, “If you wouldn’t mind, could I please have another?”

“Sure thing.” You smile, and he smiles back. It wasn’t much, but it felt like an understanding after the fiasco that happened the night before. 

So, you rush back while he continues eating, grabbing two more banana milks and a bag of chips for you to munch on yourself. When you come back, you’re not surprised to see that he’s finished his food and left the box laying on the floor with the empty milk container. You want to be upset with him for just leaving his trash lying around, but it’s hard to be mad at him when he’s trying so hard to work the kiosk.

“This infernal contraption doesn’t work!” He yells, hitting the top of it as if that would somehow make it work. Of course, he’s not the only person to try this - you’ve seen many middle aged men try to do the same thing when you close - but it would only prove to break if he didn’t dial it back.

“Don’t do that!” You rush to his side and push his hands away, blocking him from touching the kiosk any more. “You can’t just hit things and expect them to work. That’s not how people solve their problems.”

“Well, it doesn’t have a mouth, so how am I supposed to talk to it?” He questions.

“Okay…” You heave a sigh and grab the headphones that rest on the kiosk’s base, a pair for you and a pair for Namjoon. You place yours on your head and then move to place Namjoon’s over his ears. He flinches away from your touch and you pull back a bit, “It’s okay, I’m just going to show you how this works.”

He relaxes, bowing his head so you can place the headphones over his ears. Once they’re well adjusted, you tap the screen of the kiosk to bring it to life. You read through the options designed for the exhibit, choosing to let it read through information about Namjoon himself.

“The Kim Dynasty-” The woman’s voice fills both of your ears, scaring Namjoon so much that he jumps back and his headphones clang to the floor.

His scared expression is priceless, eyes wide and hands raised to defend himself. You laugh, picking up his headphones and extending them to him, “That’s supposed to happen.”

“How is it doing that? Is there a woman trapped in each of these?” He asks, eyeing the other kiosks that line the wall beside the one you share.

You shake your head, “It’s called a recording. They made a copy of her voice and put it in here so the people that come here can learn more about you.”

“Oh…” He accepts your answer and the headphones in your hand, “I see the moon goddess has been very busy.”

“Here.” You grab his hand and fix it so his pointer finger sticks out, guiding his hand so it presses lightly against the glass to select a different option. A new section of Namjoon’s life begins to play and Namjoon seems impressed by the ‘power’ he holds in one appendage. “This is called a touch-screen. You just have to tap the buttons on the screen and it’ll change.”

He nods, staring intently at the screen before him. He tilts his head and taps the little home button at the top left, surprised when the screen changes from a video to the screen it started on. He smiles, his dimples popping out as he chooses another option, “This is amazing!”

His smile is infectious, as well as his eagerness to learn more about the technology in front of him, “I’ll just leave you to play with that for a bit, I have a job to do.”

“Yes! Okay.” He waves you off, paying more attention to the kiosk than to you. 

You lock the gate behind you when you leave, though it doesn’t seem like Namjoon even took notice of either action. Even after you rush through your duties to come back to him sooner, he’s still playing with the same kiosk with a child’s enthusiasm.

“You’re really enjoying yourself.” You muse, standing off to the side behind him.

Namjoon nods, his fingers still dancing across the screen, “This technology is amazing! If only we had this in my dynasty. I can only imagine the advantages we would have had.”

You nod in agreement, “Yeah, it definitely comes in handy. Though, a lot of people believe it’s made us weaker as a society.”

“I can see why. Everything I could ever want to know about myself is right here at my fingertips,” He says, scrolling through the different options he could look through. He comes across a picture of himself and grimaces, “I wish they would have used a different portrait.”

You chuckle in amusement, “Well, if you’re not having my trouble, then I‘m going to get back to my office.” You go to leave the room again when Namjoon grabs you by the arm.

“Wait!” He yells, pulling you back to him. It takes him a second to realize what he did before he let’s go, “Sorry!” 

“It’s fine.” You mumble. 

“I just-...” The king pauses, taking a moment to collect himself, “I wanted to know if I could look at more exhibits tomorrow?”

His eyes look down into yours, so hopeful for a good answer. You’re unsure, “I don’t know…” You want to say yes to him, but there’s so much at stake if you were to let him walk around on his own. Granted, he couldn’t trip the alarms, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t break anything. 

“I won’t touch anything, I swear!” He promises, both of his hands reaching out to take your own. He holds them to his chest, lightly cradling against the fabric of his shirt as he begs you, “I just don’t want to spend the rest of my time sitting in this room when there’s so much more around me.”

That gets you.

If there was one thing you could understand, it was being somewhere new with so much knowledge that you just had to know more. For someone like Namjoon, this was more than that. He had a whole world to try to come to terms with, and he was standing in the best place to do so. If you denied him that, then would you be able to deal with it?

“Tomorrow.” You say, “I’ll let you explore the museum tomorrow.”

Namjoon’s eyes light up and it looks like a weight is lifted right off of his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate to bow to you, “Thank you, soulmate.”

“It’s not the whole museum!” You add quickly, “And my name is (Y/n).” He seems unhappy at first, but he does eventually nod to give his thanks where it was due. You give a polite bow back, “You’re welcome.”

The next night comes all too quickly for you. Leaving him alone to explore was more than nerve wracking. You were probably out of your mind for even considering letting him out on his own, let alone trusting him in the first place. Sitting in your office you’d check the camera’s every few minutes just to be sure he was still in the hall, or you’d pinpoint his last location and make your final round of the museum according to how he’d walk through the halls.

That first night, Namjoon only went through his exhibit and the rest of level 3. Occasionally you’d catch him playing with a water fountain on the camera’s in front of the bathroom. Another time you caught him turning towards a planter and you quickly changed screens, reminding yourself to open a bathroom for him for the next night. 

As two more nights pass, you notice his want to get closer to the exhibits than to just sit on the outside. More often than not, you caught him with his face pressed against the metal bars trying to get a closer look at everything. It wasn’t hard to tell that he wanted to be in the room with the art itself, but a part of you is still worried to let him have that extra inch.

It’s only on the 5th night when Taehyung takes notice of your woes that you change your mind.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, leaning over himself on the bench to look at you. You sit with your hands in your lap just staring at Namjoon in front of you, wondering if you can really trust him to continue keeping his word. You don’t notice Taehyung, nor do you hear his question. He rolls his eyes and taps your knee twice, “Hey!”

“Huh?” You blink away your thoughts and turn your attention to him. Unaware of what he asked, you tilt your head in confusion, “What?”

Taehyung hums to himself and nods, “I’m right, something is wrong with you.”

“What do you mean something’s wrong with me?” You ask defensively.

Taehyung sighs and shows you his watch, showing you that it’s 5 minutes past weekday closing time, “This is the longest you’ve let me sit here rambling to myself. 10 minutes past our normal time!”

You shake your head, content to push him away, “I’m just a bit distracted, that’s all.”

“By what? Is it a work problem? Family troubles? You can tell me, I’ll listen!” He assures you. 

You have no doubt in your mind that he will listen to you, but how do you explain your situation is the real problem at hand. There were only so many excuses in the world, and if you weren’t careful you might get yourself fired just for using a bad analogy.

You weigh your options and sigh, “My niece - she’s really little and way too rambunctious to come here - really wants to come and see the art on display. I want her to come see where I work because I know she likes the art, but I know my sister is worried about her breaking something or causing a scene.”

“Hmm...I see.” Taehyung hums, not showing any sign of suspicion against you. He really thinks about your ‘concern’ before he comes to a conclusion. “I think she should come and see.”

“Really?” You ask.

He nods, “Yeah! It’s best to let children experience art and it’s creativity for themselves! Even young children have an eye for art, and those who truly appreciate it only want to see it up close to see every detail.”

“I guess that does make sense…” Thinking about it, he does have a point. Namjoon may be from a different moment in time, but he’s still a grown adult. 

Taehyung seems to sense your uncertainty and places a calming hand on your knee, “Art isn’t meant to be viewed from afar. It’s made to make us feel emotion.” He explains, “Even the most unlikely of patrons can find something that makes them appreciate art.” 

Even after your talk is finished and you’ve left Namjoon’s exhibit unlocked for him to let himself out, you’re still debating your next course of action. There’s a big risk in letting him roam through the exhibits, but you can’t in good conscience let him sit around doing nothing forever.

You find Namjoon on level 4, his face pressed against the bars of the Apparel Through the Ages exhibit. You sneak up behind him and clear your throat, “Good evening, your highness.”

Namjoon stumbles back, not expecting you to be there. It’s amusing to watch him scramble into a more respectable position with his hands behind his back. He glances your way, “Have you come around already?”

“No, I haven’t,” You say. You pull at the keys on your belt and jingle them, “I’ve come to open an exhibit for you.”

“What?” He’s surprised, “Will you really?” 

“Someone told me that those who appreciate art want to take in all the details they can.” It didn’t take a genius to see that Namjoon wants to see more than he can see at the exhibit’s gates. An old soul like his could probably use some new perspective, “You choose the exhibit and I’ll unlock it.”

“Any of them?” He asks.

You nod, “Just lead the way.”

The light in his eyes that you saw the night before comes back and it relaxes you for some reason. Even as he takes your wrist to lead you down the hall to the exhibit he wants to see, it’s as if he’s two different people. It’s almost confusing how quickly his demeanor changes with you. When he doesn’t get what he wants, he becomes a child. Yet the moment you offer something new - something for him to learn about - it’s as if he’s just a child at heart. 

When you open the Animal Kingdom exhibit on level 2 for him you’re thrown for another loop. He only gives you a simple thanks and walks away, leaving you to question if he’s just inherently an asshole or if he’s just petty. Even as you come back around from your rounds to close up for the night, he still seems to flip back and forth with his own personality and his thanks.

You go home that morning confused and on a mission. You throw the notion of sleep out the window and settle onto your couch with a cup of coffee and your laptop, determined to know more about this so-called King that intends to ruin your life little by little. 

A simple Google search brings you many results, ranging in portraits and newspaper articles to biographies written by renowned historians. You click on the first link available, taking you to a page drowning in photos and art. It would seem that even in life, Namjoon enjoyed surrounding himself with art. 

