#i will perhaps translate that post later

[nmoroder]

A collection of Adams from latest works

[grelleswife]

Miri and Rei are all smiles on their excursion together…though a distraught Kazuki appears quite peeved at having to miss out!

1 2

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (34/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The boat that's actually a yacht - and it's just the two of you.

Warnings: fluff, minimal angst, Google translated French, no knowledge of boats

Word Count: 3.9k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: we're back bitches!!! love you. feedback is appreciated!

"What do we need?" you ask, taking a sip of your coffee. "Apart from Kika's spontaneous photos, I've only taken pictures of inanimate objects so far. And the one of you."

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "When Joris and I take photos together, we'll pack a bag of different clothes." When you raise an eyebrow in confusion, Charles purses his lips. "We always take several photos, for several posts. If we don't have time to take new pictures, we always have some in stock that we can use without them looking like old pictures."

"Okay." You put your mug down on the work surface in front of you. "Anything else?"

Your roommate grins. "Your camera."

"Haha." You toss it off with a kitchen towel. "I mean, do you need anything else in the way of props or anything?"

He shakes his head. "Actually, no. Everything you could possibly need for a photo shoot is already on the boat." He nods towards the hallway. "You just need long clothes in case it gets colder later."

You nod. "All right. Then you pack a bag with the things you need and I'll pack one with clothes I can wear if it gets cold later." You walk around the kitchen island towards the hallway. 

"And don't forget your camera." You can even hear the smirk, which is why you give him the middle finger without turning around. 

As you stand in your room, you don't really know what to pack. 

Although it's supposed to be twenty degrees outside - which sounds totally surreal for a day before Christmas - your weather app tells you that it's going to be almost three degrees at night. 

"How long are we staying on the boat?" you shout loudly so that Charles can hear you. You throw a large bag on the bed. 

"No idea," says Charles calmly. When you turn around, he's standing in the doorway. "You and I can leave after the pictures. Or stay there all day. Or the night." He shrugs his shoulders. "There's no time when the boat has to be back in port."

You sigh. "I'm afraid that doesn't help me much." You point to the bag on the bed. "I can't pack my entire closet, Charles. Tell me what to pack." You look at him pleadingly. 

"All right." He enters your bedroom and looks around before reaching for some clothes lying on the floor. "Here, the sweatpants are good. If you want to lie out on the sun bed in the evening, you'll need these." He tosses them to you. You catch them and fold them up to stow them neatly in your bag. "Do you have comfy socks or something?" 

"Ehm, yeah," you say, pulling some out of the pile of clothes Kika left there and tucking them into the side pocket of the bag.

Charles kneels down on the floor and sifts through the pile at your feet. "You'll definitely need a thick sweater. It's going to be pretty windy when we're out at sea." He rummages around in your clothes until he fishes out a black sweater and holds it out to you. "Tada."

The first thing you notice about the sweater is that it's not yours. The black hoodie is too big to be yours. The second thing you notice about it is that it's the sweater Charles gave you the night you went to your favorite place. 

The night Charles showed you his talent on the piano. The night you almost kissed. It feels like it was a lifetime ago. 

You can't tell Charles that you don't want to wear the sweater, even though it's incredibly comfortable. It certainly still smells like Charles, although perhaps not as strongly - after all, he hasn't worn it for days. You don't want to be wrapped up in his scent and be at risk of getting weak. The distance that needs to exist between you is the right thing to do. 

Charles looks at you questioningly from the floor and you realize you've already hesitated too long.

"That - that's not my sweater," you simply say. 

Your friend examines the sweater in his hand. "Really?" he asks, confused, smelling the collar. "But it smells like you."

You shake your head. "That's yours. You - uh - you lent it to me when we went to petits mondes," you explain as he folds the fabric and puts it to one side. 

"Oh. Right." He looks at the sweater before his gaze lands on you again. "You can keep it if you want."

You wave it off. "It's all right. Thanks for letting me borrow it. But it's yours after all, so..." You step nervously from one foot to the other. 

Charles watches you for a moment and then turns away. "All right, then. How about this one then?" He pulls another sweater out of the pile of laundry. This time it's actually yours. It's white, with red stripes on it and the collar reaches up to your chin. You definitely won't catch a cold in this. 

"It's good," you reply with a smile and catch it as he throws it to you. You fold it before putting it in your pocket as well. "What about your clothes? Do you want them in the bag too?" you ask him, hoping that he will take his clothes separately and not infect your clothes with his smell. 

Charles gets up from the floor. "I'll pack my own bag. You still have to pack your camera," he smiles, patting non-existent dust off his pants. "About the trip to the port..." he begins, rubbing the back of his neck. 

You grab your camera bag and stow it next to your clothes in your bag. Hopefully the spare battery is charged. "Hmm?"

"I suggest we take your car and I'll drop you off. Then you won't have to walk far to get to the boat," he explains. "I'll park your car in a side street and then join you. Then we won't be seen together."

You look at him, confused. "Can people just get on your boat like that? Aren't you afraid that some crazy fans will suddenly come out of - I don't know - your cabin?"

Charles has to smile. "Someone will be waiting for you there. They'll let you on the boat."

Embarrassed, you curl your lips into a thin line. Of course there's someone at the docks to make sure no one sneaks onto strangers' boats. "Okay."

You stand opposite each other, undecided, until Charles takes the first step. "I'll just pack my bag and then we can go." Smiling, he disappears from your bedroom. 

While Charles stuffs everything he can find into a bag, you gather some snacks in the kitchen to take with you on the boat. Charles has hinted that there would be a cook on site, but you might not be there for too long, so a proper meal wouldn't be worth it. 

As you prepare some sandwiches and put them in a bag, Charles appears behind you. "Are you ready?" he asks, leaning on the kitchen island. 

"Yep," you reply and place a few small bottles of water next to the sandwiches. When you look at Charles, he grins. "What is it?"

"Nothing." His grin almost reaches his ears. "There's water on the boat too, you know."

You roll your eyes. "I've never been on a boat before." 

Charles raises his eyebrows briefly before shrugging his shoulders. "It's not as special as you make it out to be."

You squint your eyes a little. "Only rich people say that."

He tilts his head. "Do you want to go on the boat or not?"

"Like I said," you start the sentence and grab the snacks, "only if I can steer it once."

Charles reaches for the keys to your Renault. "Don't you dare crash it," he warns you as you walk towards the elevator. He presses the button and a short time later the doors open. "That boat was expensive."

"Don't worry," you try to reassure him. "I'll just hold the wheel firmly and steer straight ahead." You wink at him and step into the elevator. 

Charles has to smile and follows you. "I think I'll only let you take the wheel on the open sea. There's much less risk of you ramming other boats."

"You have a lot of faith in me," you say with mock hurt and put your hand on your chest. 

"I do," he says seriously. "I'd trust you with my life."

-

You walk uncertainly around the various walkways. 

Before you got out of the car, Charles said there would be a man standing in front of his boat to help you find it. You would also have to say a password so that you would be granted access to Charles' boat. 

"For security," he explained. "We don't want everyone to get on the boat."

With your two bags on your shoulders, you walk past a few boats that certainly cost more than you'll ever earn. But nowhere is there a man to signal that you are in the right place. 

There are a few people at the harbor, but no one pays you any attention. They are chatting with friends, frolicking on boats and enjoying the warmth of the sun one last time before the year is over and winter finally sets in. You walk past them with your head down. 

Cautiously and indecisively, you walk on and the boats become yachts on which great parties are sure to take place in summer. They are big and nice and you wonder whether you should google one of the types to find out what price range the yachts of the rich and famous are in. 

You are torn from your thoughts by a man. "Madame? Vous cherchez quelque chose?" are you looking for something? 

Somewhat taken by surprise, you stop. You are standing in front of a large, white yacht. With its two floors, it towers above its neighbors by quite a bit. 

"Uhm," you look at the man uncertainly. "Je cherche le bateau d'un ami," you explain. I'm looking for my friends boat. 

The man raises an eyebrow as if he's wondering what you're doing here. Your uncertainty and searching eyes probably made you stand out immediately. You don't fit in here, that's for sure. 

When the man doesn't answer, you try the password Charles told you. "Chicken?" you ask uncertainly, but when the man smiles at you and reaches for your pockets, you exhale with relief. 

You've found the boat. Thank goodness. 

The man helps you onto the yacht and leads you past the sun bed into the interior, which is much bigger than you imagined, and places your bags on a couch. A couch. On a boat. How crazy. 

"Voulez-vous boire quelque chose?" would you like something to drink? He smiles kindly at you. 

"Non, merci," you thank him and look around. On the floor, next to a couch and a small bar, is the steering wheel, which you hope you'll be able to take the plunge on later. To the right, a staircase leads down to the lower floor, where there are not just one, but three bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen. 

Astonished, you run your fingers over one of the large beds. The fabric is soft and pleasant against your skin and you can almost imagine how comfortable the bed would be if you snuggled up there after a day in the sun. 

"I was worried for a moment that you wouldn't find my boat." 

As you turn around, Charles is standing at the foot of the stairs, watching you. Without further ado, you sit down on the bed behind you. "I was looking for a boat too. Not a castle on the water."

He has to grin. "The boat is still relatively small compared to the ones that dock here in the harbor in summer."

You raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

He takes a step towards you. "Really. I'm the outsider with my little boat. There's nothing under five stories." He bites the inside of his cheek. "How do you like my boat?"

You nod. "Your yacht is really nice." You grin at him and take a look at the bed you're on. "But why do you need so much space at sea?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I usually spend the summer break here with my family. Not all of the time, of course, but when we go out on it, it's quite a few days. And I'll be damned if I'm going to share a bed with Arthur."

You try to suppress your grin, but unfortunately you don't succeed. "Why? Does he kick while he sleeps?"

"No," says Charles, leaning against the bed at a little distance from you. "But he used to steal the blanket in the past and then I had to freeze all night."

You raise an eyebrow. "Couldn't you have just fought for it?"

"Believe me when I tell you I tried several times," he rubs the back of his neck with his hand. "He practically wraps himself up like a burrito and when that happens, you've lost."

"Then I know who I'd never share a bed with," you joke, but Charles looks a little more serious.

"I hope so." Before the mood can turn negative, he smiles at you. "Are you ready? Shall we go out?"

You look at him excitedly. "Oh yes." You jump off the bed and smooth out the creases you've left in the comforter. "How long will it take us to get outside?"

"Not long at all. I think twenty minutes and that's it," he explains, turning to head up the stairs.

When you reach the top, Charles gets behind the wheel. You look at him, confused. "Are you driving the yacht?"

"Yep."

"All the time?"

"Yep." He grins at you. "Except for the time you're at the wheel, of course."

You want to jump up and down with excitement. "And where's the man who let me on the boat?"

Charles presses a few buttons and the display in front of him comes to life. "Thomas? He's left the boat."

"Are we all alone?" you ask uncertainly and sit down on the couch. "I thought you still had a chef on board?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "You brought some snacks with you. Thomas also packed some food in the fridge in case you and I want to cook something later."

You purse your lips. You would spend the whole day on the water with Charles. Alone. And you would take pictures of him, which he would post on his official Instagram profile. And you would cook in the small kitchen in the basement. The distance you want to maintain between you seems to be shrinking somehow. 

"You're not going out on the boat with me to kill me and get rid of me discreetly, are you?" you ask him jokingly. 

"Believe me. If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it on our first day," he grins and puts his hands on the steering wheel. "Are you ready?" Charles asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. His green eyes sparkle in the sunlight and small dimples form in his cheeks as he looks at you. 

Gorgeous. 

You smile back. "I'm ready, captain."

He winks at you. "Let's go then."

Concentrating, Charles steers his yacht out of the harbor between the other boats. The rocking is surprisingly pleasant and not as bad as you expected, so you lie down on the couch and wait until you arrive at your destination. Charles remains silent for a while, so you don't say anything either, worried about disturbing his concentration, but while he steers the boat, you start working on your camera settings and think about which one would be best for your shoot. 

After twenty minutes, the yacht comes to a halt and Charles turns to you. "Alright."

Excitedly, you get up from the couch and follow him outside to the sun bed you had your eye on when you boarded. As you look around, you are amazed. You can still see the land in the distance, but you are so far out that it almost merges with the horizon. Although there is a sea breeze blowing around you, the sun is so bright that you don't freeze. It's reflected on the clear water and you want to put on a bikini and jump in. 

Charles seems to notice your gaze. "Next summer, I'll take you with me and then you can swim and sunbathe here until you get sunburnt."

You smile at him. "I'll gladly take you up on that offer." You glance back inside. "Do you need to get changed or are we going to start straight away?"

Charles snaps his fingers once before pulling his shirt over his head and disappearing towards the interior. You try not to stare after him and you ignore how wide his back is and how his muscles move under his skin as he puts his shirt down on the couch. He opens his bag and pulls out a white shirt. When he turns back to you, you turn away quickly, hoping he hasn't noticed you watching him. 

"Ready when you are."

Charles changes clothes more often than you can imagine. He has different outfits ready for every pose and every location on his yacht, which he slips into in order to take the best possible picture. In between, you take a sandwich break on the sun bed and enjoy the warm sun on your skin before getting back to work. 

It doesnt take long for you to figure that Charles is the perfect man for the job. He's so easy to work with, even though he jokes most of the time and you surely have more photos of him looking funny than serious. But you enjoy it the way it is. Happy, free, without a care in the world.

When you have finished and Charles is happy with the photos you took, he suggests going home in the evening. You nod and sit down on the couch. 

When he looks at you expectantly, you raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What is it?"

"I thought you wanted to steer the boat." In his hand, he holds a bandana that he ties around his head to control his hair, which is messy from the constant changing of clothes.

You widen your eyes. "I thought you were messing with me."

He furrows his eyebrows. "Why would I do that? There's nothing and no one here that you can put at risk. And you won't be steering for long." He leans against the seat in front of the wheel. "If you want, the seat is yours."

Excited, you get up from the couch and get behind the wheel. Charles explains everything to you and you try to concentrate on his words as best you can, but he is so close to you that his scent of perfume, a little sweat and him envelops you. 

With his help, the boat sets off and you jump up and down on the seat with joy. Your hair is blowing around your head and it's so loud that you almost scream. "Oh my God! How fucking awesome is that?" You don't even notice that you've let go of the steering wheel.

"Hands on the wheel, you crazy woman!" laughs Charles, holding the wheel tightly. As you look at him, you see a spark of the Charles you know. The Charles that existed before yesterday. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" you apologize and put your hands back on the wheel. "Oh my God! Can you take a picture of me?" 

Charles takes two steps back and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. "Smile, please."

You grin so wide it almost hurts, but you can't stop. It seems so unbelievable that you are on a yacht and even get to steer it. 

You smile at Charles, tears stinging your eyes. A few days ago, you were almost homeless, all alone and on your own. There aren't enough words in the world to describe how grateful you are for the Monegasque who took you in. Who took you into his heart without hesitation. Who was there for you without batting an eyelid.

Fuck, you love him. And nothing in the world will ever change that.

"Thank you."

He lowers his cell phone. "For what?"

A tear escapes your eye and rolls down your cheek. "For everything." 

Charles takes a step towards you and you would love to take him in your arms and never let him go again. But he stops an arm's length away from you and smiles at you. "I would do anything for you."

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, so you avert your gaze and look ahead again. Monaco is getting closer, but you would prefer to stay here. On the yacht and on the sea. You don't want to go back to reality yet - not if you can be here with Charles. The way it was before.

"I don't want to go back yet," he voices your thoughts and puts a hand on the wheel. When you look at him, he smiles a little brokenly. "I don't want to go back yet because I'm afraid that things won't be the same between you and me. That I'll lose you. And I don't want that." 

His words hit you so hard that you can't breathe. You would love to take him in your arms and kiss him and reassure him that you belong to him like the sand belongs to the sea, but that's not the way Charles means it. 

But you don't care how Charles means it. You belong to him - no matter which way.

"Then let's not go back," you suggest. "We - we can stay here and we won't go back until tomorrow."

Charles' smile looks forced. "And then?"

"Then we'll go home." You bite the inside of your cheek and purse your lips. "To our home."

Charles exhales in relief, as if the elephant that had been standing on his chest had finally gotten off of him. As if he had been underwater for too long and could now take his first breath. He would love to stay here forever, with you, far away from the reality of all the pressure he is under. 