His portraits were absolutely breathtaking - you could understand his disappointment now that you’ve seen more than just the one - and the pictures they showcase of his palace are surrounded in flowers and gorgeous statement pieces littered across the grounds. It’s surprising to read that they’ve remained there for so long without any disturbances. You would have thought they’d taken one or two lawn pieces like they had taken Namjoon, yet they remain in their home without any signs of distress to them. 

You take another long sip of coffee and move onto another page, checking out a more informative website. This one goes into detail about his life as a prince and as a king. You discover that he became king at the young age of 17 when his parents sadly passed away during an ambush to the throne. Apparently, he changed over half of the Kingdom’s laws the very next day and saw to every change in policy himself. It only took him 3 months to get the people of his kingdom to trust in him and his guidance, which - according to the article - was a big feat for his time.

You’re surprised to read about his contributions to his people. He strongly encouraged his people to progress forward and bring him their concerns, he housed over 30 children in his home at one time because they had no homes to go to and he even had a sort of sanctuary for animals to be cared for under his watch. He oversaw their historians writing, ensuring that they put every detail on paper. Even his failures were written down under his careful eye, despite his power to erase them from future generations

This Namjoon was so kind and caring. He was so well educated and well-spoken, and he was loved by all of his people for his generosity and understanding nature. How is it that a man who was known for being so kind, could be the same man who bossed you around and demanded that you spend the rest of your life with him?

How is it that a guy who sounds so sweet on paper can be a total dick in real life?

* * *

After hours of research with no sleep and a cold shower to wake you up, you find yourself standing in front of Namjoon with a copy of The Little Prince tucked on top of the food you’ve brought him for the night.

Namjoon accepts the food, taking the boxed lunch with one hand so he can pick up the book with the other. He inspects it carefully, flipping it over a few times to look it over, “What’s this?”

“I did a little research on you, your highness. According to historians and the internet, you were quite the avid reader.” You’d read a lot about Namjoon, and every website you visited gave you list upon list of books read by him when he was still alive and well. They all spoke of his fascination for fantasy novels and those with deeper meanings behind them. The Little Prince seemed like a no brainer to you when it came to more relevant novels to fit his tastes. “I figured you might get bored sooner or later, so I brought you something to pass the time until you fall asleep again.”

“You know that’s not how the enchantment works, yes?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment before you reply, “No, I don’t know that. Do you?”

“I-” Namjoon is at a loss for your teasing words. Instead he frowns and turns his nose,“It doesn’t matter if I’ve seen it happen! I trust the moon goddess!”

“Mhmm, whatever you say~” You laugh, much to his annoyance. Namjoon sits down to eat his food and you take that as a sign for you to continue doing your job, “Enjoy your book and your food.”

You go to leave, but the king calls after you, “Can’t you stay here? Keep me company?”

You pause. His company wasn’t terrible, but you don’t want to stay and risk giving him a sense of false hope. He was still over 1,000 years old, and you were still a broke college student trying to pay her way through life. You’ve never been the type to play with someone’s emotions, and you weren’t going to start now. 

“That’s not in my job description.” You say. You almost regret your choice when you see his sad expression, but you steel yourself, “Have a good night.”

You leave him, not coming back until you’re making a lap on your rounds. And there - sitting against one of the large display cases - sits Namjoon with the book held loosely in his hands, his face holding a look of pure concentration and a ghost of a smile. He looks so peaceful and content sitting cross-legged on the hard wood of his exhibit, you almost feel bad for asking him to return to his sarcophagus. But that night he goes willingly.

And you can’t help but notice the glow of the necklace on your way out.

---

“Hey-!” You turn your head away from the water fountain, hearing Jimin’s voice call down the already noisy hall. You spy him at the entrance of the gift shop, but his attention is on a girl passing by who’s turned to look at him as well. He holds a box in his hand, but you can’t see what’s inside from where you stand. “Have you seen our new merchandise that just came in?”

“Uh...no, I haven’t.” The girl seems slightly uncomfortable. Either from his approach from the gift shop for her to buy something, or just from a guy who looks like Jimin approaching her - you don’t know which. 

You walk closer to the gift shop, curious yourself about the mystery box in Jimin’s hands.

“This - my lovely lady - is our newest piece of jewelry.” He opens the box and you catch a glimmer of silver and fuschia, “The necklace of King Kim Namjoon’s lost lover.”

Her face lights up initially when she sees it, but then her face drops and she shakes her head, “Oh, no, thank you.”

“You don’t want to buy it?” He asks. Jimin pouts and you can feel the immediate distress coming off the poor girl he’s talking to. 

“It’s pretty, but it’s a little expensive…” She tries to explain her situation - whether it’s true or not - but Jimin is relentless.

He looks around the hall to make sure no one is too close to listen - all but you anyways - and gets closer to her, “But don’t you know the legend behind the necklace?”

“Of course I do! King Kim Namjoon’s soulmate is supposed to wear this necklace.” She says.

“Yes, but that’s not all!” Jimin makes a point of string into her eyes, unwilling to break their eye contact, “Legend says he prayed to the moon goddess herself to find his true love and she gifted him with her own special moonstone to guide his other half to him!”

He moves closer, so that the two are almost shoulder to shoulder just so he can give her a closer view of the product, “These pink stones are pieces of the King’s soulmate's heart, and they’ll glow brightest when his lover wears his necklace by his side!” 

“Wow...that’s so romantic.” You can see her resolve breaking, and you almost feel bad for her that Jimin is the clerk on duty today.

“Do you want to know the best part?” He asks, his smile reaching his cheeks and his eyes full of mischief that resemble love almost too closely. She nods enthusiastically and Jimin brings the box closer so she can see, “This gold string that holds it altogether represents their connection to each other. It’s a bond that can’t be broken by anything in the universe.” 

He carelessly throws an arm over her shoulder, just light enough to be seen as friendly. Though, it would seem the small trick is already working it’s magic on the poor thing. He squeezes her shoulder, “A lot of people believe that wearing this necklace will bring you closer to finding your own true love, so they package them with their own prayers to the moon goddess in hopes she’ll grant them eternal love as well.”

“Really?!” She asks. She looks to him as if he holds the whole universe in his hands, having been swayed by the blonde’s charm.

“Yeah!”

Just like that, you watch him lead her back to the counter and then wave her and her new treasure goodbye, holding a sticky note close to his heart. 

“Should you really be lying like that?”You ask from the store’s entrance. You’re more than disappointed to see yet another girl fall for the man’s charms

Jimin shrugs, “I didn’t lie. I just stretched the truth.” 

You walk up to the counter and snatch the note out of his hand, “Stretching the truth sounds a lot like lying.” 

“Don’t you have a monitor to watch somewhere?” He teases. You hand him the paper back and he sticks it in his pocket, bending below the counter to grab another.

You can’t help but think about what he said, and the legend behind the real necklace. You’ve heard a lot about the real thing, but all of it usually went in one ear and out the other as myth for you. Now that you know it’s real and far from a hoax, you have so much more that you need to know.  

Jimin pops back up with a stack of necklaces in his arms and sets them on the counter in front of you, pulling out a sheet of tags that go with them. You take the sheet from his hand and peel one off, handing it to him, “Can I ask you a question? About the necklace?”

“Sure, but Taehyung is the expert around here.” He says, accepting your sticker to place on the box in front of him.

“You think I don’t know that?” You laugh. You look down and peel off another one, “Is all of what you said about the necklace itself true? About the real necklace?”

“According to Taehyung it is!” He nods, not even sparing you a glance, “The moon goddess gave the King a necklace so powerful that only he and his lover could tear the bond if they chose to, but they never got the chance to meet.”

You hand him another sticker, but you stare into space as you do, “That’s...really sad.” You can’t help but think of the pain Namjoon had to go through knowing his soulmate would be by his side, but not knowing it wouldn’t be in his first lifetime. Not only that, but to wake up and then be met with someone who doesn’t even want to be his soulmate? You can’t help but think about how you’d act towards him if the roles were reversed and he were in your shoes.

You’d be devastated.

“It is.” He takes the sticker from you with one hand and flicks your forehead with the other. You flinch and pull back with your hand rubbing the spot he hit while he just smirks at you, “You would know if you ever listened to Taehyung.”

“Yeah.” You don’t even register your response before handing the sticker sheet back to Jimin and pushing off the counter, “Thanks Jimin! Have a good night, okay? Don’t call me at 2am like last week.”

“No promises~” He sings, going back to his work in front of him.

Later that night when you’re handing Namjoon his dinner, you sit with him to eat yours as well. The look Namjoon gives you as you calmly open your dinner across from him is almost too good to ignore.

“What are you doing?” He asks, slowly unboxing his own lunch.

You pay him no mind as you break apart your chopsticks to start eating, “You wanted me to keep you company, remember? Or is my presence no longer appreciated?” You pick up a clump of rice and turn your attention to him, eyebrow raised.

Namjoon is quick to shake his head and get started on his own food, “Of course it is!” 

You both eat in awkward silence, neither of you quite sure how to start a normal conversation. You’ve only ever made polite talk with him, and he only ever seemed to anger you no matter what he said. The only time you were ever civil was when you would show him something new.

Namjoon swallows his food and clears his throat, “Where would you like me to escort you tonight, my lady?”

You shake your head, “First of all, don’t call me ‘your lady’ or anything else other than my name.” You warn him, pointing at the tag on your jacket. He nods and you continue with your rant, “Second, I have some rounds to do, so you can join me tonight as long as you don’t bother me too much. Understood?”

“Yes, my la-” You narrow your eyes at him and he corrects himself, “(Y/n).”

The two of you finish your food quickly with some small talk made here and there. When you’ve cleaned up, you allow Namjoon to lead you to another exhibit he’s yet to see. All the way on level 1, he wants to see art he’s more familiar with.

“So, you said you asked the moon goddess for a chance to meet your soulmate?” You ask one you’re inside the museum.

“Indeed,” Namjoon nods, listening to you as he takes in the art around him, “I prayed to her one night on a full moon and I begged her to send me a lover. Someone I could confide in and care for, and would do the same for me.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “And instead she gave you the necklace?”

“No, she gave you a way to find me.” He says, a genuine look of happiness on his face. 

“Still-“ You feel a heat rising in your face and you can’t help but turn away from him out of embarrassment. Your eyes land on a painting of a couple and you feel the knife dig just a little deeper, “-you asked her for someone to rule by your side as your equal and she let fate tear you apart.”

He shrugs, “Maybe we weren’t meant to meet before now.”

His calm exterior bothers you. If you had asked for what he had, you’d be livid! He made a promise and that promise was misguided! 

“How can you be so calm?” You ask, allowing your thoughts to be heard.

Namjoon stops to look at a picture of a cherry blossom in the winter, it’s petals covered in frost. He smiles, “You said you read about me from one of your current books. The internet? What do they tell you of me?”

You chuckle at his misunderstanding of what the internet truly is, “Well, the internet told me that you were a very generous and beloved king. They said you were intelligent and caring.”

He chuckles, “I’m flattered.” He looks to you with an amused smile and you elbow his side carefully, causing him to laugh, “I’m only joking!”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, sure.”

Moving on to the next painting, he follows after you, “What else did your book tell you?”

“Well, it told me about your love for the arts.” You remember the extensive biography you’d found during your research. You didn’t read it in its entirety, but you did skim through it, “I read that you would host a festival every year?”

“Yes! Just something special during the summer seasons to enlighten everyone.” He has a far away look in his eye as he recalls the fond memories of his past life, and you can only begin to wonder what a day in his life would have been like, “I’d import goods from everywhere just to have the best for my people.”

“It would seem you’re truly generous, your majesty~” You tease.

“Namjoon.” He corrects you. You give him a quizzical stare and he only smiles in return, “If I’m to call you by your more common title, then you should feel free to use mine. I am attempting to woo you after all.”

“Right.” You smile awkwardly, remembering that you were actually trying to give him a chance. You’d actually been comfortable for once, that you hadn’t even noticed just how easy it had become to talk to him.

“And to really answer your question of why I am as calm as I am,” He pauses in front of a portrait of a town under the night sky, his attention trained on the light orb in the background of the painting. “The moon goddess is lonely herself by nature, so separated from our world. Just like this portrait, we see her, but we pay her no mind.” 

You stand beside him and take your own, clear look at the picture. If you would have looked at it on your own, your main focus would have been on the town and the people in the foreground. You would have glanced at the moon, but the orb and her stars were painted so faint compared to the rest of the picture.

“She came to me - and perhaps it was out of boredom for her own happiness - but she made me a promise. Promises are something I don’t take lightly.” He says. His words are spoken like a true king, but you can’t help but wonder if he himself truly means what he says. 

Namjoon turns to you with a peaceful smile, “Fate works in mysterious ways, and sometimes it’s best for us to wait and see what it brings.”

He’s ready to move on and you both bask in a new found silence as you continue to walk through the exhibit, stopping occasionally at a portrait here and there. Though at every painting you stop, you can’t help but look at the man next to you.

This was the man described in everything you read. This was King Kim Namjoon at his finest, and you were privileged enough to be there.

“Did you really house orphaned children?” You ask out of the blue.

He blinks at first, registering your sudden outburst. Though, when he does realize what you’ve asked, he smiles fondly, “I did. Of all the people we should take care of, our children and our elderly are most important!” 

His words are filled with passion, and you can tell he really cares about the people he’s talking about, “Our elders have shaped our generation, and we shape the generations after us. It’s only fair that we see they’re well taken care of.”

There’s a part of you that truly wishes to see what he was like as a ruler for yourself. You smile, “Well, I guess the internet doesn’t lie.”

“I suppose it doesn’t, though I’m probably not the correct person to ask.” He sheepishly admits, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

You nod in understanding. He really didn’t know much about this era or it’s advancements besides the kiosks in his exhibit. It takes you a moment, but you think of the perfect exhibit to introduce him to the 21st century. 

You take his hand in yours - effectively catching him off guard - and you pull him in the direction of the exit, “Well, allow me to educate you about the world I live in.”

Namjoon doesn’t even attempt to hide his blush this time around. He only nods and allows himself to follow you, “Please.”

You lead him out of the more classic featured art section and into the Modern Art Exhibit. This exhibit starts very tame, sticking to photography and modern painting styles before it morphs into free form art sculptures in the connecting rooms.

One sculpture is made of metal and it’s shape reminds you of a round mushroom. It's definitely interesting, but you don’t necessarily understand it’s appeal. It would seem Namjoon is confused as well.

“This is art?” He asks, his head tilted to the side as he follows his distorted reflection.

“It is.” You assure him. You had a feeling he wouldn’t get it either, you just wanted to show him what he was missing. You sigh, “I don’t really understand it either so don’t fe-”

“It’s so intriguing.” Namjoon says, cutting you off. 

“I’m sorry?” You ask, slightly confused.

“The structure and the colors, they’re so complimentary to the other! I don’t want to look away.” His entire being is completely enraptured with the piece in front of him. It’s so simple, yet his eye contact doesn’t break from his reflection. “I feel as though I am in a trance.”

You squeeze his hand - not even caring that your hands are still connected, “Well, there’s much more of this to see.”

A look of pure joy and elation blossoms on Namjoon’s face and you feel a faint flutter in your heart. You’d never noticed how bright his eyes shine until now, nor did you notice just how cute his dimples really were.

Are you really falling for him?

~ Read: Part 2 ~

[howling-harpy]

A gift from the heart

Pairing: Malarkey & Skip Rating: G

Word count: 2520 Summary: Skip and Don have a day in Paris, and they are on an important quest. [ao3]

A/N: Happy birthday @lyselkatz! This is for you, I hope it’s to your liking.

*

Skip had clearly taken his pass to Paris with a plan in mind. “You have got to help me find the perfect present for her!” he begged as soon as Don walked up to meet him, his hands crossed in a prayer that was surely blasphemous. “What is she going to do with a present at this point?” Don argued back. “You’re shipping yourself back home soon enough.” His heart wasn’t in it, not really. He was arguing more for the sake of arguing, but it was true that they had this one afternoon off and their chances of success were pretty slim.