As you smile at him, the pressure seems to fall off him. As if he has finally reached his destination, wherever that may be. Like he's home. 

Fuck, he'd do anything for you if you just asked him to.

He motions for you to let him into the seat, and as you swap places, he brings the yacht to a halt. As the engine shuts down, he slides off the seat and turns to face you. 

"Have you ever gotten drunk on a boat before?"

[filurig]

i realise i havent actually posted this guy until now here? FKJDSKJF but this guy is rauk (literal translation of his name, things have happened so im probs gonna make his "real" name at some point...), klint's older brother (second image is from may...) more about him under the cut..

rauk is well regarded in Ehrumnen, and is certainly a popular young stag among women during their spring festivals. he does participate and many pairs of hinds show interest in him, but strangely, despite approaching his thirties, he has not shown much interest in fathering any fawns with them. he hasn't even found a "year-partner", aka another bonded male, and still sticks around his birth family and younger brother, who is much less popular than he.

little does anyone know that he has actually found a year-partner in gaerneh , although due to the wishes of the latter they generally keep that between themselves. truthfully, rauk just can't be bothered with the prospect of fathering - even though in Ehrumneh culture the father only plays a sporadic role in the fawn's lives. he isn't especially attracted to hinds, even during peak spring when hormones should be inclining him to, and he has yet to find a pair of hinds that he feels close enough with to consider it with. and he's in no rush, either - to him, it will happen when it happens, and even if it doesn't, he has gaerneh and his family.

rauk as you can gather is pretty laid back, almost a little too much according to some - and seems surprisingly unconcerned with upholding tradition, despite looking like he would be the prime candidate to. truthfully, a part of him sort of wants to run away from it all sometimes. perhaps his carefree attitude towards all that stuff comes from the fact that a lot of people dont bother questioning him about it - they assume he will fall into place sooner or later.

[silvergreenseraphim]

“Obedient Soldier”

[A phrase uttered by Sephiroth in Scene 07-06. As this line indicates, Sephiroth in BC (Before Crisis) was regularly obedient to orders, such as defending the Mako canon and protecting Hojo. Therefore, Shinra valued the worth of Sephiroth's loyalty and treated him like a hero.]

-Keyword Collection, CC Complete Guide, p. 285

“Until then, I will be an obedient soldier of Shinra…”

He uses the term “従順な“ which is described above. He willfully submits himself to Shinra’s authority regularly in spite of inner turmoil and reluctance much of the time.

I see more of this with every update in The First Soldier. Sephiroth calls it his only job. You would say then “Yes, and he is paid for it and treated like a hero! That is why he obeys!”

First. Where is this interest in money? And who is to say he receives it? He was raised and trained by Shinra from his boyhood days. His lack of interest in money is said clearly.

Angeal might have partially misjudged him for it too in chapter one of episode 2 when Bachman asked Sephiroth’s opinion on the situation in Robio:

Sephiroth: “Search for the missing troops. Don’t interfere with the filming. Anything else is not my job.”

Angeal: “You’re a stingy guy.”

Sephiroth: “What?”

Angeal: ”There’s no harm in experiencing things. Don’t just consider profit gain and loss.”

Sephiroth: “That’s not the reason.”

Angeal: “Then tell me what it is.”

Sephiroth: “….”

(Japanese translation) (*Note about the nuance here at the bottom of the post!)

There is another reason Sephiroth focuses so narrowly on his job but he does not want to state it. He does not want to explain why he focuses on nothing else. Why?

His disinterest in money itself was more obviously stated in episode one:

Matt: “We'll have to talk about the distribution of the reward money… fortunately, he (Sephiroth) doesn't seem to care about money.”

Money is not the reason for Sephiroth’s loyalty to Shinra then. You might then say it’s because they treated him as a hero! Like as it was said in the Guide, they valued his loyalty and dealt with him as a hero. But where is it stated that Sephiroth wants that either? No, it is the opposite.

Sephiroth: ”I don’t want to be a hero. I want to live a normal life…”

Glenn: “What did you say?”

Sephiroth: “Nothing. It’s never going to happen.”

But Sephiroth! Since you are a hero, Shinra must spoil you and treat you well? They must give you so much! Is that why you stay with that defeated resignation?

Perhaps you have authority and respect within the military! The fandom has always called him the General….

Ignore that you see the cameras he hates, the false propaganda he knows about, his low sense of self-worth, how he sees himself as a cyborg killer that does not deserve friends. He never experienced the sensation of joy and fun with others until he met Glenn’s team. Ignore that he was trained to be afraid and heartless. Forget that he has memories of Hojo’s pain and training.

And authority?

“Very sorry. We cannot follow orders from others outside of the normal chain of command.”

These are just infantrymen.

Sephiroth’s ability to refuse orders in Crisis Core was also an unofficial privilege that existed under Lazard’s generous command. If it were Heidegger, no privilege like that would have existed and Sephiroth would have had to kill Genesis and Angeal in Banora. Lazard, a man already disloyal to Shinra, had to be in command for that point in Crisis Core to exist.

“Also, there may or may not be a right to veto orders...It seems to be just unofficial though..”

-Kunsel to Zack, CC DMW flashback

Angeal Hewley is also made team leader over “Shinra’s hero” in episode 2 of The First Soldier. Years later Angeal still gives orders to Sephiroth that the hero follows. Sephiroth’s authority inside Shinra is not like a general or even a captain.

Not that then. Perhaps you are living a lavish lifestyle, hero?

….ah, but do I even need to explain why this one is nonsense when this boy was isolated and brought up by Hojo?

”Mom? Why are you in my bedroom?”

-Sephiroth, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

A lab cell near to where Aerith and Ifalna were held as prisoners?

“I’ve never had many opportunities to interact with people.”

-Sephiroth, chapter five, The First Soldier Episode 1, Japanese.

He would not have in the environment Hojo gave him.

“I am a SOLDIER that was raised to stand on the battlefield. SOLDIERs are worthless unless they are strong in body and mind.”

-Sephiroth, chapter five, The First Soldier Episode 1, Japanese.

“You and I grew up in different worlds. The day we understand each other will never come.”

-Sephiroth to Angeal, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

Hojo is who raised him like this! In isolation and cruelty!

“I am the only one who can speak to Professor Hojo freely at any time, who researches the limits of our SOLDIER abilities…”

-Sephiroth to Angeal, chapter one, The First Soldier Episode 2, Japanese.

Did that Halloween event not show us the deeper horror beneath these other horrors? And who they were connected to?

Hojo: “Endure the pain, Sephiroth. You’re not at your limit yet. The more you endure, the more of your hidden strength will awaken.”

Glenn: Hey! Hang in there!

Sephiroth: “I’m sorry. I was suddenly in a lot of pain, but I’m alright now.”

Glenn: “Don’t be so strong!! Rest! Rest! Don’t push yourself so hard just because you’re the team leader!! Just relax!

Sephiroth: “….I’ve never heard anything like that before. It’s just the reverse of what the professor said…”

(Japanese translation)

Who would have ingrained such deep loyalty into the world’s strongest SOLDIER so well other than his father Hojo? Sephiroth does not speak of leaving Shinra until he is close to 25 years. He was shaken when Elfe questioned why he fought and if it was for any reason. He responds to a command from his friend Genesis on immediate instinct.

He is conditioned. That is why he was an obedient soldier to Shinra and why he stayed with them even when he hated his life. He was afraid. Of them and of Hojo!

The First Soldier will only keep showing this. Sephiroth’s friends were his chain to mental stability. When they left and died, he became vulnerable again and Nibelheim was timed just right. How much grief and anger must he have felt learning about how deep the use of his body and mind had gone? Enough to hate Shinra and soon everything.

Shinra is run by greedy pigs who have their dogs and sheep. They have their SOLDIER recruits, their Turks, their Deepground prisoners, their clueless employees. You will find that among these pawns, there are many who try to leave or question the power keeping them in check and that is because Shinra was not so careful enough to condition and lie to them.

They were careful with Sephiroth though because disloyalty from him would be so dangerous. The story shows this well enough.

Out of all of their abused pawns and attack dogs, Sephiroth was the one chosen to be exploited in front of the world and decorated in hero’s ribbons to cover up the scars. He was lied to about the depth of his abuse and given false hope in his two dear friends. He was trying to claw his way to the light and find himself so that he could be a real hero and protect others but there was no hope for such things. His cage was gilded and when he became aware of it, that boy’s heart was filled with sadness and then anger and then hatred.

His life was DESTROYED by Shinra from the start. His loyalty was sown into him mostly by Hojo. This new episode of The First Soldier has brought this truth further to the light and I do not think it was will stop.

Thank you to those who helped me with this post in DMs!

Notes:

*Angeal’s words in chapter one of FS Episode 2 about Sephiroth’s “stinginess” do have a nuance that I do not want to ignore. He can be talking about money gain/loss but also a whole mindset! His words are broadly referring to a narrow-minded and “Scrooge-ish” view of things where there is not much room for anything outside of Sephiroth’s thin focus. That thin focus is Sephiroth’s assignment and the gain of completing it, which could include profit from Angeal’s perspective and would be a reason to complete a mission if we remember his scene with his parents where that is a discussion. The point is to say that Angeal is not only talking about money, but for this post I focused on that aspect of it because of Sephiroth’s response against the entire assumption and his formerly mentioned lack of interest in money.

[nevisiity]

FAMA (408)

Fama Definition: Fama(408) means to be popular or well known, having reputation FAME!!! Personal interpretations of Fama in the houses below!! Please let me know if you relate or care to share anything else! Thx for reading <3 post 1/4 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 1ST HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 1st house is LITERALLY the house of your physical body, how you look, how you are seen by the general public, self image surface level identity. Approach to life, this can also represent early childhood. So, In my own personal interp of this sign I have concluded that girl… YOU ARE THE MAIN CHARACTER. Like BIG star energy, You might have been popular in childhood, if not then you have no problem getting attention. It may come to you naturally, even if you don’t want it…you have it.. And here they come “I never get attention 🥺” PUT. YOURSELF. OUT. THERE. Cause you got it! Don’t be afraid to flaunt it ;) This also reads to me as a natural star, actors, musicians, artists even just big personalities. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 2ND HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 2nd house relates to personal finances, money, mula, green. It also reminds me of the earth…”natural energy” mother nature. Anything green. The second house also contains personal possessions(jewels, cars, houses, etc) and emotions. Fama in the second house gives off “that girl”(IFYKYK) vibes. Natural earthy beauty. Maybe you prefer less makeup and may get complimented more because of that. But a way you can achieve fame is through hard work, getting money and showing off jewels. Showing off cars. Flaunting your wealth may not be a bad thing after all…Kind of Glamorous if you ask me. If I had this placement I would adorn myself in jewels…try a more natural style, you are beautiful just the way you are…enjoy getting that attention.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 3RD HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 3rd house is COMMUNICATION. Writing, speaking, conversing, editing, and translation. Perhaps you are excellent at communicating, Your voice is most likely really nice. Fama here to me indicates a good songwriter…maybe even a poet. You could probably write a nice script as well. Fluency in languages. You can get famous for these skills. Maybe you can even sing! Wouldn’t  surprise me :) Go on and let your voice shine then! 🌟Let your writing speak…you never know who could be listening! If you have this placement and want to write a book..write and publish poetry, music, any of that. Do everyone a favor and WRITE IT or SPEAK IT!! Your words are your superpower. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 4TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 4th house represents family, roots, old age but also physical structures, our homes (houses, real estate). Fama in the 4th house could mean your whole family is popular or well known where you live, especially if it's in a smaller place. Maybe some of you could get famous from where you come from… how you grew up, childhood, etc. This could also mean a family business that could get you fame or recognition. Reminds me of Tabitha Brown and her daughter (Tik Tok). Or you could get famous later in life. Maybe you could create a future of fame for your family. Maybe you could be a famous interior designer as well. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 5TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 5th house rules creativity,(The house of PLEASURE)  hobbies. something you enjoy doing! This can be anything from painting, music, sketching, tattooing, crocheting, any-damn-thing!!  Your hobbies are where you shine. If it puts a smile on your face and a fire in your belly DO IT!! And post it on social media! I didn’t want to mention zodiac signs yet but hun…this is the house of leo…and what is leo known for?? BEING SEEN!!The sun shines bright and you can’t miss it…The attention-getter of all the signs. Just remember to post it online! Especially if you are passionate about it. This is really the all encompassing house. Fama SHINES here. It takes a little work, but not too much..enjoy what  you are doing first though. To add, if you enjoy working with kids, want to start a business having to do with children you are sure to succeed. You could really just do your own thing and shine though.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 6TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆The 6th house represents health, wellness, daily routines and odd jobs. Now FAMA in the 6th house reads to me as a health influencer, Your daily routine will help you shine. Maybe you pretend to have a youtube channel in the mirror, showing your routine. Whether that be skincare, a day in my life, makeup tutorial. Maybe some of you are gym-bros or are really into fitness, maybe you will have a famous social media based on fitness, or healthier meals. You may even be into clean beauty, no real leather, vegan, etc. Your health is your strong suit and maybe people even ask you what they can do to be healthier. Maybe you are more on the fit side and people inquire about this too. You could be really well known personal trainer! Or chef 🧑‍🍳 Reminds me of famous chefs Gordon ramsey and Raechel Ray. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 7TH HOUSE.. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 7th house represents partnerships, beauty, fairness, legalities and even enemies!! If you have FAMA here, You could be a very famous model one day!! Probably very beautiful, whether that's unique or conventional. Besides physical beauty, I feel this also relates to art. I feel we have some amazing artists here. You could also be a great judge, family or relationship type therapist. Just anything ruling beauty and fairness. Maybe you are even a muse for some people. They want to paint you, write about you, etc…this can bring you fame. Famous fashion designer as well, beauty influencer, jewelry maker, etc! 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 8TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 8th house represents taboos, death, debt, other people's resources, sex. I read that it can also rule over legacies and wills! FAMA in the 8th house means you would get very famous doing astrology, tarot, spiritual guidance. Some of you may even be witches and could get popular doing that. Some of you may be into sex work….could get very famous that way! Whether that's stripping, only fans, DOMINATRIX. May be a good accountant or personal financer (idk what the profession would be called sorry).  Some good tarot accounts to look into if you’re interested would be (kino tarot, firefly tarot, lexi the leo, The gem goddess) You remind me of them a bit…

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 9TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆The 9th house rules over philosophy, religion, higher education, I also feel good careers for this asteroid in 9th are psychics, export/import business. Just a search for the truth. You could be a very popular philosopher, this reminds me of all the greek philosophers (socrates, plato, apollodorus of athens, aristotle) Religion! You could get very famous being some type of pastor or spiritual guru. Maybe a very famous, sought after teacher. You could be a travel influencer. Love to learn about different cultures and could get very famous doing that. Very smart people here and that is your starshine. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 10TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 10th house is at the peak of your birth chart, it rules over professional career image, Public image, business relations and career achievements. I feel you could be a very famous business man/woman. You could even own a company one day!! Giving boss energy. The 10th house also rules over positions of power/authority. FAMA here could mean you even start your own business from square 1! From nothing! CEO’s with this placement. Directors, photographers, superintendent, managers. ALL things BOSS. Maybe even popular overseas due to business relations, lavish lifestyle because of riches here. Could be very popular for work ethic. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 11TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 11th house rules over The friendship of the collective, social media, friendships and groups, and HOPE. as well as idealism. FAMA in this house can indicate big social media fame. You just shine on social media. Like I said with the first house. PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE. Giving alien vibes. Reminds me of the theme of Beyonce's latest “renaissance”. Very modern, maybe even futuristic, Reminds me of fit checks I see on my TL and they have thousands of views. Maybe you yourself represent things people can’t understand, maybe with the way you present yourself. You def keep up on all the trends and memes. Maybe you could get very famous with a commentary type channel, expressing your opinions especially on pop culture. 