Paris was a great place to rest and pretend to work at an airplane exhibition, the city was nearly bursting with emotion and will to go back to peacetime, and any heartsick soldier was bound to find something good to send back home to his sweetheart. Don wasn’t sure if he was trying to talk his way out of a shopping trip, or was he simply relieved about Skip’s energy and how he displayed it despite the broken arm and cuts and bruises and drawing the banter out. “With that attitude you will be very unlucky in love!” Skip declared. “My mom said that men who think of themselves as the greatest of gifts will find themselves very lonely indeed, and I plan to make the most of this mortal life and make sure that my girl has nice things!” “Fine then, since you’re the romance expert out of the two of us,” Don gave in and finally allowed a grin to spread on his face. “But what would she like to have?” “That’s why I need help,” Skip said, raising a finger to make an important point. “I’m the romance expert, yes, but small gifts are not my area of expertise.” The thought both did and didn’t make sense, but Don was past arguing over the title of romance expert and instead tried to think of the kind of gifts girls liked. His idea of a good time was an ice cream date and listening to good music, but that was something you did in person, not wrap in brown paper and ship across an ocean. “Uh… Perhaps a good record?” Don said uncertainly. That was more like something he would have liked to unwrap himself and then be delighted about how well his girl knew him, but it was a thought. “Nah, I’d get you a record,” Skip said, nudging Don’s side with his elbow, and flashed him a knowing smile. “No, this has to be a Faye Tanner-gift. I can’t give her a Don Malarkey-gift.” Don shrugged, then gestured at the streets lined with shop windows all around them. “Maybe we should ask around?” If possible, Skip brightened up even more. He seemed to be almost trembling with excitement and ready to explore the city. “That’s great! But we need some places to hit. Make it a proper mission.” Don smiled indulgently. He had had enough of missions and objectives for a lifetime, but Skip was feeling as playful as ever and he knew it was a joke, so he allowed it. “Alright, fine,” he said, then paused to think. “Let’s think some things that she likes and what she’d like to get, and then think where we’ll find it.” “Oh yes. A guest for a true love’s gift! Onwards!” Don smiled for real then. That made it sound like an adventure in a jungle or perhaps across castles and fields and forests instead of an all too real endeavour in current time with real consequences. It almost felt like they could have been friends since they were children and run wild in the woods playing adventurers and wild children. Together, they took to the streets of Paris, Don leading the way as he sometimes knew where they were and where they were going. The list of things that Faye might have liked was growing slowly: Something distinctly European, something pretty or something sweet. Something pretty would have probably been their best bet, given both could recall a dozen times a girl back home had referenced European fashion or make up, but that was quickly becoming a dead end for them. Post-war Paris was many things and there was no doubt about fashion coming back, but right then it wasn’t exactly a priority. At least not at a reasonable price. There were shops open and some driftier places sold many mismatched piles of treasures Parisian ladies had no doubt emptied from their closets while trying to make the ends meet, but Skip and Don quickly realized they didn’t know enough to make a good judgement about them. “This is just… Not Faye!” Skip huffed as they strolled down the street after the fourth shop. “She is pretty and I think she wears cute clothes too, but it’s just… Not like this.” Don didn’t know about fashion either, just of what looked pretty to him, but looking at Skip and knowing him he could imagine Faye was probably not the beauty queen type. “Okay, forget about dresses and hats,” Don thought out loud. “How about a ribbon? Or a scarf? Or jewellery?” Skip thought it over, but then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. She doesn’t really do her hair, says it gets soaked and flops down anyway, so why bother.” “Okay, so something distinctly European then.” Aside from the airplane exhibition Don was consulting at, several other local cultural exhibits were also opening. Curators at Louvre had apparently cried when their looted treasures started to return in their collection from Germany, and museums and galleries had started to open again, even if only to clean and air the premises. It seemed people missed beauty in their lives, and Don couldn’t fault them on that. They all did. Still, the only thing sold at Louvre were postcards and other souvenirs. There was a certain charm to them, and perhaps sending some cool trinket home along with perhaps some photos and a letter with loving regards would do. Faye sounded like a girl who appreciated the personal touch and the thought more than anything material, so a breeze of culture from France might be the thing they were after. There were plenty of soldiers buzzing around the museum and the park, plenty of them apparently caught by the same idea, everyone trying to decide which artwork was the most suitable one to convey one’s feelings. Skip didn’t pay too much attention to anyone there, but Don had learned to recognize plenty of soldiers by their uniform, and a familiar one drew his attention right away. “Hey! Lieutenant!” Don called out as he recognized a familiar profile and a set of broad shoulders. “Do you know what’s the best gift for your lover?” Lipton jumped in surprise when he was spoken to and nearly dropped the stack of postcards depicting some old, cracked paintings of Roman soldiers. “My what?” he asked, immediately flustered. Skip giggled and skipped over to join them. “Not yours, sir,” he cackled, the entire idea absurd, “we’re trying to find something for Faye before I go home. She will feed me to her cats if I don’t send her a nice present beforehand.” “Oh,” Lipton said and cleared his throat, awkward and jittery on the spot. He set the postcards back to the holder and turned his back to the photographs of Roman generals and Greeks in aggressive military formations. “A wise choice,” Skip solemnly advised him with a heavy nod. “I don’t think any girl will like those. You ought to pick something more… Elegant! Beautiful! Something European.” Lipton smiled politely and shrugged. “Technically Roman Empire used to cover most of the continent what we now call Europe, and what we even consider Europe varies through history.” When Skip and Don just stared at him, he became flustered again. “I… Uh, I’ve been listening to some radio programs at night,” he explained. Skip laughed again. “Getting a history lecture is just about the most boring thing I can imagine doing in bed,” he chuckled, and Don joined in for the plain amusement of the mental image. Lipton lowered his eyes and blushed scarlet. “Well, to each their own,” he allowed diplomatically while swaying on the heels of his boots.   “Sure, sir,” Don said, then reeled them back on topic. “But the gift! Skip needs a gift for Faye.” “Oh, right,” Lipton said, visibly more at ease now that the attention was turning away from him. “Well… I don’t know Ms. Tanner, but you do, so you should use that. Whatever the gift is, the most important thing is that it makes her feel like you have listened to her and know what she likes.” “Uh-huh,” Skip said, and Don nodded along. It was a wise piece of advice, but not concrete enough to actually help them. Judging by Lipton’s smile, he realized exactly the same thing and shook his head at their impatience. Don was almost ready to appoint Lipton as the new romance expert if it wasn’t for his choice of Roman art and Greek pottery. Lipton sighed. “There’s a postcard of just about every European masterpiece here. Why don’t you look at those and pick one that makes you think of her?” Even though Lipton slipped away with a postcard depicting Marcus Crassus battling the rebel leader Spartacus, his advice was actually good, and Skip and Don started browsing the many pictures of various beautiful ladies and princesses and queens. They didn’t understand about the styles or periods but trusted their own eyes to tell what was really beautiful. Momentarily Skip was taken with a painting of a golden-haired woman wrestling a large book from a brown eagle with two heads, but even if beautiful she was too distressed, and the painting was too dramatic anyway. Eventually Skip picked up a postcard depicting a fairly modest painting of a girl dressed in simple clothes and a blue scarf on her head. She couldn’t have been more than ordinary, but the longer you looked at her gentle eyes and lips parted like in a half thought out question as she looked at you over her shoulder, the more convinced you became that she was by far not only the most beautiful but also the most intriguing of all women pictured there. “This one,” Skip said as he held the card. “She looks a bit like her too.” Still, having a simple postcard wasn’t a gift yet. It was a greeting, a simple souvenir, and it needed something more, so the quest went on. “What does she like?” Don asked Skip again as they strolled through the gardens outside of Louvre. “I think that based on all your tales of your bets and highjinks all I know is what she doesn’t like, and that’s you being an idiot.” Skip threw his head back and laughed. “Maybe so! Well, let’s see… Faye likes… Me. Cats. Baseball. Homemade pies. Milkshakes. Dancing. Pretty normal stuff, I’d say.” Just a normal girl, with normal interests, she seemed to be. Don was again at loss. It was a beautiful and hot summer day, and there was a small café on the street by the garden, and just the sight of it made them both feel suddenly thirsty and their sweet tooths ache. Mostly the café was serving coffee in tiny cups, but their display was also showing signs of revival as they served cakes, flaky pastries and chocolate treats. The prices were high and there wasn’t enough to fill the display completely, but what there was looked delicious and made with great care. They got two small éclairs because they looked nice in the window and the little sign in front of the tray had the word “chocolat” in it, and with their little treats they ventured back to the streets. Don was almost used to French baked goods after three weeks in Paris, but Skip savoured his from the very first bite. It was no wonder, the soft, fluffy dough alone was a treat, but the chocolate icing that cracked softly when you bit into the pastry was perfect, and from the face he made Don could tell that Skip hadn’t expected the cream filling. Skip chewed on the éclair slowly with his head tipped back towards the sun, and for a moment Don led him by the arm because he refused to look in front of him. “If only I could send something like this back to the States for her,” Skip sighed around a mouthful. “That would solve literally all my problems. Get a box of these or those little pink cookie things and that would be it. Too bad they wouldn’t make it to the States.” “You’re right, but maybe something else might,” Don said, his eyes already scanning for another shop. “Something sweet would do nicely.” They had to try a few shops for what they were looking for, but eventually Skip managed to find a metal tin filled with hard fruit toffees in candy wrappers. The candy itself wasn’t an extraordinary delicacy like fresh pastries were, but just as important was the beautiful tin they came in. It was like two gifts in one, European candy and a new decorative tin for buttons or letters or whatever Faye fancied. It was nearing evening, and Don had an early morning ahead of him and Skip had to report back to his commanding officer too, but the quest wasn’t yet done. “Don’t forget to wrap it up nicely too,” Don reminded Skip. “Sure, the postal office will put it in brown paper, but that’s not good enough for a gift for your girl. You got to at least find a ribbon to go under the boring paper and string so that she knows you’ve thought about it.” “Good point,” Skip said. “I’m sure I’ll find someone with a ribbon to trade – even something that doesn’t belong in some another dame’s underwear set. Thanks for the tip.” “Sure,” Don said. “Should I see you back to the station?” “No, that’s okay, I’ll find my own way,” Skip said. It was sensible that way. Don’s hotel was in the opposite direction and if he were to walk with Skip, he’d triple his own walk, and Skip knew it too and wouldn’t accept such a bother. Still it felt bad to part ways before they had to since things were uncertain, a discharge and a ticket home might come at a day’s notice, and then they wouldn’t see each other again. Not being able to say goodbye loomed over Don and kept him lingering. Skip seemed to sense it from him, because he smiled and reached to gently touch his arm. “Don’t worry, we’re headed in the same direction eventually. And when we get to the States, I’ll mail you the best present you can imagine.” Don was implored to smile, and despite the melancholy played along. “Really? What’s that?” Skip grinned bright as a summer sun, spread his arms and gestured at himself.

[oasisspringstownie]

FAME: A Legacy Challenge

Sul sul simmers!

Like many of you, one of my favorite things to do in The Sims is play Legacy Challenges. They lead you to explore new aspects of gameplay, give you new imaginative ideas, and facilitate storytelling. So, a couple of nights ago I got the idea to create a new kind of legacy challenge revolving around different aspects of fame.

The goal isn’t exactly to become the most famous using said career/ skill, but to play around with different elements of the fame system in the game. You by no means need all the packs to play through this legacy. While the experience would be more complete and you will be missing careers and skills and stuff you can obviously adapt it to your need. Also, you are more than welcomed to use mods to enrich your gameplay. I myself can’t play without mods and look forward to see what kind of chaos mods can add to this challenge.

So without further a do below are the 10 generations I concocted like a fever dream at 2 am on a Saturday evening:

Gen 1: A Shaky Foundation

Traits: Cheerful, Ambitious, Self-Absorbed

Career: Acting, Style Influencer (Trendsetter Branch)

You move to a new city full of hopes and dreams. You initially pursue your dream of becoming an actor. However, your career is cut short by the unexpected arrival of your first child. You retreat from the spotlight in order to raise your baby and put all of your energy into making sure they have the best future possible. The rest of the time you spend either working or trying to unwind from your demanding life. What will fate bring you and your descendants?

Goals:

Move into an empty lot with 1600 simoleons for the bare minimum.

Start in the Acting Career, but abandon it for the Style Influencer career once your first child is born. Remain in the Style Influencer Career and eventually choose the Trendsetter Branch.

Max out the Style Influencer Career.

Reach level 10 of the Parenting and Wellness Skills.

Be close friends with all of your children and make sure they each age up with at least 2 positive character attributes.

Gen 2: Get Your Head in the Game

Traits: Active, Music Lover, Outgoing

Career: Athlete, Entertainment (Musician Branch)

Your parent might have seemed very overbearing at the time, but they instilled a work ethic in you like no other. Your entire life you were split between your two passions: basketball and singing. Okay, fine, you're Troy Bolton. After succeeding in the sports world you still find yourself feeling somewhat unfulfilled. You enter the entertainment career later on in life to live out your dreams. Will this be the start of something new?

Goals:

Max out the Athlete Career and then switch to the Entertainment Career (Musician Branch).

Max out the Fitness and Singing Skills.

Be in the drama club in high school.

Gen 3: Going for the Stars

Traits: Clumsy, Loner, Genius

Career: Astronaut

Your parent always told you to shoot for the stars, you just took it a bit too seriously. This world was always a bit too pedestrian for you and you yearn to finally lay your eyes on the astronomical craters of Sixam. There's just one problem: you're terrible at it. It's not your fault, you're just a bit clumsy; but will your two left feet keep you from reaching your dreams?

Goals:

Work in the Astronaut Career your entire life. Get demoted and fired at least once in your lifetime.

Destroy and repair a rocket 3 times.

Live in a tiny home for your young adulthood and adulthood.