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆FAMA IN 12TH HOUSE. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ The 12th house rules over dreams, rest, BIG SPIRITUALITY, traumas, addictions, all that is below the surface.  FAMA here I think is very beneficial for people who want to speak about things that happened to them. Best spiritual gurus, psychics. You could CHANGE LIVES with this FAMA placement.Reminds me of FKA twigs song “Cellophane”. Most of you here could write a novel about things that happened to you. Or how you connect with god(s), spirit, whatever you believe in. You are magical, like a crystal ball.  Also may be gifted with clairaudience, channeling, mediumship, etc. Maybe you could see dead people/talk with them. You are stardust ☄️

Thank you for reading!! FAMA in the signs is next. Stay tuned <3

[idiotmf]

Alien scientists who just really want to study you

Another one of my most recent favorites is my alien boy Xyon. Can you tell I'm a whore for 'y' in names? It's a curse, really.

Also, in case it's not blatantly obvious... I'm introducing characters and beings that I wanna write some good ol' smut on later. (▰˘◡˘▰)

For good measure: Minors scram, for the rest: there's going to be NSFW themes but they are more biological in nature.

A/N: Please feel free to point out typos and grammar wrongdoings so I can obsessively fix them. I write these on my phone and chances are I'm fat-fingering this tiny keyboard, since I use my thumbs for typing. Also, English isn't my first language, so there's also that.

This post is pretty long and covers a more in-depth explanation of this Alien species because I wanna use this as a reference sheet later...

Anyways, here's some random lore dumping about Xyon, Xenians and Xen'jai, their native planet.

As you may have already noticed, I loooooove naming patterns. In the previous post it was my shadow demon boys Aryllus and Oryllion, here it's Xyon, his planet Xen'jai and as you'll come to find, most of the other things related to his planet also start with an X. Here is why:

1. Language:

In the native language of Xenians, the X represents a prefix referring to a life form. Xenians are the people, Xen'jai is their planet, and Xyon is a person. Linguistically speaking, especially for humans, the X doesn't translate as such, it is a complicated sound that a human cannot reproduce and the closest possible sound for an accurate translation. (Can you tell I spend way too much time world building?)

Speaking of their native language, Xenians do not speak the same way as humans do; rather, they communicate via a mixture of various noises, including clicking and verbal sounds that could only be described as waving sheet metal in the air. Imagine this but less goofy and with various pitches, echoes and clicks.

For storytelling convenience, they of course possess a translator that can both pick up foreign languages and translate their own. Although I have one story where they just fully cannot communicate for a long time and that one's wholesome as heck.

2. Appearance:

Xenians are in principle considered humanoid. They have two legs, two arms, a head and a torso. Their posture is slightly different, due to the differing gravity on their planet, so their spines are entirely straight, rather than curved like a human's, which gives them a rather uncanny look at first glance. Although if you do meet a Xenian, honestly that is probably the last thing you notice about them.

The first thing is most likely their height. Xyon himself is between 2.5 meters (approx. 8'2) and 2.8 meters (approx. 9'2), which is considered average for a male of his species, with females being slightly taller on average at 3 meters (10 feet). A male Xenian, if threatened or putting on a mating display, can stretch its spine and torso to appear larger and more threatening. Females are incapable of doing so, but as larger and more intimidating presences, they have no need for it.

The bodies of Xenians are covered in fine, dark blue fur, even if it appears as skin to the naked eye of a human. Like the fuzz you have on your face, but more prominent.

Their gray skin underneath is almost leathery to the touch, which can be examined on their long, almost reptilian tails that serve multiple purposes, such as balance, showing emotions and affection, or can be simply used as an extra arm to grab onto things.

Their faces aren't exactly faces. It resembles more the face of a cat, featuring a short snout and a flat nose, although there are no visible nostrils, as Xenians have millions of microscopic openings in their noses to absorb and filter air. Just like felines, Xenians have sharp teeth and retractable claws, paw pad like palms and soles and most importantly, slit pupils, making some humans speculate that perhaps they are a species of highly intelligent bipedal felines. Xenians do not have whiskers or any of the like, since their tail does most of the work for them.

Unlike humans, Xenians do not wear clothes. Despite being a highly advanced race of what used to be carnivorous hunters, Xenians have no sense of embarrassment from appearing naked. They do wear an exoskeleton which serves various protective functions, however their genitals are sheathed, making Xenians appear genderless to the unschooled human eye.

3. Social Constructs:

Xenians are social creatures. They live in large groups, much like humans, often with their families until they are old enough to train for their purpose.

Unlike humans, Xenians are born with a 'purpose', a path chosen for them that they must follow; Xyon's purpose lies within studying intergalactic life forms. Thanks to their technology, calculations for things such as possible base intelligence, strength and overall health are possible before a Xenian even hatches, promoting not only the growth and increasing intelligence of an already highly advanced race but also unethical practices, such as culling of unhatched eggs with undesired traits. This may appear highly disturbing to humans but is extremely common and even considered a relief amongst Xenians, as they lay between five and twenty fertilized eggs that may hatch, yet only ever one to three Xenians hatch and reach maturity due to culling, keeping their race from overpopulating their rather small planet.

Xenians, while not the sole creatures of their planets, are the most intelligent, much like humans on earth. They have moved past their need for food, instead consuming gel-like substances with all their needed nutrients and calories, yet they will occasionally initiate fake hunts with competing parties as entertainment, much like a human would play a game of soccer with a friend. However, they do not kill any animals, rather using their own version of AI to calculate intricate escape routes and keep the game interesting.

While Xenians have both male and female as a base sex, gender and gender roles do not exist to the same extent as with humans. Taking care of hatched eggs is usually done by either of the parents, sometimes a different party entirely, as some Xenians live in mating groups. It is usually the male-coded Xenians that try to impress female-coded mates with their displays of stretching their torsos, however, same sex relationships are common, since mating isn't about offspring but mainly about spirituality.

Which brings us to the point you probably came here for lol...

4. Mating:

Unlike humans, Xenians mate for life, using pheromones present in their sexual fluids to claim each other once a bond is established. Mating is considered highly spiritual, finding a mate is an extremely important part of a Xenian's life.

As mentioned before, some Xenians will live in mating groups, featuring various different partners, which is a fairly new occurrence and sometimes frowned upon by followers of traditional mating practices, which are still upheld on Xen'jai but due to their beliefs in equality, those who frown upon this practice are usually frowned upon themselves.

Xenians with male genitalia possess two sheathed and usually hidden phalluses, which are extremely close together, like fingers on your hand. Both can be slightly moved and serve different purposes. The upper, smaller one can be quite similar to that of a human in both size and shape, it serves to fertilize eggs present in a Xenian with female genitalia, which renew with a new cycle of their native moons. This smaller phallus is extremely sensitive, much like a clitoris and the only of the two that can ejaculate.

The larger one on the bottom is solely used for pleasure, as female-coded Xenians have a mechanism that only allows for impregnation during heightened pleasure, thanks to an additional opening inside their equivalent of a vagina, which only stretches during arousal to let sperm through. Being used for pleasure, their larger phallus has evolved to be able to bring just that. It is both thick and long, covered in small bumps that secrete lubricant for ease of mating but also serve to stimulate the insides of their partners.

As you may be wondering, does a Xenian of the female sex have two vaginas, then? The answer is no. During mating, eventually both phalluses may be inserted into the female, which is a lot easier than you likely imagine, since their insides aren't as tight as that of a human (which is a delightful discovery Xyon makes when he gets to fuck a human for the first time).

Unlike female humans, Xenians do not possess a clitoris, another delightful find for Xyon, all of their pleasure is derived from the nerves inside of their vagina, most of them connected to the muscle that controls whether sperm can be let through or not.

Just like humans, Xenians have contraceptives, since sex is occasionally rather casual. They work differently, however. It is a gel, that must be applied to the smaller phallus, killing sperm as it comes out and blocking the production of mating pheromones that initiate a bond, by triggering the partner to release their pheromones as well. In case of a relationship that is made of two males, both must apply this gel, in case of female only, it is neither but can be triggered with a pheromone dispenser to initiate a female-female pheromone bond.

This is considerably longer than I thought it would be and I still left a lot out to shorten it... Like I didn't even mention that you have to teach him what kissing is and Xyon gets obsessed with it, or that they subconsciously wrap their tail around things and people they like, which... I'm sorry but that is adorable to me... (╥﹏╥)

At first I tried doing the cool headcannon thing some people do with bullet points but I just cannot keep myself short enough to do that*. I also just have a preference for flowing sentences, rather than bullet points. But man...

Anyways, yes, this is a reference sheet once I get into writing some good ol' Xyon x reader smut. (≧◡≦)

I also have another Xenian boi, Xenon, who is a geologist, rather than a biologist but he is still very new and there isn't a lot established yet. Xyon is far more fleshed out and I'm going to introduce him a bit more too, maybe along with some smut.

* as evident from this ending note lmao

Dear gods, I have so many established fantasy worlds I wanna share, so my next lore dump is probably in sight, if I'm not already writing another one.

[skyfallscotland]

🐉 ONYX STORM PROLOGUE, CHAPTERS ONE & TWO MY THOUGHTS: (god bless the dutch 🇳🇱)

So not totally verified yet, but it seems legit. This is absolutely the scene I expected us to be starting with, and despite the translation it does read like Rebecca. Thank you so much to @thestarseternaal for sharing it with me! You can find it here.

Ok, let's fucking goooooo! 🤘

· That trigger warning list? "The death of an animal" 💀😬 The "descriptions of sexual acts" though, thank god, though it's not looking promising for the two of them so far.

· Garrick and Bodhi KNOW?! Ok that I didn't see coming?

· "I can't blame him for wanting to know what he is" ANDARNA 😭 "I'm as much in the dark as he is, and you trust me." 😭 I want to hug the baby

· "Magic feels different when I change colours. When I used my power, it was like the venin transformed, weakening-" Ok so confirmed, she's the solution they're looking for *sigh*

· It's going to be unfortunate if the allies we're seeking are just Poromiel, and I think they are given both the excerpt prior to the prologue and the fact the Target edition map had only a few places in Poromiel on it and no Isles. I guess we're not looking for Andarna's family over there until books four and five? 😞

· Wait...what? Leadership knows what Andarna is? Everyone knows? Who TF told them? I was certain they didn't see? I can't believe we spent all this time worrying about people knowing she was a baby when she bonded and y'all just told everyone she was a super special rare breed right off the bat. SMDH.

· Aotrom's only 22? 😭 I'm older than Aotrom? RIDOC and him are the same age, that makes so much sense!!

· TAIRN CALLS XADEN "THE DARK ONE"? 😭 I feel like I'm not going to like Tairn much this book, and I feel like he's gonna ☠️ but that's for my theory post.

· "His soul is no longer his own" "That's a bit dramatic." VIOLET I LOVE YOU 🖤

· "You mean whether I'll support you in the thousand ways you want to face death to heal someone who's beyond redemption?" Oh Tairn...why do I get the really, really bad feeling you lied about Naolin?

· The truth-sayers have let Caroline Ashton off the hook? Hmmmm suspicious. Everyone's evil, I just know it.

· "Devera and Kaori will be back soon. They’ll straighten out the command structure once the princes have signed a treaty that hopefully grants us grace for even leaving in the first place." Ummm princes plural? So I guess Cam hid for nothing? Well not nothing, but he's...back with his fam? Also why would they be signing shit? Where's the damn king?!

· "The rarest signet, which appear once per generation or century, have been documented twice simultaneously with an equal counterpart, both during critical times in our history, but only once have the six most powerful walked the Continent at the same time. As fascinating as that spectacle must have been, I would rather not witness it again in my lifetime. – A study of signets by Major Dalton Sisneros" Ok could be a weird translation but I'm confused by this. The counterpart thing could be either a rider and a venin (ie. one of the venin can distance wield and we're getting a distance wielder) or dark and light, ie. shadows and light. Also six like the first six and they all had partners within themselves? Three pairs? Or? What even were their signets because I can't believe we've NEVER FUCKING ASKED? I've literally never seen that mentioned and it seems...so fucking relevant.

· Perhaps a more outlandish theory, but I think the venin with the silver hair who distance wields might be Xaden's mother. I'll elaborate later, but 😬😬

· Ok well, 1. I'm fucking crying already, and 2. "Even if I reached the rank of Maven, led armies of dark wielders against everyone we care about, and if I had to watch every vein in my body turn red because I had drained all the powers of the Continent, I would still love you. What I’ve done doesn’t change that. I don’t know if that’s even possible." That's a little bit storm in the quiet, I love it when the vibe is proven ✨correct✨ 😭 @justallihere

So all in all, 1. As expected, every excerpt, hint, and thing we've thought about it over in one-two chapters, 2. This is going to hurt so bad and I think it will go as I expected, and 3. I'm still not ready 😭

Send help 🥺

[hwaightme]

Impressionism

(masterlist) (taglist)

🩸 pairing: vampire!gallerist/collector!seonghwa x art historian!gn!reader 🩸 genre: fluff, noir, soulmates, supernatural, strangers(?) to lovers, art nerding 🩸 summary: a post-graduate student specialising in impressionism, you were a regular visitor to the many art galleries in the city. who knew that among the paintings you would encounter your favourite, timeless work of art? 🩸 wordcount: 12.3k 🩸 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of blood, fangs, wounds, suggestive, many pet names (love, darling etc), art theory/history ponderings, time skips, mention of rituals, philosophy, hwa is centuries-old, yearning hwa 🩸 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 🩸 a/n: happy birthday to @starrysvn!! lheo, ilysm, and i hope you enjoy this little rambling <3 hugs to everyone, all reblogs, notes and comments appreciated! 🩸 playlist: nfwmb - hozier, who is she? - i monster, keep on loving you - cas, la vie en rose - edith piaf, a l'ombre de nous - pierre barouh, les feuilles mortes / sous le ciel de paris - yves montand, moon over bourbon street / until - sting

‘Love and Pain’ - an enigmatic masterpiece that was painted by Edvard Munch, the famous Norwegian artist, in 1895. In vibrant oil paints a dramatic scene interpreted by millions as something more sensual, darker, revealing was immortalised. Perhaps quite literally. You leaned back on one hand, feeling the coolness of the bench located in the middle of the gallery hall, careful to not let the notebook in your hands slip from your lap. ‘Vampire’ - first, it was a label for the woman with the alluring, long red locks that was leaning over her supposed lover, then it turned into a second name for the work. It was comical how Munch himself had initially stated the piece depicted nothing more than a woman kissing the neck of a man, and yet, the tale had told itself. What followed were six versions of this same subject, with a woodcut titled “Vampyr II”, followed by paintings titled ‘Vampire’ and ‘Vampire in the Forest’, and then through common acceptance that this indeed was the ‘submission of a man to the bite of a vampire’, if you were to paraphrase a critic who had been in an astoundingly similar position as you, except without the decades upon decades of other material to refer to. They had been the firstcomers, the initial perceivers to set the tone for society’s consumption of the artwork, the louder of the many voices in the artwork who often had the final say. In some senses, they were your long lost colleagues - they were there to create history, and you were there to study it.

While it was not exactly a part of the movement you had decided to specialise in, you nonetheless would never reject the opportunity to learn more about the stunning world of visual arts, trying to guess how the artist had felt in the moment, what did they see beyond what they presented to the world, how did they translate the heart into brushstrokes. You were taken by all forms of art since you were little - having grown up surrounded by items that were far removed from what you called your air, you were intrigued by anything that was external to your version of ordinary. In your case, it just so happened to be the little private gallery that you had spent almost all of your monthly allowance to visit when you were a school kid - you had been so dedicated, in fact, that the elderly guard who had often also acted as a guide to the visitors had become your first friend in the art world, something of a grandparent figure, and on multiple occasions - when the lack of eyes would allow, simply let you through with a grin and glance out of the entrance doors.

And so here you were, many years later, many hard decisions and conversations behind you, regarding artworks with an unprecedented soulful closeness that you had initially thought was unattainable. Had you believed all those who remained outside of the walls of your personal paradise, you would have been immersed in the same cycle that had been drilled into the majority of your family members, except maybe a handful who you had never met for the exact reason that they had chosen something for themselves. But you regarded your dream as the thorned path - undoubtedly more challenging, not immediately fruitful, but in the long run leading to the heaven of your design. What more could you ask for?

It was enjoyable to be alone with the paintings surrounding you, portals to new realms that any visitor could have the pleasure of exploring. And what was even more inspiring, was that in the eye of every beholder was a different universe, and no matter who one would speak to, their version of the painting would be different, even if just slightly. You huffed, amused. When was the last time you had visited a gallery with anyone else? You could not quite recall - it was likely that you had never seeked company from another because you were more than satisfied with the company of the legendary works that were regarding you from the many walls. It was possible to compose oneself, spend limitless time on every piece, study the details, and drift into one’s own musings when there was no one to ground them. This was when you dared to say you got your best work done. Even though you, of course, conducted research within university and ventured out to galleries, museums, collectors or auctions only within professional bounds, the bulk of the thinking process was carried out in times such as this. When it was just you, your notebook and pen, and a new point of focus. However, this time, you could not say you were fully attentive to the painting that you had decided to focus on, as a certain someone was appearing to share your level of interest in ‘Love and Pain’ too. 

A gentleman who could not be much older or younger than you, at most a couple of years, stood off to the right of the bench, unmoving, gaze fixated on the painting. Dressed in a pinstripe navy suit, light blue dress shirt, lacquered dress shoes and a matching navy tie, he was nothing short of being a moving work of art. Hints of a glimmer from his thin framed, elegant silver spectacles gave the man a scholarly aura, while the slicked back dark hair - evidently a lot longer than the styling would suggest, added notes of business, entrepreneurship, perhaps leadership. Nothing was out of place, not a crease, not an exposed thread in sight. Needless to say, your curiosity had been sparked.

Much like you found joy in exploring creations in the realm of the visual arts, you were fond of crafting stories about the people who were strangers in passing. You could not help it; perhaps this affinity for creative internal ramblings had come as a package with studying the degree you had selected, or perhaps this was a naturally occurring guilty pleasure that you simply had not had the chance to entertain before you cut yourself off from expectations and predetermined patterns of thought. But now, you had the full pleasure of wondering, letting your mind travel to lands far away as you took the real life masterpiece in, and pondered why the man could be here, what he could be thinking as he studied Munch’s work, and what resonated with him, and only him. 

There was a melancholia with the weight of centuries resting upon his shoulders, that much you could decipher in the stranger’s stance. Even then, there was a gentle burning flame within his heart judging by just how dedicated he was to inspecting the artwork. Like he was seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and was attempting to memorise them anew and recognise each change, bit by bit. You suppressed a chuckle, entertaining the possibility of this man finding a kinship with the painting, but chose to set the idea aside for the time being, instead focusing on sketching his emotional landscape. Was the stranger remorseful? Lonely? Perplexed? You could not quite pinpoint the answer, at least not before you noticed the man’s head starting to turn, and soon enough, his eyes were peering into your own.

They were two pools of deep chocolate, an all-consuming shade that, due to the ever so slightly dimmer lights than in the general halls of the gallery, appeared to be approaching a captivating onyx. The gaze that originated from behind the glasses, and glided across the room that was suddenly too small for two struck you, and you could feel heat starting to rise on your face, blush threatening to reveal the effect of the man’s spontaneous act of confidence. Lowering your head, you gave the stranger a sheepish grin, and pretended to make a random note, pen erratically scribbling over a filled page. He continued to regard you with that same unwavering expression, and only when you looked up again did he seem to catch himself and give you a closed-mouth smile, equally as bashful as yours, and crossed his arms. One step, another, and he was right by the painting, though careful to not obstruct your view - instead, he took his time to read the brief paragraph on the information plaque that had been stuck to the wall off to the side of ‘Love and Pain’. With the same familiarity that is common among those grieving, or in a state of existential sorrow. A bittersweetness prevailed in his aura, one that reminded you of autumn - the falling leaves in red and gold, twirling to join a magnificent carpet, but nonetheless, making a departure, albeit a nearly unnoticeable one. Had he seen many fallen leaves? Was he himself approaching the season? You gasped, but even though the sound was barely audible, you caught the stranger making a minuscule turn in response. 

His footsteps were louder than your thoughts, his departure an irrevocably impactful act that left you breathless. You did not know him, and yet you felt as though you had gotten a glimpse at multiple lifetimes, and were part of a moment that was greater than yourself. In the wordless exchange, question after question had found its root, and something told you that you should not dare attempt to craft him a backstory, and choosing to believe in anything but what would be declared by him would be a gross misinterpretation, much like one that was carried out by those who did not wish to reflect on art and look beyond a first impression. For the first time since you had made your initial discovery of the arts, you felt like you were not alone in the gallery, the other visitor’s presence remained so intense that he could be sat right next to you, scrutinising the same painting, entertaining the same thought. Was the woman with the bright tresses indeed what she had been declared to be over the many years she had been introduced to many venues, many variations of public, and finally finding a home on this wall? Did she settle with her lover, or perhaps a carefully selected victim? Would the man have an answer?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ . It was unlike you to retrace your steps a mere few days after a visit and return to the same gallery, amble down the same halls, and seek for a new source of investigative inspiration among the same selection. This obviously did not mean that you would never return, definitely not, that would be almost criminal of you to possess such intentions, but you tended to try to cleanse your palate with alternative movements, contemporary takes and avant garde interpretations between searches which were more directly related to your studies. And yet, for the first time in a while, nothing was stopping you from your return. It felt only natural, and so right. Moreover, you felt no unease when you headed straight towards the section that housed the impressionists. An individual with an unspoken, mysterious mission, you were on the hunt for the creative streak, something that would help you ponder the next section of your hefty dissertation, and you could sense that it had to be somewhere here. And, like always, you were right.

‘Bazille’s Studio’, one of the most famous works painted by the so-called ‘tragic artist’ of the impressionists, Frédéric Bazille in 1870. In fact, it had been a collaboration between him and Édouard Manet, another gifted artist, though more renowned as a figure leading modernism, and depicted a scene of discussion and creative collaboration in the studio that Bazille had shared for a certain period of time with other spectacular figures of the visual arts, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who could also be found in this painting. On the walls were works rejected by the Salon, which at the time had been the one of the most influential, famous art exhibitions in the Western World, administered by the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris. Interestingly, above the piano on the right hung a painting which Bazille had purchased from Monet, potentially hinting at the material ties between them, and the importance the young artist had because of his familial wealth. In a sense, Bazille expressed his support, as well as showed an intimate, platonic scene of the art world where there was a moment of calm, of mutual appreciation, despite the financial troubles and tensions due to character that had been experienced in those walls.

You stepped closer to the painting, trying to detect the transition from Bazille’s to Manet’s hand, the latter of whom painted in the former to take ‘centre stage’, palette in hand. Truly seamless work, though what else could it be? This painting had been a new addition to the permanent collection, and after strenuous, detailed restoration work to give the oil paints their original vibrancy and for impeccable strokes to forget the burden of time, you had the pleasure of seeing it in person. You were an arm’s length away from yet another work essential to history, culture and the arts as a societal colossus.

While it was easy enough to appreciate the technical detail, you found yourself halting to remember the names of all those depicted in the painting, failing to finalise the list in your head. Starting from Bazille, you had determined for yourself the presence of Monet and Manet in his vicinity quickly enough, however where Renoir was, or what were the names of the two other gentlemen in the scene, slipped your mind. You rocked to the side to lean closer to the plaque that was meant to provide you with the information, however you only found the name of the painting, the artist and the medium, much to your misfortune. Clicking your tongue, you returned to studying the faces of each individual, and furrowed your brows in agitated concentration. It was simple to take out your phone and search for the answer, though you knew that just as neutral that action would be, so would be your reaction unless you were to remember, or somebody were to-

A presence to your side caught you off-guard, and you felt a shiver run up your spine. One glance was enough to determine that it was the same man from yesterday, only the outfit revealing a change. Other than that, he had the same impeccable posture and stance, as well as a thoughtful look towards the painting in front of you both. His arms were crossed, though not in a defensive manner; instead they offered an interpretation of philosophy, as though this man was carrying centuries of wisdom with him, history having pummelled down on him and yet needing to support it like Atlas; the titan carrying the world.

Today, he was dressed in a mahogany coloured suit, with a white top underneath and some black boots with thick white rubber soles - quite the transition from last time, when he had been a manifestation of a sleek and pristine office gentleman. Hair, now let down and wavy, neatly framed his face, accentuating the regalness of his features. It was astounding how you were still sure that it would be more likely to find a man of this fashion in a painting, rather than standing beside you. You kept quiet, not wanting to interfere with his musings. Perhaps it was just a silly coincidence that the two of you were at the same place and at the same time again - how else? You did not know him, and you hoped that he did not know you. Though, you truly did not mind his company, and maybe it could serve as your motivation to figure out the rest of the characters in the painting. Once again, your attention returned to the task at hand, but before you could even begin to list off prominent figures of the art world during the era of Impressionism, a deep, honey-like whisper halted you and made you hold your breath. 

“Auguste Renoir is the one seated, Emile Zola, the writer, is on the stairs, Monet, Manet and Bazille are, as you likely know in the centre, and that,” he paused to raise his hand, gesturing in the general direction of the far right of the piece, “is Edmond Maitre. Pianist, art collector, and Bazille’s closest friend.”

“I- uh- thank you. How did you know I was trying to recall? Pardon me, I must look so clueless-” you trailed off, eyes finding the floor, an action which seemed to be your automatic response to being under inspection of the man, though this time, he captured your gaze quickly by stepping closer towards you. Looking up, you found concern and apology in his eyes.

“No! Not at all, I… sorry if I misunderstood and I am sorry for forcing you into such erroneous conclusions,” he gave you an ever so slightly crooked smile, charming, very disarming and so suiting this beautiful stranger, that you were instantly prompted by your instincts to return it, dismissing doubt. 

“You saved me,” you joked, though the phrase contained within itself an unlikely compassion. Two people, alone in the same gallery, sharing a precious dialogue was something to cherish, and with all your might you wanted to make it last.

“Just as you made me regard the painting in a new light, for which I thank you, greatly,” he bowed his head, the smile not leaving his face for a moment. There was a recognition in his gaze, as well as an inexplicable admiration. What did he discover?

“I guess it might be true that no matter how many times you see a painting, every viewing brings something new,”

“Well said. Are you an artist? A critic, perhaps?” He inquired, moving closer to stand level with you, head turned slightly in your direction to spare the occasional glance. You shook your head slowly, wondering if in a retelling of your destiny you could have pursued either of the careers he had mentioned.

“I am in the arts, though rather than looking at the present I remain in the past. Art historian, well, a postgraduate. Nothing too fancy.”

“Oh? But that is marvellous, and what are you focusing on?”

“I like to call it the painting in plenair during the turn of the century. I focus mainly on impressionism, though do sometimes stray into its interplay with post-impressionism, modernism and expressionism.”

“Ah, no wonder I have been seeing you here often. Enjoying the new collection?” he asked, eager to hear your opinion. There was excitement in his voice as though you were a renowned expert and were about to bestow upon him a priceless evaluation. And this was without considering the technicality of you having only half-met. Just crossing paths twice in one week.

"Yes, of course… The collection is unlike any other I have seen. I keep wanting to return and stay here for ages." You explained, glancing at the stranger while he nodded along.

"Incredibly happy to hear it. I swear I have seen you around quite often during the past month that the exhibition has been open? Am I correct?" evidently, your rapid blinking was interpreted rather quickly as perplexion, for the man gasped ever so lightly, as if to catch his own speeding thoughts.

“I- how do you know? I do believe this is our… second time meeting?” you uttered, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, which, to your disbelief, revealed something akin to fear in the beautiful stranger’s features. Nervously, he adjusted a strand of hair that was threatening to cover his right eye.

“Not quite… you were present at the opening event, right?” he quizzed.

“Indeed, my depar- wait. But how? Respectfully, I am starting to think you know me.” you enunciated with newfound caution, while the man pursed his lips. One second, another passed in near total silence, until a chuckle escaped him and he shook his head. It appeared as though he was mentally scolding himself - his eyes held no malice, instead glinting with hope, that melancholic wisdom, and something unidentifiable, ethereal, supernatural.

“I think it is high time I introduce myself before this gets out of hand. See, in some sense I work here, and most of my days are spent in the gallery or labouring for it-”

“Ah, I see-”

“Park Seonghwa, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” with one arm folded behind his back and the other on his chest, he bowed to you like how you imagined princes in the numerous portraits you had studied would bow. And the most enthralling part was how the gesture flowed, and was so befitting. Quickly, you bowed in return, but while raising your head, you froze. It hit you why he would know. And know a lot. And would remember you, and likely anyone and everyone who visited. In a low whisper, you asked:

“Am I… correct in assuming that you are ‘the’ Park Seonghwa?” quickly enough, you realised that it was a mistake to find his eyes again - clearly, you were not ready for the intensity, nor for the intrigue that was contained within them, nor for the fact that he moved another step closer to you, the rubber of his boots dampening any sound produced.

“I never knew that there was a ‘the’ attached to my name. I simply love art.”

“Well that love translated into the creation of what is possibly the greatest gallery in the nation, if not worldwide,”

“Oh you flatter me too much, ah, your name-”

“L/N Y/N, and I, too, love art.”

“Elated to hear it,” he gleamed, and you swore the room exploded with the illumination of a thousand stars.

Stunning, awe-inspiring, ever so elegant. He was a walking dream. In that smile was concealed a certain something that had been taboo, a well-kept secret until a couple of decades ago, when those like Seonghwa had started to be fully integrated into society, and no longer had to hide, changing identity from one century to another. With that came Seonghwa’s success - you had read in an article that advertised the permanent exhibition a short blurb of his story, and how for many turbulent decades, the man single-handedly collected masterpieces, crafted a meticulous network and introduced genius artists to the world, and the world to the artists. The gallery was a magnum opus for Seonghwa - a presentation of what he had achieved as a collector, as a patron of the arts, and a celebration of his personal culture. 

You could not help but hone in on the fangs, and recall the original reason why it was even possible for Seonghwa to obtain such legendary works and have as much influence as he presently did. It was not spontaneous; submerged in turmoil, he had personally approached artists who, previously abandoned by critics and other prospective buyers, had never considered a future beyond a mysterious tomorrow. Hiding his own true nature, he crafted the tale of a ‘Park’ dynasty, and rose again and again to continue his work. Perhaps, now, some might argue that once he had revealed himself as a vampire the velocity of Seonghwa’s developments had fallen, but you would passionately argue the opposite. It was challenging to believe that any move by this stunning artistic mastermind was not strategic - the announcement had given the gallery more partnerships, more donations, and in turn, an even greater prominence in the community both among professionals and enjoyers. 

“Thank you,” the phrase spilled from your lips inadvertently. It seemed to be the only thing that was reasonable to say in that given moment. You pondered the pains that must have been suffered to make the world that you were consumed by come together, and the painting in front of you, aside from what was contained within the frame,now shined in a new light externally too, possessing its own story, resembling a search for a kindred spirit, a true home. 

Seonghwa remained quiet, the words of gratitude echoing in his heart. It was endearing, encouraging to hear such warmth from you. So, you did know him, at least the parts he had shown to the public - as was expected from someone so deeply ingrained in visual arts and history, but he could not help but identify it as something much greater than mere awareness. The openness with which you had welcomed conversation with him, the kind charm that radiated from you as you engaged in the careful verbal waltz reminded the vampire of times long, long ago when all that existed for him was drive, enamourment and art. Oh, how your eyes glimmered. His heart clenched into near unbearable agony as he read your expressions, and wondered how much you have seen, what have you yet to see, who you were in this temporary life. If only he could ask fate to tell him how much you remembered of who you had been before. 

“No, thank you, for giving this,” he gestured to the gallery around him, graceful hand unfurling as though revealing a delicate flower, “meaning, and reason to exist.”

“I highly doubt I am of much significance, Mister Park,” you responded, a soft smile on your face.