Have at least one set of twins. *You can cheat for this!*

Gen 4: The Finer Things in Life

Traits: Materialistic, Hates Children, Lazy

Career: None

You've seen all the generations before you work their little pixelated butts off for every simoleon, but you're not about that life. You were destined for the finer things in life.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Charisma and Mixology Skills.

Marry and survive 5 spouses. Take that wording however you want. Divorce is not allowed. You must be the last once standing. After all, spouses are like infinity stones. Meaningless.

Never have a job. Only make money from spouses, family, or children. If you get desperate enough you can ask a friend for a loan or steal, but no working of any kind.

Each child you decide to have with one of your rich spouses comes with a 20k trust fund. If they get taken away or die before coming of age, all the money has to be returned to the evil capitalist overlords. You can't get rid of them that easily.

Own at least 1 restaurant/ retail/ business with one of your spouses. Decorate it, assign the uniform, and hire everyone, but you never run it. Why would you go through the trouble?

Gen 5: My Precious

Traits: Art Lover, Kleptomaniac, Self-Assured

Career: Criminal

Your childhood was pretty hectic and you felt like you barely knew your parents. Who needs them? You've never needed anyone else anyway. On your 18th birthday, you receive your inheritance and use it to buy yourself an unfurnished apartment in the nicest building you can find and that's when your money runs out... literally. However, will a new job as a tough guy be the first of many great ideas or will it only be the beginning of the end for this famed family?

Goals

Once you become a young adult give yourself enough money to buy one of the apartments in the Uptown Neighborhood in San Myshuno. It must be unfurnished. After moving in set your money to 0 simoleons.

Complete the Criminal Career.

Reach level 10 of the Mischief and Dancing Skills.

Gain an atrocious reputation and spend the rest of your life trying to cover it up.

Steal 10 paintings from a museum and exhibit them proudly in your home. You are never allowed to sell them. As an adult, hide them in a secret attic nobody else has access to or knows about. They are your precious.

Gen 6: The Muses

Traits: Creative, Family Oriented, Insider

Career: Painter

You could have anything you wanted in the world thanks to your family's empire so you pursued your passion: painting. While you were never close to your other family members you were always very close to your art teacher. This led you to have very close ties to your friends, co-workers, and eventual children. Will your legacy remain for longer in the memory of strangers or your loved ones?

Goals

Complete the Painter Career

Reach level 10 of the Painting, Cooking and Baking Skills

Have a better relationship with your art teacher than anyone else in your family until you're a teen.

Move to a new world once you become a young adult and cut ties with your family.

Be the leader of one club for all your young adulthood and adulthood.

Be close friends with 3 co-workers and all of your children.

Prepare a meal at least once a week with the help of your children. *I know we don't have this in the game yet technically, but I'm hoping to have Cottage Living by the time I play with this generation*

Hang 5 paintings in a museum.

Retire from Painting Career to help care for your grandchildren.

Gen 7: Mole

Traits: Good, Perfectionist, Paranoid

Career: None

You always had a good relationship with your parents. You told each other everything... well, almost everything. You never understood why but one of your parents never talked about the rest of your family members. They explained that they simply never had a good relationship and would rather not talk about it. You respect this until their death when you return to their seemingly abandoned childhood home. While exploring the house you find a not-so-subtle bookcase door and a long forgotten attic filled with paintings. You take them in hopes of returning them but unbeknownst to you, you are being watched.

After an unfortunately unavailable nail-biting car chase, you shake off your attackers. You can't just lead them home to the rest of your family and what would the police do? They don't even arrest Vlad when he's trying to bite all of your sims!

Sorry, different rant.

So you do the only logical thing: you sell the paintings you just stole for some cash to buy an empty lot and skip town. A new life awaits you... just a bit underground.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Writing, Logic, and Handiness Skills.

Complete the Best Selling Author Aspiration.

After your parent dies, you visit Gen 5's main home and retrieve the paintings hidden in the attic generations ago. Sell them and use the money to buy an empty lot in a completely different world.

Use your remaining money to build a small underground bunker. You can now never leave your bunker or risk immediate death.

You make your income by writing books under your new name. Oh, didn't I mention that? You changed your name to avoid detection. Your children may carry this new fake last name or your partner's.

Gen 8: Part of Your World

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Outgoing, Geek

Career: Social Media

All you knew was the bunker and it's not that you hated it, you just wanted a bit more. You're basically the little mermaid, except you don't get to be a mermaid. You just get a bunker you can never leave and a desperate yearning to explore the outside world.

Your outlet is the internet. From a young age you loved using it to play video games and make friends. As a teen you began to make videos and fostered a community online. Will you finally take your place in the world or remain hidden underground?

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Media Production and Video Gaming Skills

Complete the Social Media Career.

You're never allowed to leave the underground bunker until you're a teen.

You aren't allowed to go to school. Instead you play video games and use your computer for outside interaction.

As a teen you start developing your online presence by posting on social media and making videos on the video station.

You are only allowed to move out of the household once your parent dies and you have enough money in reserves to buy a furnished home.

Gen 9: Natural Born Performer

Traits: Gloomy, Unflirty, Adventurous

Career: Entertainment (Comedy Branch)

Due to your parent's fame, it was always expected you would follow in their footsteps. While a bit more gloomy than most, you are happiest when you make others laugh. So you join the Entertainer Career where you flourish as a comedian. You're also a bit unlucky in love. Will the family name's fame and your own notoriety keep you from finding true love or are you destined to a lifetime of gold diggers and one night stands?

Goals

Complete the Entertainer Career (Comedy Branch).

Reach level 10 of the Comedy and Rock Climbing skills.

Complete Serial Romantic Aspiration

Have four children.

Die suddenly and *mysteriously* in your adulthood.

Gen 10: A Grand Finale

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Ambitious, Perfectionist

Career: Actor

After losing your parents at a very young age, you and your siblings were sent to live with some distant relatives you didn't even know about. While you and your siblings are all very different and you bicker plenty, you always stick together.

After learning you are a descendant of some of the most famous and infamous sims in history, you are determined to meet and surpass their achievements. Will you come out on top or have you flown too close to the sun?

Goals

Complete the Actor Career

Achieve level 10 of 10 skills of your choosing.

Become a Global Superstar.

Get a star on Starlight Boulevard.

Throughout your lifetime you must go on vacation to every house you lived in throughout all previous 9 generations. Oh, and your three other siblings need to come along too. Think of it as Narnia meets It. Also make sure to steal something from each of the houses as a souvenir and display it proudly in your own home.

After you've completed all the things above, get turned into a vampire and choose to end your mortal legacy here... or start a whole new type all together.

Thank you so much for indulging me in this insanity. While I haven't played through any of these generations myself as of yet, I look forward to see the chaos and cuteness possible in The Sims.

Happy simming!

V

[poptod]

jiāoqiǎnyánshēn (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: jiāoqiǎnyánshēn (chinese, v.) - to have a deep and intimate conversation with a stranger.

Notes: for @hideamnos​! a bit longer than my last couple of fics so I hope you don’t mind. the strange city happenings are all things I’ve seen in San Fran. As always, gender neutral. Word Count: 2.6k

Rain falls down from the sky in great sheets, battering down at your umbrella so harshly that you have to tuck it away to avoid flying off. Wind whips at your hair, biting at your exposed skin, pushing you to seek some sort of shelter, any shelter, from the fall-winter weather.

Nowhere is open. It has to be around midnight – you can't be bothered to check your phone, considering the last time you used it it was on 5% battery. The only light you can really see is the one near the train station, and with that singular sliver of hope, you run off in that direction. With the wind at your back, something finally goes right for you.

In the fluorescent light another man sits, skin that you assumed would've been dark in any other light paled in the station lights. The dull buzzing you usually hear is gone, beaten out by the rain, pounding harsh against the flimsy rooftop. With shaking hands you sit on the bench, curling up into a ball as though that would keep you warmer.

You won't deny that New York City has some strange folks – it's much like that in many other cities, though New York has to be the worst case you've seen of it. There was one point where a long line of monks, numbering somewhere into the fifties, walked down the sidewalk chanting some language you couldn't understand. This one can't be the strangest occurrence, though it is a little peculiar. His clothes are too nice to be a costume but it can't be anything else; a man wearing ancient Egyptian garb, donned entirely in gold and bearing a crown that looked far too heavy for his head. He's standing, carrying a tablet at his side as he stares off into the ink black of the city's night.

When it begins to hail he looks up at the sky, a calmness in his movement that you hardly ever see. Turning back down to the ground, he steps further inside the safety of the train stop, sitting down on the bench beside you.

"Come here often?" He asks in a humorous tone, a British accent shocking you mildly. With a chuckle and a wide smile, you shake your head, mumbling a small 'no.'

When he turns to once again stare at the empty railroad tracks, you let yourself examine him, his bone structure, the way his skin rests on his face – all very middle eastern, probably Arabic or Egyptian, or a mix of the two. It's becoming a bad habit at this point, staring at people's facial structure. Despite the fact that it'd probably make people uncomfortable if they knew you were doing it, it's good practice for you, what with your attempts to become a forensic pathologist. He's pretty, you note that as well – soft skin, sharp jawline, sweet eyes, pink lips – all leading to you blushing and looking away when he notices your stare.

"You're curious, aren't you?" He says in a quiet voice, but you can tell he doesn't mind your intrigue in him.

"Well... yes, but I'm used to not figuring out why people do strange things," you say, recalling the fifty monks and the one woman wearing only dog leashes as clothes. Your comment earns you a tiny smile from him.

"My name is.. Ahk," he says, removing his hand from the many folds of his clothes, holding it out for you to shake. You do so, noting nice fingernails and a firm grip.

"I'm (Y/N)," you respond, releasing his hand.

"I'm from the Natural History Museum, here in New York. The Egyptian exhibit," he says, and for a moment you wonder what the hell he's talking about, before remembering they created a new exhibit recently. Some sort of attempt to 'bring history to life' by hiring actors.

"Oh, you're the actor playing that boy king," you say in recognition, secretly proud that you remembered that.

"He's... he's not really a boy," he laughs sweet, a wide grin and crinkles around the eye – you can't help but continue noting how handsome this man is.