“Would anything hold the same meaning if there was no one to behold it?” he responded. You chose not to answer, catching onto the rhetoricism, “and please, call me Seonghwa. I’d like to say we are to be good friends.”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Sitting across from Seonghwa in the cafe that was located on the top floor, above the main halls of the gallery made you feel strangely serene. Today he had foregone the straighter hair styles that you had begun to get used to, surprising you with a head of tousled, almost curled locks that embodied the world’s softness, though remained to be quite the contrast to the more formal and highly fashionable attire that adorned his stature. A suit, tastefully oversized with a buttoned double breasted jacket that was simultaneously serving as a shirt, the plunging v-shaped neckline revealing perfectly smooth skin, and what you noted to be a solitary freckle right in the centre of his collarbone. The trousers, at least from the glimpse that you had allowed yourself when you had met at the entrance to the cafe were of a loose fit, defining his waist at the top and falling to form an almost skirt-like silhouette should he stand how he usually stood: the echoes of what would be called the ‘third position’ in ballet, more relaxed, but still retaining an elegance that only he could carry. The biggest shock to you, however, was Seonghwa’s choice of shoes - a refreshing point to the visual, he had selected to contrast the formalwear with a pair of limited edition, geometrically intriguing Converses. You could catch a glimpse of one of them from over the edge of the table whenever his slightly shaking leg, positioned over the other, would rock forwards just that tiny bit stronger. 

While the setting was meant to be casual, the circumstances in which you found yourself were nothing short of miraculous. Never in a million years would you have imagined for it to be possible to be sat across the table from, quite possibly, one of the most legendary contributors to art restoration, collection and exhibition. On top of that, Seonghwa was a figure who actively bridged the gap between disparate communities, finding a common language, and using the arts as a salvation. You were in awe, and could not hold back on regarding the handsome vampire as he quietly reported your and his orders to the waiter who had floated to your table.

“Are you sure you do not want anything else?”

“Yes, I am sure. I do not wish to exploit your kindness-”

“-Not at all. I hope you do not mind that I… must make a rather unconventional order,” he smiled sheepishly, clearing his throat so as to attempt to hide his doubts, though you were uncertain as to how much of such emotions could possibly be left after what had to have been centuries. 

“An unconventional order is pouring a sugary energy drink into a triple shot espresso and calling it dinner,” you answered, eyes travelling from Seonghwa’s face to the mural on the wall a few tables away that wrapped behind him and to your left, disrupted only by the occasional floor length window that provided city vistas - rather gloomy, compared to the optimistic illumination of the restaurant. Perhaps out of pity, or out of genuine entertainment, Seonghwa chuckled.

“That does sound like an acquired taste, indeed. Thank you,”

“No need. Thank you for inviting me,” you turned back, nodding a polite bow as he softly waved your gesture off.

A silence settled across the table as you waited for your respective drinks. Your hand, had you not consciously restrained yourself, would have probably reached for the phone that you stored in your purse, but now was fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt, finding the buttons to stress test the threads that had them sewn tight to the fabric. You were not bored, in fact, far from it. You needed a barrier. The grandeur of this man’s presence was almost overwhelming. He was not a mere individual in a room, he consumed it. Had you just walked in, you were certain that your gaze would still settle on his form. Just like the concrete outside was grey, and the pause retained a divine ambiguity, Seonghwa was unforgettable. In an attempt to calm your clouded thoughts, you studied the mural once more.

“May I inquire into your thoughts on the decor?”

“The choice of ‘A Sunday on La Grande Jatte’ is wise. I am guessing you were the one to make the decision?” you heard an exhale, and once more your attention was captured.

“Alas, I cannot take full accolades for this. This stemmed from a discussion that a good friend of mine and I had one late night. Seurat just so happened to make an appearance amidst the chatter, and so… this was born,” he gestured at the surroundings. Clearly, the interior was picked carefully to fit the theme of the legendary painting. 

From the colours to the textures and the greenery that had been intricately set up across the restaurant, every detail had a meaning and a place, and did not take away from the spaciousness of the hall. It was breathable, while still giving the illusion that you were stepping into a whimsical impressionist paradise. Perhaps that was another reason why you could not quite contain your disbelief firstly in your encounter, secondly in its progression, and thirdly in your interlocutor’s warmth. 

“Spectacular, truly. I have heard you have an eye for detail, however this surpasses all expectations.”

“Oh? There is more you have heard?” he interjected, leaning closer to you and placing an elbow on the table, simply to rest his head on his hand. While this could potentially be seen as slightly unceremonious, it hinted at well-kept confidence, ownership, control. A healthy undercurrent of motivation that came with indirect praise.

“I-oh y-yeah of course,” you did not mean to stutter, but some part of you was grateful you did, for the smirk that had threatened to burst on Seonghwa’s lips was enough for you to feel ignited to elaborate, “if my memory is not failing me, you were the one to distinguish a reproduction of a piece some time ago, no?”

“Ah- yes. That was a Degas reproduction. I must say, the attempt was sincere, however when I saw the-, hm, you will not be startled, will you?”

“Please,” you urged him to continue, intrigued by the story. 

“When I saw the original, as it was being made and when it had been finalised, it would be shameful of me to not spot a fake,” he fell back into his chair, just in time for the drinks to be served. 

A coffee for you, and a non-descript beverage concealed by a semi-opaque, tall glass for him. Though, you did not need to be a detective to guess what it was that Seonghwa was bringing to his lips, and what he took a tentative sip of. The only mystery that was remaining for you was what ‘type’ he had picked - was it O+? B-? Whatever else? You joined him in the tasting, lifting the mug and indulging in the wonderful aroma of your americano. It did not strike you as necessary to opt for something fancier and lie to yourself - so you settled for your regular order, much to your joy. Familiar taste and the reliability of the caffeine hitting your system painted the scene in more comforting colours, and gradually, you found yourself easing into the dialogue more and more, until life stories, musings and a surprisingly large common ground came pouring. 

You discovered that Seonghwa possessed a unique sensitivity and attunement to those around him. Focused on the emotional experiences, he felt through time and could recount emotions like the memory was from a mere few days, rather than decades ago. He was well-spoken, eloquent, intelligent, polite in every right as he navigated through the linguistic landscape and guided you like a partner in a dance. You were spiralling oh so quickly, intrigue catching up to you and prompting you to sacrifice all of your senses to the man and the pleasantly intoxicating atmosphere he captured you in. He was enchanting, and it was far too easy to give in. 

“May I reveal something?” in a hushed tone, he inquired, a finger absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his glass. 

“Oh, a little secret?” you raised your eyebrows in jest, lightening the initial seriousness with which Seonghwa uttered the question.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Depends on how you take it. A confession might be more accurate,” he waited for you to take the final sip of your coffee before continuing, unphased by your unwavering focus, “if I were to be honest, I have been meaning to approach you.”

“Pardon?”

“As you know we have a… common awareness of each other thanks to what is housed under this roof, but ever since we first unknowingly crossed paths… I wanted to speak to you.”

Confused, you did not speak, though the words contained an unparalleled affection within them. What could he possibly mean? You chose to refrain from commenting, your hesitation prompting the vampire to continue.

“Do you remember the most recent opening night? Of the exhibition? I believe you were with someone…” he trailed off, hoping you would continue for him.

“Ah, yes, a friend of mine from university. So?”

“This might sound strange but, I distinctly remember you mentioning a name. An artist from the same era, dubbed as L/N Y/N?”

“Goodness, you overheard that? I am so sorry, it is just that said artist has intrigued me for some time, and I was half-hoping to encounter their work. Maybe it is because our names are the same but still….”

“Elusive, aren’t they?”

“To put it softly, yes. I only vaguely recall seeing… maybe one piece in my lifetime, when I was little, and then… nothing. And there is barely any information on the artist online, let alone libraries and archives.”

“Hm, indeed. I guess that makes two of us…”

“Two of us who are searching?”

“That’s right. It brought me happiness to know that I am not alone in this endeavour.”

“Then we can keep searching together.”

While you were positive that you could not conceal your interest, Seonghwa’s did not go unnoticed either. It was of course possible that he was simply well-versed in political correctness, but the burning depth of his pupils told you otherwise. Enthrallment, the discovery of a kindred spirit, recognition, the rekindling of a bond that had existed at some point long ago - all fantasies that played out in your mind as you returned that look with subtle fervour. You wondered how many people he graced with those charms. How many had succumbed to his influence, becoming a marker on his infinite life path, a fleeting second? How many had his lips known, how many had turned into a decadent treat for a genius man with natural peculiarities? While the researcher part of you was perplexed and aching for answers, the you that was caught in the moment simply let it go on, and the feeling of Seonghwa’s leg brushing against yours, and the pride blooming in your chest as he praised the few articles and papers you had published upon having claimed that he ‘knew some things about you too’ preoccupied you in the most magnificent way.

Naturally, you agreed to meet Seonghwa again. On your journey home, in the privacy of the anonymous metro, immersed in the cacophony of deafening rails and the millions travelling to anywhere, you pressed your phone to your racing heart as the vampire, the man, the beguiling Park Seonghwa sent you a message confirming so. Who knew a simple selection of words could be so captivating?

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Under the comforting thrum of raindrops on the large umbrella, you walked down the streets of the grey-coloured city, your hand lightly holding onto Seonghwa’s arm while he ensured that both of you were protected from the elements. Despite the dull light and bitterness of the cooling season, Seonghwa appeared radiant, truly timeless with every gesture and stride. The elegant angles of his face that you could tirelessly study stood out against the monotone buildings and overcast skies. His voice drowned out the sound of droplets racing one another to the ground. A miraculous gentleman who appeared in your life much like a portrait, or a landscape - a masterpiece you wanted to explore in every spare moment, and better yet, this masterpiece was equally as open to you as you were to him. 

“...essentially, yes. It is like another nationality. A marker of species isn’t too far isn’t it? Just another line on a stack of documents. Nothing more,” Seonghwa concluded his explanation, pursing his lips for a moment before letting an exhale turned dragon’s breath escape into the afternoon.

“Makes sense. So would that mean there are separate medical papers and treatment too?”

“Well… when regeneration fails us or when a given case is severe enough… yes. Though it is handled by private clinics run by other vampires.”

“There are private clinics?”

“Of course. Often they are connected to donation points too, and that is how we remain on the right side of the law and stay alive,” he nodded to himself, giving you a bittersweet smile when he noticed confusion overtake your gaze. “Blood,” he stated as-a-matter-of-factly, “I mean blood.”

In a nervous stupor, you cleared your throat and focused on a droplet that was hanging onto the edge of the umbrella, right in front of you, all the way until the gentle motion of Seonghwa’s amble provoked its abrupt descent onto the stone under your feet. 

“Ah, yes, I see-”

“If you find this disturbing, we can forget the conversation ever-”

“-I want to know you better, Seonghwa, truly-”

“Careful-”

“Sorry wha-” 

With an extraordinary swiftness, you were tugged abruptly by the arm. Not registering your surroundings, you merely went with the inertia, caught off-guard by the proximity of your face to the vampire’s as he held you against him with the arm that you had previously been resting your own on. A hand that you raised on instinct went limp and landed on Seonghwa’s chest, feeling the thick felted wool of his coat. The ringing of a bell, going farther away from you by the second, incessant but at least waking you up from the blur, was enough for you to put two and two together - a cyclist who thought they owned every part of the street, like always. You sighed.

“Reckless… my apologies I did not mean to-” Seonghwa tried to detangle himself, refusing to remain in your personal space for longer than necessary no matter how much he did want to, but his efforts were reduced to nothing when your hand moved to a hold on his upper arm - reassuring, comfortable, accepting.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, “that bike would have definitely run into me…”

“It’s nothing,” a low chuckle echoed in your ears as Seonghwa peered into your pupils, confidence that had previously wavered out of habitual caution now restored, growing into a pride as you continued to hold onto him, “the man was slow enough for there to be no risk of harm. I hope you are not too startled though.”

“Oh? You have super powers too? Do elaborate,” you jested, resuming your walk.

“I would call it more like… being a finely tuned machine. Can’t say I have bad reaction speed. Though I must say, it was a little challenging pulling you out of the way,” there was an evident intent behind the words. However, you were too curious to pay it any mind, instead preferring to find out their meaning live.

“How so?”

“I think this,” dropping his arm, Seonghwa’s hand reached for yours, and without a moment of hesitation, his fingers were intertwining with yours, his palm pressed against yours, “would be better. You know, for safety.” As if you could ever reject him. This was a fact you had established for yourself with an unprecedented certainty. His gallant disposition, attentiveness all confirmed a care for you that was impossible to ignore. 

There was something picturesque about the present after meeting this wonderful, infinite pool of art and humanity. You found yourself leafing through articles, art books and biographies with a more wistful and sentimental perspective, imagining what it would be like if it were you who was immortalised in the thousands of brushstrokes, or if you were on the other side of the canvas, how would you go about depicting the scenes unfolding before your very eyes. Timelessness - a quality shared between the art you so adored, and the man you had encountered and over the weeks, let your intrigue be transformed into a shy flame of infatuation. Perhaps it was the underlying reason why you did not reject his advances, nor cower in fear of his true nature with which he was upfront. The other, of course, was the search for the mysterious artist, an adventure that fuelled many of your dialogues, and prompted you to spend more time in the library and the archives of your university than you had ever done before - to the point where Seonghwa himself had encouraged you to take a break from your intellectual expeditions and step into the world as a casual observer. So, you let yourself drift; it finally hit you, what scenes your once again tranquil stroll reminded you of, and you smiled to yourself as you recalled the intricacies of the not quite commonly discussed representation of the Impressionist movement. 

‘Rue de Paris, temps de pluie’, painted by Gustave Caillebotte; his most famous work. Not quite as widely discussed, despite still technically being created in the Impressionist era, perhaps due to the meandering through form, realism and reliance on stronger lines rather than broad brushstrokes and the study of light. You did find it fascinating how Caillebotte’s passion for photography had seeped into this piece, however. Much like how, in recent days, you could easily find a way to mention Seonghwa in conversation, be it related to the arts or not. From the subjects in the foreground being slightly out of focus while the middle ground was crystal clear, to how the shapes of some passersby were cropped were all characteristic of photos, rather than paintings, making this particular work all the more dear to you. It was a reflection of life, of behaviour and of what had been daily back in the late nineteenth century.

Was it any different from now, aside from those grand, global topics that historians dedicated their lives to studying? If one were to whittle down to the intricacies, the miniatures that ornamented the span of a human existence, was it so terribly far away from what you were born into, and Seonghwa saw develop and had adopted? How people shielded themselves from the rain with umbrellas, and then used them as a tool to isolate themselves from other urbanites who were in a rush to take a day-long route out of their homes… and back again. The latest silhouettes of dress and accessory; the same rush to be with the times as now.

You felt your companion’s arm move, prompting you to let go and leave your hand hovering as though you were awaiting some kind of change. You bit back an unprecedented sliver of disappointment, only to be caught by surprise once again as you felt the hand settle on the small of your back. Cautious, like you were going to melt from any more pressure than the brush of a feather. A quick glance was enough to determine that you were being studied intently for any sign of discomfort - Seonghwa was ready to pull away at any moment, any sigh, and most definitely at any word. A meek smile settled on your lips, and you shyly used an oncoming stranger as an opportunity to affirm the gesture, stepping towards the vampire, and sensing the confidence of his protective measure be solidified. With glee he followed your every tilt and turn, angling away from the passing form that neither of you could focus on. The touch was electric, somehow monumental despite being so common and barely present. Your mind was on fire, pondering what it would be like to put your head on the elegant man’s shoulder, and let yourself be carried away into a terrific fairy tale.

“This really is a rainy day,”

“Seems quite sunny to me,” you respond with sarcasm, realising only after the fact that your phrase still did retain an element of truth within it. 

Sunshine did not have to be literal. It was easy to see, you just needed to return Seonghwa’s gaze, and watch as another spring flower blossomed in the soul of one you had initially assumed to be so cold, so distant. In the darkest winter was a safe haven that you could not help but lean into, and regardless of what you had initially thought, with him, you felt more human, more safe and alive than ever. He listened without fail to your ramblings, and could easily pick up the ball and balance it with his own musings that you could listen to for many lifetimes.

Lifetimes; immortality, the one concept you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. Well, the latter was technically not true, as Seonghwa had elaborated some few days ago: vampires did age, albeit at such a slow pace that to the run of the mill human being, it was impossible to notice, and if they did, it would be someone very close, and only over a matter of decades. Maybe it was this exact inability that made you want to stay and learn all there could be about the gallerist - you thought that would make you feel like you have been living forever. His wisdom was beautiful. The kindness with which he treated you, akin to that of how a spouse treats their long-time sweetheart with a mellow and comfortable affection, was not something you asked for nor expected, but something which he introduced himself with through every action, progressively more amiable when you allowed him to advance.