"How old is he then?" You ask, scooting closer in a fashion that made sure he wouldn't recognize what you were doing. This was too good of a chance to lose so suddenly.

"I – um, he died when he was around seventeen," he stutters out, blushing when you both know that's still a very young age for a king. "But – but he would've... grown up."

"All of us would've grown up. Doesn't mean that fellow is 4,000 years old now," you snort.

"Yeah..." he chuckles nervously, "right."

"Are you interested in Egypt or.. is it more of just a job for you? It seems interesting nonetheless," you say, leaning in. Stories have always been a staple of your life, the woes people go through and the accomplishments of humanity – everyone has something interesting about them.

"I'm actually from Egypt," he says, confirming what you'd deduced earlier. "It's a bit like returning to my childhood. I.. um, I lost my parents at a pretty early age, so it's a little difficult sometimes, since my job sort of.. reminds me of that part of myself, but um – I, uh, I still enjoy it."

"I understand. I lost my father recently," you say in a soft voice, your gaze drifting to the hail covered cement as you recall your father. He'd always been much nicer and closer to you than your mother. "It must be difficult. It's great that you've been able to enjoy yourself, though. When did you leave Egypt?"

"... in my twenties," he says after blipping out for a moment, which only makes your sentiment for him warmer – maybe you have a thing for airheads. "I left to go to Cambridge."

"Really? Wow, that's a nice school," you say with a sigh, already shuddering just imagining how expensive it had to be. Not even factoring in the fact that University in itself can be expensive, Ahk is Egyptian and had to be a foreign exchange student, which only ups the price.

"Yeah, I had a mildly pleasant time there," he chuckles, and you laugh as well – you wonder for a moment if you could manage to get his number.

"Here's another question for you, if you don't mind my asking," you say before being promptly interrupted by him.

"Only if I can ask you a question after."

With a sheepish smile you nod, realizing you've been bombarding him with question after question, and leaving him little time to figure out anything about you. He adjusts himself in his seat, and waits patiently for your query.

"Why are you at a train station in the middle of the night wearing your work clothes?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he laughs, but proceeds to answer anyway. "A couple friends and I went out for fun since we weren't actually working, we, uh, we don't work on Tuesdays and weekends, but we do rehearsals and such on Tuesdays so it's... technically work? Anyway, we went out, had some fun, caused several statues to come to life and then we got separated because they got arrested for disturbing the peace, but I managed to escape, ever the lucky one –" you laugh when he says that as though it's a monumental accomplishment, "but I need to get back to the Museum before dawn.. my clothes, and all that. I don't have an automobile, so... train."

"Sounds like a hell of an evening," you say with a laugh, wondering what other hectic things this man could be up to.

He proceeds to ask you the same question, 'what are you doing at a train station at midnight,' but it doesn't process in your head when you realize he said he caused several statues to come to life. He had to be joking, but he didn't mention it, which he definitely should've since it's a very confusing and worrying statement to make.

"(Y/N)? Are you alright?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry," you rush out, registering he's been waving his hand in front of your face. He backs away when you finally react, though he continues to look worried, and asks you if you're alright. "I'm fine, I just.. remembered I haven't had dinner and I need to plan that when I get home."

"Oh, that's not good. Definitely eat something. But, uh, as I was saying..." you perk up again, "what are you doing here?"

"That's – that's a funny story, actually. I was off at an art exhibit, or at least I was planning on going to it, and it was a pretty late night one," you look down at your phone, which is now dead, "it was supposed to go till around 1 AM, not sure what time it is now but – I was, I was stopped at the door because, as it turns out, I had the wrong address. I didn't know that at the time, though, so I kept insisting I wanted to go inside. I sort of thought they might've been discriminating against me but I digress. I finally got inside, turns out I actually was at the wrong place. I'm honestly not sure what kind of party I walked into, but it was.. really odd. Decided to stay because it began to rain, but then somebody started stripping and so did everyone else and I decided it was time to get out, as many people would decide. I left the building incredibly disoriented and a little drunk, got a bit lost, and then the rain picked up and I couldn't see a thing. Eventually found my way here."

"That sounds a lot more exciting than my evening," he says after giving your spiel a moment to set in.

"Yes, well, at least no one got arrested. To my knowledge."

"Right," he laughs, looking down at the floor when you meet his eye. As his laughter fades he tucks in his lip, biting and discreetly rolling his tongue over the top lip, making your heart stutter in your chest.

"Hey, do you know where we are? I might be able to drive you back to the museum," you offer, something you can immediately tell was the right move to make. He sits up a little straighter, a spark of hope in his eye.

"Would you do that? That'd be wonderful, really. I'll die if I don't get back in time," he says with wide eyes, turning to you like you've just become best friends. You giggle and nod your head, thinking about the many strange things this man has said, and wondering if he has always been so different from others.

Unfortunately, neither you nor Ahk have much of an idea as to where you are, so you turn to the maps. Two of them sit on either side of the small rest area, illuminated by the pale light and protected behind glass. There's a marker telling you where you are, and while Ahk is absolutely horrible at reading the map, you manage to pinpoint where you stand.

"It's a good thing you're smarter than I am," he comments as the two of you head off, trying your best to stay out of the hail.

"I don't think I am. I think I've just lived here a while," you say, ducking beneath the overhang of a building roof. "You start to recognize patterns and such the longer you stare at things."

"Yes, I've..." he looks to you as though you're suddenly precious, "I've noticed. I used to look at the stars quite a bit when I was younger."

After going through both sopping rain and biting hail, the two of you are exhausted by the time you reach your car. You hadn't driven it to the function (it would've been much easier to find had you done that, but you didn't) and you hadn't left it at home either, but you distinctly remembered leaving it in an underground parking lot. The reasons as to your decision to leave it there are unimportant, and Ahk does not ask. Painted an alarming shade of red, your car was a gift from an eccentric aunt, and though it's tight to fit more than two people in there, the two of you manage.

Throughout the evening you've noticed things that are 'off' about him – the way he tells stories, how he recalls memories, his choice of words, his life in general, but sitting in the car with him has to be the strangest thing that's happened to you. It doesn't feel as though he's ever even been in a car, mesmerized by the blinking lights and the soft radio that comes from the surround sound system you have. So it's a fact in your mind – there's something about him that isn't entirely true, that isn't wholly normal, and the idea excites you just as much as it terrifies you. Maybe he's a prince. Maybe he's a murderer. You don't know, but he keeps up the happy energy that seems ever present in his company all throughout the ride.

Large lights dug into the ground shine bright onto the front of the museum, showing off the pillars and carvings and, of course, the ever-changing advertisement posters. The hail has lightened back into rain, though it's still freezing and biting when you walk him up the entrance. Your legs slow in the cold, sore to move and making your whole journey up the many steps just a little more difficult, but Ahk doesn't seem bothered by it. It's another thing that strikes you as unusual – he hasn't complained of the cold, or shown any of its effects at any point. His clothes only add to your confusion, as they're definitely suited towards warm, Egyptian weather, not hail and sleet.

"I want to thank you again for driving me here. I am indebted to you," he says with a small bow once the two of you are safe underneath the portico. Inside, all the lights are on, and it looks as though most of the actors inside are still in their costumes.

"It's not a big deal," you insist. "I'm happy to help."

"Still, you're very kind," he says, taking your hands in his, a sincere smile on his face.

"I, uh –" you stammer, blushing from the contact. "I enjoyed our conversations. Is... do you, um... is there any way I can, uh, contact you?"

He halts, and for a moment you think you misread the signals – maybe he isn't as interested in you as you thought, and the idea of that alone puts an anchor in your chest.

"I don't have any phones," he says, a sentence that sounds wrong but is technically correct, "but I'm here pretty much every night. I'm very dedicated to my job." He winks, and you can't help but smile.

"Then I hope I'll see you again, Ahk," you say softly, biting at your lip as your nervousness begins to get at you.

"I hope to see you again as well."

With that he leaves you starstruck, already dreaming of when you'll see him again.

[pedros-mustache-main]

mutuals as historical buildings??

now that’s what i’m talking about!!!!

@archaicmusings: the acropolis of athens, athens, greece.

i mean? duh? did you expect anything different? of course cal with her interest in classics history would be one of the most recognizable buildings of the classics age! now, don’t ask me what the heck this building was for because i don’t know. that is not my side of history, friends, and i’m smart enough to admit that.

anyways, can’t you just see cal leading a tour around the building?! she would absolutely be wearing socks and sandals and that makes me love her more. 

 @almightygwil: little red schoolhouse, farmington, maine.

this is more of a concept of buildings than a specific building, but the one pictured above (built in 1852) is pretty spot on in terms of the building(s) i would choose for ellie. 

when i think of ellie, i think of little house on prairie. i think of one room schoolhouses and lots of kids under the tutelage of one teacher. essentially, when i think of ellie, i think of the historical life i would kill to live in the mid-to-late nineteenth century (if things didn’t suck for so many people back then). ellie is warm and absolutely gives great hugs (even if i’ve need received one from her) and i would love to be her student in one of these schools. 

@im-an-adult-ish: wrigley field, chicago, illinois. 

do i know anything about baseball? barely. do i know about the significance of wrigley field? again, not really. 

what i do know is baseball is really important to meredith and so is wrigley field. i mean, her dog is named after it so that’s some indication of its importance. i do think that something about wrigley field screams “all american” and meredith is a very all-american girl (in the best possible way). 

@ineloqueent: yerkes observatory, williams bay, wisconsin. 

according to the internet, the yerkes observatory was “the birthplace of modern astrophysics” in 1892 when it was founded. i don’t know if that holds water, but i do know that tina loves stars and space and looking at stars in space. of all the other observatories i was looking at, i liked this one the most because, while it serves a specific function, it also is architecturally beautiful. it’s really european in feel (especially for being in wisconsin of all places) and we love our european tina!!! anyway, the combined natures of science meeting european architecture was what made me say, “yeah tina would be this building.” 

@dancingdiscofloof: palacio de cristal, madrid, spain.

the first place on our list that i’ve been to irl!

i had absolutely no idea where we were going when we started the trek from madrid’s palace to this crystal palace. really, i was just walking and trying not to cry ‘cause i’d only eaten bread and cheese for a week. but then! out of the blue! this beautiful crystal palace in the middle of a park. also ducks!

this building reminds me of rove for two reasons: it’s classic, and rove is classic. it’s also modern, and rove is also modern. from what i can gather, the crystal palace operates slightly like a museum. different art exhibits have been housed in the building from time to time. (when i was there, the sculptures inside were these weird, like, sandstone naked people?? idk what that was about) 

anyway, rove kinda reminds me of a museum or at least a very classy museum tour-guide.

@gwiilymslee: le mont saint michel, normandy, france.

look at that! it’s like freaking tangled! america could never!!!

all freaking out aside, audrey is absolutely a princess who deserves not only her own castle, but her own castle on an island. i think mont-saint-michel truly has this otherworldly feel to it, like something out of a novel or a movie. audrey gives me those same vibes.

@joemazzmatazz: san bernadino alle ossa, milan, italy.

another place on our list i’ve been to irl! i was in italy (among other countries) last year, and i randomly found this chapel nearby the milan cathedral. there are bones and skeletons of (supposed) plague victims decorating the very cramped room, and let me tell you, it was one of the weirder experiences of my life sitting in that room. 

i chose this for regan because, while i could have gone for the quintessential 80s punk scene and that would have fit just fine, i also think regan is a blend of the macabre and the aesthetic if that makes sense? like she’s one of those people who can really pull off the edgy, grunge vibe while also maintaining class and sophistication. that’s the general feeling i got from this chapel when i was there, so i thought it fit. 

@deacyblues: the flatiron building, new york, new york.

pearl will never not scream early 20th century to me. the flatiron building was built in 1902 and is typically seen as a landmark of the rapid growth of new york city, as well as the development of architecture in the united states. 

anyway, to me the flatiron building is iconic of the early 1920s, and so is pearl. the building has some european feel to it, too, with the way the faces of each side are carved, and pearl often speaks with this blend of american/british vernacular. really, i think what i’m trying to say is pearl reminds me of transatlantic movie-stars, and so does the flatiron building.

@six-bloodyminutes: the guggenheim, new york, new york.

there are two sides to mo. when i first met her, i was like, “huh, this girl is pretty put together. she seems like she knows what’s going on.” then i got to know her more and i thought, “oh wait. she, in fact, does not know what’s going on.” 

the geggenheim reminds me of mo because, from the exterior, it’s sleek and classic, but also unique. it makes you want to take a closer look. on the inside, it’s full of modern art that makes zero sense whatsoever. mo is much the same: put together on the outside, but on the inside, she’s full of surprises, absolutely delightful in her exuberance, and a joy to get to know better. also: i feel like if she were a staircase, she’d be the staircase inside of the guggenheim as well. 

@hijackmy-heart: casa mila, barcalona, spain.

nat is fun. like she makes me laugh a lot and she’s witty (in two languages!!) and she absolutely knows how to have a good time. much like this really strange looking building. there’s a certain whimsy to nat that i feel like this building evokes, too. all in all, 10/10 building, 10/10 person.

@kiwi-hardy: bishop’s castle, rye, colorado.

the last place on the list that i’ve been too irl! the story of bishop’s castle is strange: essentially this man named jim bishop bought land in c.o. for $450 in the 60′s, and he has been handcrafting this massive stone castle ever since. there have been legal battles (over the stones used themselves and over road signs and who controls the castle in the event of jim’s death) but let me tell you one thing: that castle is not built to code whatsoever. i was afraid for my life.

i feel like nothing captures the chaos of leah as much as the house with a fire-breathing dragon on one side, a gift shop on another, and spray painted signs all over the property that say many things but particularly “enter at your own risk”

[fortunebuoyed]

Daniel/ @sittimoranimiinterfectorem‘s Armand, mention of past Claudmand, 3.5k, beta read.

The music chasing after his fleeing feet paints Armand an altogether joyous thing. As he dances through the corridor, its high windows setting the streetlights to illuminate his hair like a blaze, the Vampire seems more a child than Daniel has ever seen him. Meandering after him, Daniel is led past a dozen eras, the Caliphate blurring into the Romanesque only a doorway apart, past a hallway offering glimpses of Velazquez and Goya standing at odds across from one another. This Spanish gallery offers a myriad of delights, if the pair have the time and inclination to discover them.

There are better museums in Spain, though. The terrible pair had not traveled so far just to settle on a speck of locked up art for its own sake. All that matters tonight is a single painting tucked away somewhere in a corner of the Renaissance exhibit. Peering again at the leader of their expedition, Daniel realizes too late that Armand has been talking, babbling about the piece they now seek. Words flicker through his pounding head, ‘furs’ and ‘silks’ and every decadent luxury that is a dozen lifetimes removed from Autumn 1982. Pulling his faded denim tighter around his frame, the mortal fishes in his pocket for the painkillers that will banish the previous night from the present..

The headaches come so often of late, spurred by a poor diet and endless adventures across his nights. In fact, the artisan of his migraines proceeds with an airy laugh through the empty gallery, offering a little spin of delight. These games always bring him joy. The sound of his laugh echoes inside Daniel’s beleaguered skull as he takes the pills dry. The things he does for love.

Armand vanishes through a doorway in a flash, before his name can properly form on the other’s lips. He calls it regardless, stopping adjacent to the path that had dragged the vampire away from him. “Armand--”

“I’ll catch up,” comes the reply. Violet eyes raise to study the placard beside him -- Romanticism. The soft lines and endless layers of the style seem ill-suited to the artist’s tastes, but Daniel proves grateful for the chance to let the pills percolate in his bloodstream anyway. Carelessly, he hounds the corridor for an out, ever obedient to the directions the sweet-faced woman at the desk offered him. Twenty minutes to closing, she advised, Castilian accent rounded out with matronly care. The words had chased him, Armand already tugging him along on their great quest.

As she had said, the Renaissance collection stood to the left of the endless stroll, nestled into the furthest corner of the first floor. He cannot fault the layout. The collection is worth the wait. His steps echo across the parquet flooring, shadow looming across the pale marble figure that stands guard over the paintings lining the wall. Harsh shadows and demure womanhood paint a fine enough contrast to soothe his aches. Snippets of frescos hang liberated above his head. He thinks, it is a pity Armand did not follow. Whether he feels at home or not doesn’t much matter. The exhibit is a feast for the senses, the kind that Armand’s breed so adores.

The boy ancient has a wall to himself, just as promised, his bare ass peeking out from between a silk-draped divan and the vibrant fur of some golden beast. The modern Narcissus stares spellbound into the mirror set before him, reflecting features that have remained unchanged in the long centuries since. Marius was -- is? -- a master of his craft, and the appearance is so accurate as to set the human desperate to touch the canvas, as if there will be flesh against his touch rather than pigment. 

He is in love with himself, Daniel decides, studying the awed expression that stares back from the mirror. Scoffing, he digs his fists into the pockets of his jeans, fleeing the rooms in totality. There is nothing left in the display to compare, and besides, their twenty minutes is almost up. If Armand is to discover this portrait of his unending youth, then he must be led swiftly to it. He is not, in fact, catching up. Abandoning the Renaissance without a glance towards the neighboring Gothic and Neoclassical rooms, Daniel tells himself that he must still be a little drunk, that the effigies seem too lifelike through the door out to the sculpture garden.

He has grown too accustomed to marble flesh and unsettling gazes. Yes, the statues appear alive to him now, but never in the way that Louis has described. His nails form perfect half-moons around his palms.

Armand’s stillness is so complete that, for the briefest moment, Daniel mistakes him for part of the collection. The redhead has not made it past the first room, stagnant in appraisal of a piece. It’s not like him. The terrible, unmoving moment seems wrong to tread upon, wronger still to permit. Rocking to and fro on his feet, the mortal casts a glance about the collection, looking at the pastel displays of nature and portraiture. Among this ephemeral flood, what can there be to possess his companion so? Slowly, cautiously, he approaches the other. How long has it been since I’ve hesitated with him?

Her dress is carmine, her hair a dark coil of curls braided around the crown of her head. The otherwise pleasant expression stares defiant out towards her audience, night-black eyes fierce despite the distance. Settling beside Armand, he recognizes the style immediately. The former stands there a long, long while, studying her features, his own brushwork. Daniel comes to settle beside him, feeling ceaselessly awkward for intruding. The apparent youth is no longer Narcissus staring into his own abyss. This face is a stranger.

Unnamed Mulatto, the little gold placard reads.

“Who was she?” Daniel whispers.

“They were the last human I fell in love with,” comes the confession, comes the breath catching in Daniel’s throat. He studies her, then the chain of gold around her neck, clutches the locket against his shirt.

“She’s beautiful,” he says, because what else is he meant to say? This dark woman, frightfully made, defiant even in facsimile, gives him little else to go on. There is something discordant in that face which makes him a liar, her soft smile at odds with her sharp stare.

“You should have seen them swordfight.”

“I didn’t think women could do that back then.”

And he's already thinking, what in me will you admire after I am gone? He studies those dark eyes, which seem so lifeless to him, a dark abyss in a sea of white, a grave come to swallow him. She is dead. He knows that as surely as his own name.

“They weren't a woman. But at the same time they were.”

Daniel doesn't understand it. He can't, in the parlance of the era, except that she -- they -- are singular in Armand's eyes. Or perhaps they make a matching set, he and this lost muse. Her warm oval face, offset by the chill of his realizations, seems unfathomably more abhorrent in the ensuing silence. Her mortality is his. It sours in his pit.

He doesn’t recognize Armand’s absence, his searching around for something sharp enough that he could rectify some flaw in the presentation. All Daniel registers is the horrific scraping as the vampire scratches their name into the placard: Claudia di Montoya. The spell breaks. Autumn 1982 rushes back into focus. Inhaling, Daniel discovers that the room is suddenly too hot for him. Sliding out of his jacket, he forces a new purpose into the air.