���Mm, no wonder I can’t quite look at you,” he mused out loud, dramatically looking off into the distance. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what was going to come after his theatrical pause, “your brightness is unparalleled,” Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with your sigh and the way in which you pretended to be annoyed, only to dissolve in a mute giggle. “So, I do suggest we get out of the rain for a moment and stop by that book shop over there, shall we?”

Following his hand, you spotted an antique bookshop a few doors down, marked by an iron sign and ornate shop window decorations that glistened with each hit of the dancing droplets. A warm golden light emanated from the inside, the hue comparable to a summer’s day. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over you, as though you had been in this store before, even though this was quite the distance away from your home, not on any of your usual commutes and in a part of town you barely visited aside from the occasional brisk walk. It had been established over a century ago, sporting a historical plaque and detailing original to the era the date on the sign suggested. Suppressing your internal monologue, you simply nodded, fond of Seonghwa’s excitement as he pushed lightly against your back and walked on ahead. If you were any more of a romantic, you would have assumed that the shop was a representation of his heart, but you couldn’t allow yourself to think that way, at least not when you felt heat rise to your cheeks as he whispered your name, openly planning what you could look for amidst the rare editions together. You and him turned into a ‘we’ so naturally, you barely had time to blink. A new brushstroke on a canvas, brave, bold and bright. Impressionist.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

The hypnotising improvisation on a semi-acoustic guitar, followed by a launch back into the theme of a well-known jazz song had you tapping on the counter, unknowingly following every drum beat. The bar turned cosy music venue that Seonghwa had invited you out to was proving to be every bit a wonder of the world, and paradise inside of the otherwise gloomy city which had been plagued with miserable weather and lack of daylight for atrociously long. The classy establishment was a well known favourite among the vampires residing in the city, especially those aligned with a more bohemian and art-focused lifestyle. Critics, painters, collectors, musicians, poets alike all gathered to share ideas and energy, and reminisce days long gone, while the band - one that had not changed since the bar’s establishment, revived legendary pieces one after another. 

With ease, Seonghwa had ordered your favourite drink, having memorised it after your many outings that had smoothly transitioned into dates and shared nights. He remembered every detail about you, holding each one tenderness. Your lover gazed at you as he ended a conversation with a fellow collector who had recently come to town for a few days, stretching out his hand until it just touched yours, guiding it to lie flat on the counter. Seonghwa’s palm, still retaining a pleasant coolness despite him having had a couple of drinks of his own, was another reassurance that in the buzz of the venue, you still had your person by your side. Feeling his digits tap and then proceed to brush the back of your hand, you hummed in contentment, and let your eyes travel over the beautiful vampire, who leaned back, tempting you just for fun, knowing full well that you were wholly his, and even when you turned to look elsewhere, it was his face you saw in the crowd, it was his voice that rang in your ears, it was his touch that ghosted over your skin. 

The bustier from Alexander McQueen, the gorgeous flowy shirt with ruffles and cuts so tastefully sewn and executed, the statement necklace that was worthy of being displayed at a gallery and must be the envy of many, the high heeled boots that were concealed by elegant trousers - Seonghwa was your favourite work of art, and you could never deny it. Each one of his gestures was worthy of marvel, and the care with which he approached everything - even the tending to the items which he painstakingly selected and matched for tonight made your heart skip a beat. It was boggling how each garment and accessory was either an original, or a one of a kind piece. But at the same time, you did not expect anything less of Seonghwa.

He must be impossible to depict in paintings, you concluded, shamelessly staring at your lover’s face, from the shape of his nose, to the plushness of his lips, to the waviness of his night-like inky locks. You bet many had tried, but judging by the lacking evidence in the art world, they must have failed, miserably, to create something more immortal and invincible than the model and muse. You understood them, and Seonghwa gave no signs of being perturbed. 

“So, was that the intent behind our spontaneous trip to this bar tonight?” you gestured at your surroundings, taking another sip from your ornate glass. A sharp exhale accompanied a contrasting soft answer:

“Not at all,I had the business sorted a couple of days ago, and tonight was a lucky crossing of paths to secure the deal,” cryptic as ever, Seonghwa only alluded to the matter at hand.

The matter, or how he had referred to it as ‘business’ was a particular artwork that he had been hunting, by the elusive artist you had been investigating, first in your lonesome, and then joining forces with Seonghwa. Apparently, one of the pieces, by some stroke of unimaginable luck, had been kept safe in the private collection of a ‘Mister Kim’, at least that was how he had been initially introduced to you. Until you put two and two together, and when the very well dressed and styled character had entered the bar and made a beeline towards your partner in artistic musings and romance, recognised the man as a world-famous designer and fashion icon, Kim Hongjoong. And of course, another vampire and kind soul in one. 

Their conversation had happened outside of your earshot; whether it was on purpose or just so happened to unfold that way was for your ruminations to determine, but you did overhear enough to figure out that this was a portrait, a never seen work, and was completed by the artist who as it had turned out had been closer with Seonghwa than you had initially thought. 

“Seems to be very important, and not just in a ‘collector’ sense…” you trailed off, watching as the ice in your drink cracked, “is this why you were interested, you know, back then?”

“If I were to be honest, darling, I was, and still am, a lot more interested in you. The artist was something of an excuse to get a conversation going. And I do hope,” Seonghwa turned and sauntered towards you, “this conversation does not end.” 

Even though you were sitting on one of the bar stools, the heels and stance still left him some room to look downwards, and his sultry expression, orbs glinting at you through dark lashes left you transfixed. In moments such as this, you hated to be mortal. There were so many things that you could not possibly know, and no matter how hard you would try to comprehend the vastness of the angelic man’s mind, you would always remain theoretical, and accept the grand majority of intricacies as axiom.

“I hope so too,” your voice barely rose above a whisper as his gloved hand landed on your neck, gliding upwards to caress your jawline.

“I’m so glad I found you,” his thoughts were elsewhere, you were sure of it, and yet, his gaze remained unwavering, “my eternal love”. Lips stained with bittersweet worship, the words stumbled from them to strike you repeatedly in the heart, forcing it to lose its rhythm. He was regarding you like he had stumbled upon a priceless treasure, a divinity, a paradise. Something far from you and from this planet, but by Seonghwa’s careful selection, etched in your features.

Were you the embodiment of something greater for him? You would not consider yourself to be a model example of a human being, neither were you a pretty statue to display in an exhibition. You were you, but Seonghwa kept on convincing you that it was exactly this that had captivated him and showed him a new beginning. Did you wish to believe that? Of course. But a vampire who was hundreds of years old could keep a grand variety of secrets beyond your understanding, even if he were to exclaim them right in front of you and sketch them out. His eternal love - your version of eternity, or his? A life the duration of a butterfly’s abstract dance to the heavens.

“Love?” he called out to you, eyebrows knitted in concern due to your prolonged silence. You had set your drink down, and were staring at the shine of the glossy chrome silver and pearl on Seonghwa’s necklace. “Talk to me, say anything.”

“I- hm. I think I am just tired. Yeah, that must be it. Tired so I am overthinking, no worries. I’ll just be right here and-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you tilted your head, noting how Seonghwa immediately straightened out, and instead of attempting to tower over you stepped over to the side to set a protective hand over yours.

“This is a majority vampire bar, full of unfamiliar individuals, this whole deal with the artwork is up in the air and-”

“First of all, I don’t care. Second, you are here with me. And third, I want to trust in the fact that you would not do anything foolish nor harmful. Am I right in my evaluation?” you uttered, still not quite able to look into Seonghwa’s infinite pools of brilliant sienna and dark brown.

“I- I am honoured, but that still does not detract from the fact that we can go get some air and come back. Shall we?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to. Hell, need to. Let us have a quick wander?”

“...I’d like that.”

In no time, the winter air hit your cheeks and you were wrapping yourself as tightly as you could in your oversized coat. In your ears the pleasant sound of the vampire’s heels rang out, echoed by the stunning road onto which you were spat out by the heavy black front door of the bar. Warm-toned streetlights liberally decorated the sidewalks and painted the night in honey, gold and copper accents. Reflections of an artificial summer in the puddles and winter chill. Downright magical. Seonghwa seeked out your hand, holding it tight and guiding it into the pocket of his own coat, smirking when you raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

“Nothing at all.”

You were certain that you were walking through a landscape painting, every element captured by your vision falling into its rightful place, harmonising with the rest. The mumbling and music was long gone, only to be replaced by conversation of other late city explorers and the occasional rumbling of a car lazily rolling past. 

“Pissarro.”

“Hm?” Seonghwa kept looking ahead, but squeezed your hand to ask for you to continue.

“Boulevard Montmartre at Night. Painted in 1897, no?” you pointed at the surroundings with a tilt of the chin.

“Ah, indeed! Your perceptiveness never ceases to amaze me.”

“Well, thanks to you I got to see the original, so how could I not make the visual analogy?” you nudged his shoulder, earning a chuckle.

The painting was the only example of a landscape at night from the artist Camille Pissarro, making it all the more special despite it being part of a series of 14 views of the same location. Snow, rain, fog, morning, varying seasons, but only one glimmering night. It was one of the works that Seonghwa had managed to provide for your studies, resulting in a more than impressive academic outcome. Like Pissarro kept on painting the vista, your lover kept on giving, never asking for anything more than for you to share your hours with him, something you did not need to be prompted to do anyways.

“...I’m sorry I cannot reveal more than I do, at least not just yet,” he apologised, as though what he was committing was the greatest crime known to humanity and the supernatural.

As you looked up at the starry night sky, you swore you had heard these words before, uttered by the same voice, the same fingers interlocked with yours. A stabbing sensation in your cranium made you gasp, but you regained your composure quickly enough to not make it a priority for either of you. At the same time, Seonghwa’s expression altered to a semblance of… hope? Longing? You could not pinpoint it, but one of the many glowing dots above you clearly landed in his shining orbs, and he eagerly waited.

Waited for longer than you could realise in your present state.

On their own accord, your lips moved, forcing out a subconscious acknowledgement, previously suppressed. You swore the phrase belonged to another being, but it was as refreshing as the breeze tousling Seonghwa’s locks.

“I know. I can wait too.”

“Soon, my love.”

“I-I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-” vision growing hazy, you reached to the vampire for support, which he readily provided, “I- too.”

One blink - oil paints decorated your hands, and those alluring eyes were staring back at you from a canvas. Another blink - Seonghwa was repeating your name, pressing his cheek against yours as he shielded you from falling into darkness with his strong arms.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ⋆ .

Your office was inviting and offered a secure haven: a collection of neutral and wooden tones, with dashes of greenery to relax the eyes. From a potted ivy plant settled on the top of a large wall-length shelving unit to an indoor palm tree enjoying the rays in its designated corner, the room was a miniature paradise. You ran your hands over the thick birch desk, cautiously avoiding the stack of documents you had arranged for yourself to go through this day. Artwork restoration reports, contracts, exhibition plans for years to come… everything you thought you would never see, and yet it was right here in your palms.

Time moved slower, or at least that was how you began to perceive it now that it was in abundance. A fountain that did not cease to bestow gifts upon you - again, something you would have never imagined prior to the curious series of events that were your previous life unfolding the way they did. One fateful meeting, and you were a changed person, staring into the horizon and labelling it as a continuation rather than as a termination of all you could achieve. The world was your oyster, and loving dedication was the price. But when the price was so sweet, and so easy, who were you to say no? If you had to pick a concern, it would be the bandages and binding on your right arm; friction from the sleeve of the turtleneck and blazer you had worn today applying uncomfortable pressure to the delicate wound concealed within. 

You stood up from the leatherbound office chair, adjusting your clothes and stepping to the window behind you to look out at the garden belonging to the gallery - a recent expansion. Grand, regal, and as the papers had emphasised, now returned to its rightful owner. You wondered just how much of the city had belonged to vampires at least for a portion of time, and you had no doubt that you would be making more discoveries soon, but for the time being, you were happy with the re-acquisition, or as Seonghwa had called it: your ‘turning’ gift. A particularly strong shift of the arm made you wince, and your other hand shot to nurse your sore arm.

“I’m so sorry darling, does it still hurt?” Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa had slipped into the office, and immediately rushed towards you, concern painting his beautiful face through furrowed brows and a tiny scowl.

“N-no, barely. The sweater is silly-”

“Let’s not disregard ailments, shall we?” your partner gingerly lifted your arm, and after gaining permission through a few lethargic nods, pushed the sleeve upwards to reveal the bandages, “I- really, we need to apply the ointment again, that must be it-”

“Seonghwa-”

“Work can wait, I just need to-”

“My love-” Seonghwa paused his ramblings to stare back at you, puzzled, “it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Literally just a bite, isn’t it?” you smiled, the action instantly being mirrored, albeit with a tinge of remaining worry.

“Mm, perhaps I am overreacting, I can’t help it,” your thoughts were numbed by the silken touch of his lips on the back of your hand, wool against cotton as he pulled you into an embrace, “it should heal well once you get used to your new form, I am sure of it,” his tresses tickled your nose, but you ignored it, instead letting your head fall against him.

You stood almost completely still aside from the rocking side to side that was habitual for you both. A lulling motion, one that either of you revealed only to each other. A secret reserved for intimate, loving moments such as this. You shook your head in amusement and buried your nose in Seonghwa’s sweater, inhaling the aroma of his sweet perfume, recalling ‘Love and Pain’ - the painting that had marked the tightening of the invisible string tying you together. Or was it? Coincidentally, on the wall behind your lover was the real inception of your union, one that you had forgotten from one lifetime to the next. A portrait. The one that Seonghwa had been chasing, and what had been his decades-long mission came to an end.

Signed with your own hand, were initials of your name and the year of completion of the painting. None other than the beloved collector and muse, Park Seonghwa, who had posed for you, or rather a version of you, and ever since then, you were the only one on his mind. You had been the master both of the arts and of his fate.

“Please, I am embarrassed…” your partner mumbled, settling for futile attempts to position you in such a way that you would be looking out at the garden, but to no avail. Poking him playfully at the side, you induce a halt, and question him:

“What is there to be embarrassed about? That’s you. Painted by me.”

“Exactly. And you have it in your office, of all places.”

“Well I can’t exactly have you, in the flesh, on display all the time and I would like a work of art around here-”

“Shh-”

“Don’t shush me, Park. Be grateful I don’t keep the sketches out too.”

In all honesty, He would not mind if you did. You could do anything, and the vampire would adore and honour it. Whether it was in your blood or in his nature, he had never regretted almost losing himself in your favour. In your last life, he had gone against all rules set up by vampires, playing against what he swore was the devil in order to have the sliver of a chance to start again and, this time not lose you. Had his plan not succeeded, it was highly probable that he would have been erased from this planet too. But he would rather call himself a masochist than be law-abiding when it came to you.

“Next, you’ll be threatening me with a showcase of just my face-”

“What if I do?” you quipped, pulling back to boop his nose with yours, “I think it would look very pretty. Besides, now that I remember my apparent mastery of the visual arts, can’t I be a tiny bit proud, hm?”

“I would be terribly disappointed if you weren’t. Now, may I put that ointment on you?”

As if you could refuse those sparkling eyes. Promptly following him to the loveseat, which unfortunately for Seonghwa was situated right under the portrait, you sat down and waited. Your partner rushed to the medical cupboard - another new addition installed exclusively to support you as you were getting used to the vampiric nuances in your day to day. With well-practised motions, the required kit was in his hands, and in a blink, set down on the plush cushioning of the miniature sofa. You held back a chuckle as you saw the pout you so loved appear as he focused on unwinding the bandage with utmost care. Before you could feel any hurt, Seonghwa would already let go, or alter the angle at which he was tugging on the material. As soon as the plaster was peeled, you were met with the reason for your eternity and reawakening.

Two deep punctures, still a little irritated, not quite healed, but nevertheless a marking of your future and something you regarded with fondness. Wounds did not hurt when they were merely physical, especially not when you had someone who had bound their immortality to yours to tend to them. Seonghwa bit his lower lip, discontented with the ache as though he could feel it too, and took numerous pauses while cleaning up the wound to glance at you. 

“I’ll be applying the ointment now, tell me if it stings, okay?”

“Okay,” you knew it wouldn’t. You had never heard a man be so adamant on checking ingredients at an apothecary before following Seonghwa after your first appointment as a vampire. But just to appease him, you followed this small spoken routine. 

“You know… I was scared,” his voice was barely audible, and he could not look at you.

“What were you scared of?”

“Losing you again.”

“Well, I am here, aren’t I?”

Even before you were aware of Seonghwa, let alone the truth behind the portrait, all the roads still led to the same resolution. The arts, art history. Virtually synonymous, for without creation, there would not be the past, and without the study of the past, there would not be the celebration and respect of creation. Finally, you understood the beauty of evolution that Seonghwa had undergone all while remaining the same vulnerable yet legendary figure, dedicated to his vision of the arts, having recollected your own. 

“So many things could have gone wrong,” Seonghwa’s mind was reeling from the sheer terror of possibility. He had taken advantage of his high social standing as an aristocrat and pulled rank to avoid waiting for any ritual guides to step in - it was not the first time, but still only the second. And both cases were related to you. 

The first time might have been a foolish decision in retrospect, but considering the dire circumstances the extreme solution was the only one. With one foot crossing to the afterlife he was combatting the reapers, and was not going to let go of you even if it meant being pulled in. This time, when you had approached him a number of nights ago with your final agreement to his tentative proposal and kissed his ruminations away, he was ready. Years of study were not going to waste, after all. And yet when he studied the same irises as those from a time long gone, when he held the same hands, his blood ran even colder. What a gambling man he had been back then. The procedure to regift life to you had been risky, and Seonghwa, having never practised those elements of the dark arts bestowed upon his kind, had been taking shot after shot in the dark. How dare he play with your being like that? How dare he hold your existence on a sinful scale?

“But they didn’t.”

No they did not. Your confidence in him had aided considerably, he had to admit. The positioning of his fangs was perfect, and he had memorised all incantations down to the inflections. Second time a charm, but much more anxiety-inducing. Turning was not the same as revival, either. He could not stop himself from imagining the many scenarios of where he would have gone wrong, and cemented your identity only as a name on manuscripts, dissertation, paintings and reports. 

“Even the ritual, what if you did not remember-”

“I would love you just the same. Whether I had all my memories or not. That much I can assure you of. That is why I trusted you in the first place, Seonghwa.”

You did not need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. All you could do was suggest a brighter palette, and be by his side no matter what colour scheme he were to decide on. It was an artist’s duty to know when to set the tools aside and consider a painting finished. The luxury of a collector was to live through many paintings, unify the souls contained in each and sustain a chronology of expression. The keepers, the scholars, made to observe change rather than induce it directly. This was why you were all the more grateful for Seonghwa daring to change your mortal fate not once but twice, risking himself and his image in your favour.

When your partner was satisfied with his medical care, he hummed to notify you and began to clear up, at least until you placed a weak hand on his leather-clad thigh to gain his full attention. He searched for a hint in your features, eyes darting across your face at lightning speed. Relief came when you grinned brightly, whispering sincere gratitude.

Impressionism - the movement and path made by legends. A rejection of traditional practice, a new vision and interpretation of the outside world in the hues of the soul. Light, reality, immediate action. A breath that reset the arts, magnificent and radical for the time, and now, much adored. From its conception to its establishment, you were there to witness and fall in love, and now could look back at the beauty that had bloomed. His irises, your favourite colour. The speckles of various shades, your favourite details. You stared into Seonghwa’s eyes and did not dare blink. Your favourite impression.

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[sanzaibian]

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m still in love. And it made me do some crazy stuff.

Let me talk to you about my first love. Unrequited, of course, but still, first love.

His name was Liam. Skinny, tall, handsome, you know how late middle-school crushes look like. He was sociable, unlike me, but we still did have the kind of deep discussions that I like having, about niche interests, walking back and forth the schoolyard. I was obsessed with him, letting my imagination run wild with scenarios involving him, ranging from seeing him out of school (shock horror ! … it was actually a big deal for me...) to being somehow abducted inside his body and living life as him, with him at the helm and me helping him in daily activities. I also imagined fantastic stories about him being a herald of a magical organization of which I was also part or to which he initiated me. I even wrote them, and hold dear to my heart those worlds I made involving me and Liam.

I even planned on marrying his sister just to be close to him, because I could of course not be in a relationship with him.

Oh, sorry, did I not mention that I was denying I was anything but straight at the time ? Sorry for the misunderstanding. But yes, the whole time I interacted with my first love, I thought he was just a very important friend. How shocking it was to find out just a few years later that I was indeed in love with him.

Sigh.

The problem is that it didn’t stop there, when life drew us to continue school in separate places. After that time, and even now, I see him in anyone looking anything like him. For example, take this guy :

It’s not him.

He’s older, and if I look more closely, I find more and more differences.

However, I look at him, and can only see Liam.

It drove me crazy. Those look-alikes didn’t all look alike, some being buff, some having some stubble, some even being quite short, but all sharing the same short hairstyle, and that unmistakable face.

I just… couldn’t move on, move on from a crush on a straight guy on which I never made any move. I tried finding other people to have crushes on, to fall in love with, perhaps even date, yet I failed at every step. Failed in seeing attractive men as anything more than just that, attractive, failed in meeting men with which to create meaningful relationship, failed in finding any place in the LGBT community.

And punctuating all of that, a slow but steady stream of Liam look-alikes were met in the street.

So don’t blame me if I finished by believing in my own fantasies, that we were in a magical world, with him seeking me to be a part of it, whence all of his appearances in the street. Plus, growing more and more isolated, who was there to bring me back to reality ? Certainly not the internet, as I sought out more and more obscure websites in the quest to understand what was happening to me.

It lead me first of all to psychological knowledge, most of which I have forgotten since then, then to occult, to erotica in a strange turn of events, and then, finally, to that one website that seemed to be the key to all my questions. It was on a weird Weibo post, that kind that leaves links to websites with passwords to open pirated content, that I first encountered. Thankfully, all of my yearning gave me enough frustration to study Chinese enough to read it with a dictionary on the side, so I was able to understand what that post was about.

At first I was skeptical. It was sketchy, plus what it promised was ludicrous… a simple app that would be able to answer any question with 100% accuracy, plus it claimed to use no AI. It also promised to get some “real experience of the answer”, whatever that may mean – assuming my translation of “实际的答案经历” is even correct.

However, at that point, I was desperate to get anything conclusive from this endeavor.

So I entered my question inside the machine, in the best of my poor Chinese, and asked “為什麼我遇到很多像Liam的人？” (Why do I meet a lot of people like Liam ?). Looking back, I should have written my question using simplified characters instead of traditional characters, it might have confused the app…

When I entered the question, it simply answered “谢谢您的问题！请等一下答案经验准备好了！” (Thank you for your question ! Please wait a bit for the experience of the answer to be prepared !). I felt like I was cheated on, even though I didn’t really expect much. At least give me a paywall to be angry at, but no, it was an empty sentence, giving me no catharsis for the long search for any answer to all the Liams I saw. Of why he was still sticking in my mind, of why I couldn’t move on properly.

At that point, it was already late, so, with no catharsis, I decided that this was just not worth it. I uninstalled the app, looking back likely also a mistake, and decided to clock out for the night.

I didn’t sleep well that night, moving a lot, and never able to completely enter the realm of dreams. Instead of plunging in a seemingly instant coma, I was slowly and painfully experiencing all the hallucinations of slumber, tense and sweating.

The next day, when I woke up, nothing felt right.

The bed didn’t feel right, the room didn’t feel right, the weight didn’t feel right, the hair didn’t feel right… even the morning wood didn’t feel right. Yet… there was something undeniably familiar to everything. As if it’s inside the uncanny valley between being what is known to me and what isn’t. I stood up, the height also didn’t feel right… I walked a bit dizzily, and though I could blame my recent waking for that, the way my weight was distributed was too strange to dismiss it on this basis.

So, as any good protagonist in the erotica stories I read in my futile quest, I headed for the bathroom. The house layout wasn’t what I remembered, yet it still felt familiar and easy to navigate, so I found my way to it.

And although I already expected it, all the clues pointing to this very fact, I was still shocked when I saw my reflection.

Let me tell you, nothing, nothing can prepare you for the experience of looking at a stranger in the mirror. Not even dysphoria, I tell you.

Because it was so unsettling, seeing the one thing that is supposed to always be familiar, that is supposed to only change little by little, so slowly enough that the human brain cannot process it changing, be so radically different. To not look like oneself, to not have even the same shape, as I was suddenly buff.

And to look like Liam.

I was unable to do anything but stand, bewildered, in front of the mirror, for quite a long while, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. However, finally, I snapped out of my inaction. I automatically reached for the gel and spiked my hair up, even though I never even touched hair gel in my entire life, before going back to my bedroom to find my computer.

All I found was a laptop, but it sufficed. I go little by little to find back the trace of that Weibo post – installing a Chinese keyboard at the same time – but find little luck. Although I did find some familiar-looking webpages and links, I had a hard time finding anything…

Then, suddenly, it was 10AM, and I remembered that I was supposed to go to the gym. And that I didn’t even take the time to prepare my protein shake… God, I was so taken by my sudden transformation that I didn’t even think about the essential !

It took me until I was greeted by the gym receptionist as “Liam” to notice that I wasn’t actually supposed to work out, only the body I was in was.

It shook me, but not enough to forget to answer the receptionist as I always do. I put away my things in the locker room, and made my way to the machines, performing a well-oiled routine, going from one machine to the other automatically. It was good that everything came to me this naturally, as otherwise I would have found myself silly, standing in front of the machines wondering how they worked.

As I was working out, I was thinking on this whole… experience. Quite clearly, I am not who I used to be, nor where I used to be, yet I was acting perfectly reasonably inside the role of the one who is called Liam – that is not, to my disappointment, the Liam I knew. I only look like him. It seems that, somehow, the Liam I inhabit and I merged, letting me insert myself in the life of that Liam seamlessly, yet still keeping my shock, my interests and my wishes intact. As if I was living the life of the one I had taken the body of, only really acting like myself when the Liam I now am has no obligations.

Coming back “home”, I continued my search, and found the original app that triggered this whole thing. Yet, I couldn’t find a way to reverse what it had done, not within the app, nor inside the documentation, plus the app wouldn’t grand any other answer but “谢谢您使用我们应用，请跟朋友转转！” (Thanks for using our app, please share a bit with friends !).

So I guess I now have to live inside this alien body that is in all manners similar to my first love, even in name. I mean, there are worse fates, especially as this Liam thankfully also seems to be into men, yet I cannot help but feel unhappy about this arrangement. Although I now partly am the Liam I inhabit, I can’t help but feel like I have robbed him of his life, forcing him to sit at the back of my mind, experiencing his life in the third person. Plus, I can’t possibly get used to not being me, and especially not to looking just like the Liam of my memories.

Which lead me to my realization that motivated me to write about this.

The reason why I still find Liam everywhere in the streets (even now, inside the body of one of his look-alikes) isn’t that he has facial features rare enough to be noticeable, yet common enough to be shared by a big number of people. No, it’s the fact that I’m still thinking of him, which makes my brain look for people who look like him, whence seeing the resemblances with the Liam I knew rather than all the differences. And why do I still think of him ? The answer seems to be that I still haven’t moved on, that I’m still in love with my first love.

However, now that his face is the one that is reflected in the mirror...

Am I ever going to be able to move on and find love ?

[moonsaver]

Sumeru roses, House of Daena, Sticky notes.

-------

Being an asisstant for the scribe isn't so bad. Just ignore the persistent overtimes, the scent of your perfume everywhere, and the new ink bottles that keep running out on his desk. You didn't anticipate red being his favorite ink to work with.

A/n: more than 2.5k words. I didnt bother counting. I hsed google translate for arabic whoops sorry not sorry <3 also its been a while since i wrote.

Warnings/tags: reader is g/n, yandere Alhaitham, Alhaitham x reader, stalking, paranoia, obsessive themes, very very subtle mentions of blood (if you squint), kind of drawn out? Horrible arabic google translate quote. Probably OOC but you can ignore that

------

You admit, being an asisstant isn't so bad.

Of course, at first when you broke the announcement to your parents you wanted to further your studies at the Akademiya, your parents werent approving. They wanted you to get a cushy job and earn as soon as possible; you don't blame them. Having that life sounds peaceful, however, you think delaying it a bit won't hurt. You haven't had the proper chance to really scour the library at your own leisure, at least, not as a student.

So, while job-hunting, (which was wonderfully disrupted by the huge Archon-Overthrow-play-god plan for a good few weeks,) you got an offer as the Asisstant of the Grand Sage; which was suspicious from how good of a title it was. The Akademiya was desperate to get back on it's feet, and who were you to deny the offer?

Of course, it didn't quite occur to you until the first day of your job you'd be working alongside Alhaitham, the scribe of the Akademiya (and perhaps his infamous title as the one who curated a plan to foil Azar's shenanigans).

Which was fine. He was generally alright,if not great to work with. Straightforward, clear, brief, analytical and most of all – he wasn't pushy. Which was a relief, of course. You managed to make small talk from time to time (if you could really call it that,) and came to a consensus with him on many things, mostly that both of you were not pleased with overtime. The moment the clock hit 5:00 PM, both of you were out of your offices and posts. You were mutually respectful, and generally tolerated each other well.

Of course, things at your job got shaken up when your schedule was thrown off balance. Your favorite drink always ran out, your mornings were crowded and somehow you started showing up later than usual, which meant you went home later aswell (much to your dismay).

Another strange series of events started taking place, if you could even call it that. You swear you haven't been watering the plants in front of your home, and the soil is dry enough, so how are they so.. vibrant? And recently, you swear one of the plants is growing a little too much, basically covering one of the windows, threatening to break it. Sticky notes scattered around the front of your house which you originally thought of as littering from those raucous kids your neighbours can't keep in control – you only realised they were for you when you caught a glimpse of your name on it, and you can only agree with the suspicious look on your friends’ faces when you show them the notes – bright Canary yellow and the striking red colour across the notes (although, you've only shown them the more milder ones. You can't imagine the panic you'll be forced to acknowledge if they see some of the other.. strange ones.)

And you suppose your paranoia has caught up to you. Your sleep-deprived mind swears that new red coloured bottle of ink on Alhaitham's desk wasn't there. You swear he never used that bright Canary Yellow colour of post-its. Did he really like that drink he always seemed to get for both of you? It conveniently ran out when you wanted it, and even more so, he conveniently just brought an extra since it was on discount? Of course it all just seems like a coincidence. You're a fool to even think otherwise.

And well, you're fine. Your life has always been a long series of fine, even with the occasional weird mishaps. That's how it's always been, and you don't intend to change it; rather, you really do find change almost repulsive (save for the panic you felt deep down in your stomach at all the things you couldn't control). And that “fine” comes to a halt when you find your door absolutely mauled with sticky notes. There's a bouquet of Sumeru Roses at the bottom, as if to try and apologise sheepishly for the terrifying collage on your door. The terrifying numbness in your fingers, face, your brows furrowed as you can't decide just how to react, the elevated heartbeat – you swear you can feel the blood threaten to burst through your chest. 

You opted to stay with a friend that night. You don't know what you were expecting when you came back in the morning, and all of those notes were gone, except a singular one in the middle, “الهوس والحب مترادفان، لكنهما لا يقارنان بارتباط روحي بروحك” (which you had to reread almost 30 times with your broken arabic, checked with someone from the Haravatat Darshan, to really confirm – obsession and love are synonyms, but they are nothing compared to the connection of my soul to yours – is what it said, and it's echoed in your head for weeks). You can't remember the last time you wore your rose perfume after that.

Scouring in the House Of Daena didn't seem to alleviate your troubles that well, either. The books you read one day, and opted to continue the next – vanished. Someone else always had the upper hand. And when they returned, they were scribbled and annotated with many pockets of information. Sometimes they overshadow the information on the page itself. And on the rare occasion you put your head on the books as a makeshift pillow for a power nap, you jolted up from just a sniff. Sumeru roses hit your nose.

And of course, when you find notes with all different handwritings on your desk in the office, you think someone's playing a cruel prank on you. But your office was locked. No one saw anyone enter your office. You did your usual check up before you locked it last night, and assorted everything in place. None of these notes were here. And of course, your only clue is the fact they're all Canary Yellow post-its, and that striking scarlet red ink on it. Hasn't the bottle on Alhaitham's desk been running out? He mentioned it off-handedly. You remember saying blue ink was cheaper. He didn't respond.