“Right. So. we have less than ten minutes, if that, before security picks us up, and I have to show you where I finally found your ass in this gallery--”

Bloodless fingers trace the new marks carved into gold, lingering over the syllables of Claudia, brown eyes boring into their own. The hand drops, and Armand drags himself up from the depths of memory. “Alright, Daniel. Lead the way.”

He knows that he must have done so, that they stand studying the canvas depicting a then human boy. He knows that Armand does not react with his commonplace amusement, his rundown of the events leading up to the pieces creation. This is not like Naples, or Prague, or Ontario, where they have found similar depictions of his life as a muse. The most the immortal offers is a slow smile, a hushed “There it is,” and Daniel understands very well what the difference is between Naples, Prague, Ontario, and Leon.

Why are they always named Claudia?

The question hounds him on their escape, down the city streets, into the bar where Daniel carves out a small meal of hot tapas. The two of them remain quiet among the ebb and flow of locals seeking a snack between dinner, and it’s so unlike Armand. It’s unlike Daniel, too, to go without his customary drink. Armand has dragged him around the world so he could be a part of it, but he sits consumed, contemplative. In this walled world of smoke and voices, a dozen languages flowing like wine, Daniel imagines the other a world way. In his own mind, the vampire must still be in another room, far from Venice, long before this bar. She dances up to him, crimson swirling around her ankles as the band plays a waltz through a gilded palace. She’s staring his keeper down like a shark, that awkward smile a threat, and like any proper storybook villainess, she devours her target whole. Skin, blood, curls, and lace, Armand is engulfed into her, a wooden puppet fed into flames. Daniel holds his glass all the tighter. 

That pensive mood fails to pass as they leave. There are no further stops along their walk to whatever passes for home, the rented room in a crumbling piece of ancient architecture. Daniel decides that he is tired of history, though he turns his question over until it is worn smooth.

It is the sole question he can tolerate. It is the only one without a clear or meaningful answer, and if he dares to branch out from it, he’ll be heading straight for bedlam. The overlap of names can mean nothing but coincidence. The golden chain, the choice of words, the melancholy that has settled inside of his jailer, these things carry far greater meaning. Thoughts, and his desperate attempts to block them, consume him so deeply that he hardly notices Armand slipping away when the moon is at his highest. In his absence, Daniel finds little to do but lean against the worn metal lining the balcony and smoke.

Armand returns, but not alone. Like an alchemist, he has gathered his tools, ready to perform some magic on the task he has chosen. He places the late beloved upon the desk with such care, the rags and chemicals he has brought along burning at mortal senses. His paints and brushes are at the ready, and Daniel feels fire build in his chest. Uncaring, the other begins his careful undertaking, hardly needing light to go about his restoration.

Daniel hates it, actually. hates this memento mori lurking under this rented roof, hates that this is all he will be one day. In another hundred years, will Armand point at some ash-haired man in a gallery and say to someone else 'That was Daniel, I loved him very much, he was a fool, but he was beautiful when he was in his right mind' ? His latest cigarette burns too close to his fingers. He drops it, careless, to the streets below, staring at the tiny, irritated mark it has left behind. Nothing is said, but the night grows cold, and his tactical retreat is pyrrhic. There is warmth within, yes, but also the ghost Armand chooses to set between them.

Shutting the door to the world outside, the pair become locked into that harsh company, the spectral Claudia with her hands around her lover’s throat.

Slumping into what passes for his chair, the human passes the next hour in silence, so pointedly ignoring the work that it consumes his every thought. Dexterous digits dance along the desk, seeking oils, seeking brushes, seeking that which will return his dead beloved to him. Daniel’s own hands twitch uselessly against the arms of his seat. Here, he is powerless, less than a thought, less than a long-dead stranger. The silence is broken at last by the devil himself.

“They never believed me, about any of it. I told them everything, Vampires, my past, and Claude always thought I was lying through my teeth. Even faced with proof, they blamed my theatricality and my staff’s skill with stagecraft. It never broke them, the truth, not like others.” Fondness colors his voice in spite of it. For every way in which this person might spite him, his voice is heavy with reverence.

Daniel must ask, in that soft, hesitant voice, “Is that why you never turned them?”

“No.” Armand does not pause as he speaks, a slip of a brush still swirling against the canvas. “They had a life. They loved someone else, their princess, named Haydee. They had children eventually. They had a human life, and I wouldn't take them away from that.”

How gracious, then, for the bloodsucker to show restraint with those that desired it. He’d never done a damn thing for those that actually want anything from him, after all. “Good for them,” Daniel says, and he reaches for his cigarettes, lights one. Standing, he resigns himself to the curiosity that colors his distaste, clears the distance between them to study Armand's undertaking so far. There's so much yellow paint. and he thinks, I am here, and I love you, only you. What does a human life have to offer me? But he simply exhales, silent, as smoke hangs in the air between them.

If he loves himself in death as he did in humanity, then Daniel need only reflect the vampire as clearly and coolly as Marius’ mirror. If he loved another and let them go, then there are no assurances between them, no safety net to catch Daniel as he struggles towards death or immortality. The architect of his salvation could choose to damn him instead, wholly untouched by his plight. He imagines the pitiless creature before him pristine as the white button up clinging to his form, absent of any trace of paint. The palette of Daniel’s desire for him, for everything he is, might never reach him.

Armand must feel the emotions rolling off him, but he ignores it in favor of continuing to fix the painting. The restorers cannot have ruined the original too deeply for as quickly as he rights their wrongs. The whole of his focus narrows to knifepoint over the abyss that had so captured his companion, which remain defiant in the dim of their quarters. Daniel watches her stare blaze to life under Armand's steady hands, gilded and bright. People have always spoken of his own eyes, like violets. Is this what the other likes best, the fire in eyes that give the rest of the world pause?

Once the golden irises are right, the master artist goes to refining the rest. The changes are small, but somehow urgent. Armand moves furiously to make the portrait as it should be, as it was originally. The barest twitch of his fingers transforms the image into something greater. Red curls slip free of the scrunchie that bunches his hair to a low bun against his spine, turning the vampire to a mess as he keeps at his artistic endeavors. 

His lover might have kissed that pallid neck and drawn him from his efforts, were Daniel any more forgiving of this intruder and how Armand forces her into their life.

“She's not smiling anymore,” Daniel notes at last, when the change is finalized. Her face pulls into harmony as her mouth turns to a hard line. “Was that her mood then, or yours now?”

There’s age in the way he sighs, true age. For a moment, Daniel imagines himself catching a glimpse of what Armand should have been, had the chance to grow and dedicate himself to his first talents. Hunched over his workspace, world narrowing to his subject alone, the youth becomes a master. Daniel hates this, too, this thought that would mean his master’s death, nothing other than a historical footnote. He deserves more than that. He deserves more than this momentary obsession that tears at whatever trust the two have rebuilt in the months since Daniel’s return.

“They're not smiling because someone dared to touch their portrait that was not my hands. It's what they would want.”

Those hands dance smoothly across the stolen art, ensuring his vision return to the world. He must not want this ancient Lenore to return from her sepulchre to damn him for the mistakes of other artisans. Dead is dead, the mortal knows, and they are owed nothing. When had Armand last spared a thought for this loved and lost before the museum so rudely reminded him of her existence? She doesn’t belong here, this poorly lit room with yellowed wallpaper, because it is theirs, and she is worth far more than the entire building.

“Mm,” Daniel hums, and doesn't have much else to say. In spite of his mood, there is something riveting in this, actually, watching the master at work. He had been born far too late for the Palazzo, for the golden days when the boy in front of him assisted in his Master’s artistic pursuits. He’s only ever been left with the aftermath of that golden age, the pieces scattered across museum displays and private collections the world over. This should be a great gift, watching his lover keep at his ancient craft. But he's still so bitter about the shape his night has taken.

“What pendant is she wearing?” he asks, once he is properly braced for the possibility that the locket around his neck belongs to a cycle. He had once thought it was his own, a gift passed between lovers that said whatever else his keeper was, he was protective of what counted as his.

The other offers a comfortingly familiar shrug that sets his shoulders colliding with his ears, saying simply, “Some pendant. I don’t know. Perhaps a piece Haydee gave them.”

Daniel relaxes. Comforted, he steps away from their shared obsession, slumps into his chair, snuffs out his cigarette on its upholstered arm and flicks it towards a pile of books. Dragging a hand through his hair, he concedes there exist small mercies in Armand's presence.

He does not know what time passes in the euphoria of that small victory. He keeps time in the fact that it has been long enough for him to get lost in his thoughts, for the night to grow ever smaller. Whether it is minutes or hours later, Armand finishes his first phase of restoration and throws himself into Daniel’s orbit. The former’s body fits perfectly against his, straddling him, pushing him backwards with insistent hands as kisses the warmth from Daniel’s lips. 

“You and Claude are not the same. For one, you love me back. For two, they are long dead. I loved them once, but that love is in the past. I only wish to honor them now by making sure their portrait is in hands that will care for it properly. I'll send it off to the Montoya estate in Sardinia once it's finished being restored.”

The mortal lays there, dispassionate, as he listens to these assertions. and what can he possibly say to that? God, his lover thinks he's jealous. If he compares himself to this fallen woman, it isn't in self-pity -- it is to outdo her, to look at where she failed and he might yet succeed. But he allows Armand to kiss him, kiss his lips cold as marble, and says nothing of how he refuses to be another portrait to be repaired. His mind is made. All that’s left is to make a plan of it.

Armand keeps up the kissing, down to his neck, to play at biting only to merely drag his teeth along pale skin. His hand reaching down to rub Daniel through his pants, falling into a pattern so familiar that it would be boring were it any less fulfilling. He recognizes what Armand thinks, mind gift or no. Perhaps sex will get his mind off of all this.

He lets Armand believe that it will. Lets himself give in, already deciding to make his stand, yet another escape. Tomorrow, perhaps, when the sun is up. Perhaps taking the unfortunate girl with him. It will be cruel, beyond any attempt he’s made in the past, to deprive the vampire of his companionship and a newfound project. It must be done, however, to speak what cannot be conveyed properly in words. There will be a statement in this even if he does fall again, consumed by the need for Armand, for his slender arms and white-hot blood. 

He won't be content to be art.