–

overtime was disdainful, for the lack of a better word. However, that implies only to the masses – it is no problem for him to come up with better synonyms to describe the situation at hand. “Distasteful”, “loathsome”, “detestable”, and so on. However, complaining will not solve the stacks of files on his desk that he wishes to do away with as soon as possible.

If anything pleases him more than his usual combination of abstruse books, isolation from the general public, and extreme individuality, it is that as the Grand Sage's assistant – you are expected to stay back for the extended hours as much as he is, if not more. For once, working overtime (or being forced to) has brought him progress. Will a few more hours of scribbling away and reviewing files change anything huge? He will return to his post again tomorrow as he has today, and the work will continue. Although, this time, it is you who stays working overtime. So for once, if it manages to quiet down the poking and prodding of other nosy scholars, reprimanding him for never working even a minute after the allocated time, he does so for the exchange of working with you.

And he doesn't intend to burden you, but he knows the desperation you work with, trying your best to cram in any minute, second into trying to get ahold of those books at the House Of Daena. So, if at least to make you stay for longer, he assigns you the more dragged out, tedious work. And to make it better – you just got locked out of your office. He has an extra pair, which he diligently uses for his own interest. As for you; perhaps being so frantic and scrambling to gather all books you might have read the day before may have caused you to drop your keys somewhere along the way. Would he know? Of course – he's diligently collected and added it to his inventory. Would he tell you? It would be like stepping on his own tail. The lack of certainty in a schedule makes for more freedom – he thinks. It's for your own good; he almost says. And to have you work in the same proximity as him? It's a bonus. 

Many consider him to be talented and extraordinarily intelligent, so just take his advice as literally as you can. Or maybe he just needs to tell you directly while making small talk between you two more frequent. To his dismay (and your absolute horror), the sticky notes seem to be working counterproductively. Perhaps he should just show up at your house with a bouquet of Sumeru roses and a small journal filled with his advice? He jests, it's only an entertaining idea. The bewildered look on your face makes him adore you – even if only imaginative.

The lift stops at the top floor. He sees your figure standing beside his desk, an expanse of books behind you. The sharp yellow lights contrast your figure to the dim blue light sphere in the middle. He feels the corners of his mouth perk up into a smile,and stops himself.

Another overtime shift for the both of you.

—

Overtime was not easy. You wouldn't have minded it – the job pays you well, and its quite comfortably tucked into the Akademiya, where no one bothers you, and you can easily access the House of Daena. However, the stress and paranoia has absolutely drained you. 

You've visited the matra recently. Frantically scraping together whatever evidence you can, everytime your “admirer” decided to gift you something new, leaving almost no time in your schedule. Daily visits to the library turned into constant visits to the matra, detailing your issues. You would have opted to stay silent, brushing it off as someone who was.. weirdly shy. But shy people don't stalk you, shy people don't leave obsessive notes for you, shy people don't visit your house at unholy hours of the night. And who knows what else this stalker of yours has been up to recently?

Revenge bedtime procrastination turned into sleepless nights, flinching at every sound, hiding under the covers until there was no oxygen and your entire face was covered in sweat. Workload seemed to increase, from how often you kept messing up, many things clouding your mind. Alhaitham's prickly eyes took notice, and he suggested drinking another beverage aside from coffee in the morning, and offered to get you something else – which you generously refused and turned down. (the last thing you would want to be is in someone else's debt at this time. Even if it's just a drink, who knows what else it could add up to in the future?)

So, here you were; irritated, on edge and in the dimly lit office which was viciously devoid of any natural light. You wonder why someone would want such a stuffy office, with books probably growing mold inside. Sure, it's spacious, but it's utter lack of life in it repulses you. It has the comfort level of a hospital waiting room, and it's just enough to add onto the little things that bother you, on top of everything else.

If that wasn't any better – Alhaitham seemed particularly chatty this evening. Perhaps his parasitic roommate (whom he has lovingly mentioned, multiple times,) has been ignoring him as of late? Maybe a commission in the desert, or a commission that requires a huge amount of unnecessary labour? And the (Acting) Grand Scribe has mentioned several times how the blonde architect works himself almost half to death just to get a smile out of his customers. You painstakingly understand him in silence, and don't comment on it.

The rest of the night continues – the benignity of it isn't lost on you. Occasionally perking up from your own scribbling upon Alhaitham's call, searching for a specific book on the vast (dusty, if you may add) shelves, and commenting on a few meeting topics and research projects he grazes, assigning you a few. He doesn't miss the comical dragging of your feet as you walk back over to your desk, befuddled with more work. He wants to tease you, he wants you to ask him for help, for an extra bottle of ink, for an extra post it note, whatever way in which you ask for his help.

He theorises you don't remember much of your and his student days.

—

“shit, I forgot them.”

You searched the familiar pockets and zips of your bag, scrunched eyebrows in frustration.

“Seriously? I'm not lending you any of mine~”

Your friend laughed. You sigh.

“I let you hog all my lunch and this is what I get as a thank you?”

“Too bad. You don't like the blue coloured ones anyway.”

“I'm desperate for a sticky note. Does it look like I'm in a state to be picky?”

Your friend laughs again, and throws their little compact stack of post-its on your book.

“Fine. But you've already annotated so much, what are you gonna write about?”

“Hmm? Wouldn't you like to know?”

You playfully ignore them, as they chitter behind you; carefully sticking it into your textbook and scribbling down the information before you forget. You sigh and look up. You make eye contact.

Right. It's him.

The grey-haired Haravatat boy that rarely showed up. Everyone knew him for his quiet attitude, and his tendency to make your professor's blood boil due to his absence in every lecture. Your friends had a few inside jokes about him. You would dare say this is your first encounter, or really the only one, with him. A stoic look and a judgmental one at the same time, behind curiously multicoloured eyes. 

Nearing the end of the semester – usually the smart ones would avoid the house of Daena, as it would overflow with study groups of caffeine-run seniors and freshman alike. Some of the other clever ones chose spots that weren't easy to find in the first place, and some chose to simply come early.

The thing is, you didn't come early. You were here from midnight. The librarian and all the security checks probably missed you, since you were neatly tucked away into the corner, taking a well-needed nap on one of your reference materials. You only woke up when one of your friends, and that boy poked and prodded you. Your friend laughed until they were out of breath when you looked up – drool slipping down past your chin, eyes swollen from the lack of sleep (and the incessant crying of an academic student), handwriting illegible from just how drowsy you were. The boy only stood quietly, probably judging your.. mannerisms. You weren't sure how, or why, he sat down at the same table as you and your friend. 

—-

Every once in a while - Alhaitham does use the sticky notes.

He didn't buy them. He wanted to borrow them for a short second, but in your hurry, you gave him the compact stack and left, never looking back. After that, you never got them back. Neither of you had the time, and your fate simply intertwined for a brief moment. Things like these happen.

But you keep appearing in the crowd.

He sees you in a flurry of students, or alone at a desolate desk. On a high-up ladder reaching an impossibly reachable book, crouching down to pick up the several you dropped in the process. Passing by the dull lecture halls as he slipped into the library, following the reference materials his father recommended, picked out neatly from private journals and books. The yellow sticky notes never served him much purpose after a single use. He debated simply keeping them on your desk the next time he saw you, but never quite worked up the courage. He swore the sumeru rose scent gave him a headache.

So, when he heard you were continuing your studies at the Akademiya, he was pleased. Working as a Scribe was a simple job, and his chances of seeing you just increased. And he may have been too ambitious, but it worked greatly in his favour – as he opened up another Assistant role for you. 

He hums, content with his decision to keep the sticky notes. Now - how would he utilise them? He wonders if you remember that friend's handwriting. Simple notes turned into obsessive confessions.

Once in a while turned into almost everyday, the more he observed you.

His obsession alone could become the subject of his own studies – but for now you are his sole interest.

And the next overtime, his first after returning to his post as the Scribe – he decides to finally close the chapter.

Has your perfume always been this sweet? That headache's been catching up to you. All that worrying and panic.. when was the last time you slept?

He opens the door to his office. You stand under the warm light, horrified. Piles of sticky notes crowd your feet. The wall barely peeks through behind you from the sticky notes. He closes the door, and a flurry of them fall from the movement. Both of you stare at each other.

“Alhaitham?”

You remember looking at the collection of sticky notes you'd received over a period of time. Is the red ink turning brown? You swore the color changed. Is it supposed to smell? You don't think you want to know.

“Congratulations. You've made it this far. Ive been waiting to talk to you in private."

Your arms go limp, dropping the stack of files onto the floor. The clock ticks silently. You should have gone home. Your bad habit of staying past closing time and evading the security seemed to have not worked in your favour this time.

----

[redslug]

Helping Neuroslug help me

Admittedly it took me an embarrassing amount of time to figure out and start using inpainting, but now that I've had a taste of it my head is spinning with possibilities. And so I'm making this post to show the process and maybe encourage more artists to try their hand at generating stuff. It really can can be an amazing teammate when you know how to apply it. For those who didn't see my first post on this, I've trained an AI on my artworks, because base Stable Diffusion doesn't understand what anthropomorphic insects are. That out of the way, here we go:

I noticed that a primarily character focused LoRA often botches backgrounds (probably because few images of the dataset have them) so I went with generating a background separately and roughly blocking out a character over it in Procreate. Since it was a first experiment I got really generous with proper shading and even textures. Unsurprisingly, SD did it's job quite well without much struggle.

Basically masked out separate parts such as fluff, skirt, watering can, etc. and changed the prompt to focus on that specific object to add detail. There were some bloopers too. She's projecting her inner spider.

Of course it ate the hands. Not inpainting those, it's the one thing I'll render correctly faster than the AI does. Some manual touchups to finish it off and voila:

The detail that would have taken me hours is done in 10-20 minutes of iterating through various generations. And nothing significant got lost in translation from the block out, much recommend. But that was easy mode, my rough sketch could be passed off as finished on one of my lazier days, not hard to complete something like that. Lets' try rough rough.

I got way fewer chuckles out of this than I expected, it took only 4-5 iterations for the bot to offer me something close to the sketch.

>:C It ate the belly. I demand the belly back. Scribble it in...

Much better. Can do that with any bit actually, very nice for iterating a character design.

Opal eyes maybe?

Lol

Okay, no, it's kind of unsettling. Back to red ones. Now, let's give her thigh highs because why not?

It should be fancier. Give me a lace trim.

Now we're talking. Since we've started playing dress-up anyway, why not try a dress too. Please don't render my scribble like a trash bag. I know you want to.

Phew

I crave more details.

Cute. Perhaps I'll clean it up later. ... .. . SHRIMP DRESS

[ramp-it-up]

The Gentleman Returns

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Veterinarian!Reader

Summary: Henry comes back. Can he keep his composure around you?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Explicit description of graphic sex. P orn with just a little bit of plot. Read at your own risk.  Flashbacks, Facetime s ex, long distance romance, Angst, pining, flirting, arguing, reader insecurity, wagering, brat behavior, dirty talk, size kink, or al s ex, raw p in v (wrap before you tap),  b reeding kink, pain kink, m asturbation,o ral sex (f recieving) Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is part two of Doctor and Mr. Cavill. Let me know if you liked it!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

“I am in control. I am not a man possessed. I am not an animal.”

Henry repeated it to himself as he prepared for his morning cardio run down, which just happened to be 3.5 miles down Route 60 to your house. He decided that running would serve two purposes: One, to round out his morning exercise, and two, to calm him down. 

It had been a long two weeks away. 

You were constantly on Henry’s mind and it took all of his acting skills to attend to the matters that took him home to Great Britain. But he was finally back in your town, which happened to be the location of his latest film role, and he was focused on letting you know that he didn’t think of you as just a good time in America. 

Henry knew that you thought he just wanted to have his way with you. The truth was that he felt for you deeply, and he didn’t quite know how to tell you. Things had gone much farther and faster than he ever imagined they would.

That’s why Henry was determined to be a gentleman today.

He’d stop by and say hello, collect Kal, ask you out on a date, and leave you intact like the lady you are. And then, maybe later, perhaps…. His heart rate escalated as he decided that he wouldn’t just grab you and take you up to your bed and fuck your brains out. 

No.

Absolutely not. 

Henry shook his head and smiled as he started the 5K run to your house. 

He’d landed the night before, and you both agreed that he needed to rest before he was in charge of Kal again. He slept, and then bounded out at 5 am the next morning to train and also to tame the boner that he’d awakened with for the past fortnight.

Henry’s head was in the clouds and he barely registered any exertion on the road to your place; he just daydreamed about led him to this point.

-------

Two weeks earlier...

Good morning Doctor. How are you?

The text was sent at 7:43 am, as soon as he touched down at JFK. Henry found that he had no qualms about looking desperate for you, because he actually was. 

Henry was surprised when you responded so promptly this early in the morning, but he was pleased.

Good morning Mr. Cavill. I’m a little sore. Fed the animals and am now taking a nice, hot bath.

Henry was concerned as he shouldered his backpack and walked down the jet bridge to the car area for his service. He was stopped for an autograph by someone who recognized him despite his baseball cap and mask, and as such, he didn't have time to really think when he responded.

Oh no! Did you lift too much feed? You really must lift heavy weights properly.

Henry’s brow was furrowed as he thought of you injured. You chuckled at Henry’s cluelessness. 

You’re carrying the weight that did the damage.

It took a second for the lightbulb to go off in Henry’s head, and when it did, he groaned, remembering how tight you’d been around him, but then he frowned again. He dialed you as soon as he was in the SUV with the door closed. 

You stared at your phone, not believing that he was facetiming you. After hesitating for just a moment, you answered.

“Hello?”

Henry peered at you through the screen then smiled, bringing the sun into your world.

“Hullo.”

You smiled back and bit your lip and Henry watched your mouth turn into a little pout. Damn, he was a goner. 

“Are you okay?”

His voice was laced with a sexy tone that sent a tingle down your spine. You could swear that your title had now become a term of endearment instead of a joke. Your head was spinning with desire, need and a little uncertainty. 

“I am perfectly fine.”

You certainly looked fit, Henry thought. And then he spied the bruise on your lip.

“What happened to your mouth?”

Henry looked angry, and your heart beat faster, thinking of how attractive he was when the dark clouds entered his eyes.

“… I split my lip when I… “ 

You looked down, eyelashes fanning your heated cheeks. What came next out of your mouth was a low and husky, but perfectly clear, whisper.

“I split my lip on you.”

Even in the bath, you grew moist at the memory of trying to accommodate Henry’s girth the night before. The slight pain of your bruised lip was forgotten the night before when you’d looked up at him through your lashes. 

Henry’s barely perceptible moan brought you back into the moment and made you rub your thighs together under the water. He took you in, an alluring vision all slippery and wet and beautiful. If he could actually fly like Superman back to your side, he would.

“Dear God. Do you know what you do to me?”

Henry intoned it deeply as he rubbed his jaw and licked his lips. 

“No, I don’t know, Mr. Cavill. Tell me?”

Henry let out a dark chuckle, double checking that the privacy partition was up in the car even though he had his airpods in.

“You’re an enchantress. I cant resist your allure, my dear Doctor, you’re captivating and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left.”

He watched you blush and had an idea. 

“I have to get out of this car soon, and I’ll have to make it to my room to take care of this evidence of your affect on me…” 

He panned down to his lap.

“Don’t…please.”

Henry's hand stilled on the ridge of his denimed dick. You’d commanded him with a whisper. He growled your name deep in his throat and you visibly shivered.

“I mean. It’s not for me to decide, but, if you were looking forward to us participating in activities like we did last night again…I’d rather you not…spill anything without me there to collect it. That is, if you could wait that long to cum again. To cum.. inside… me again..”

When you looked up at him again, you saw Henry’s eyes dilate as he bit his lip thinking of your wet heat. His cock jumped as debased images of what he wanted to do to you flooded his brain. He cleared his throat and his eyebrow rose as he bared his teeth in a feral smile to speak to you, his deep bass rumbling through you.

“You want me to save my seed to fill you up with, hmmm?”

You nodded, biting your lip, and your half closed eyes and whimpers only made him harder. He moved his hands to the leather seat of the suv, as he listened to the water moving around you as your free hand floated to your thigh. 

“How about I come back with my balls heavy with cum to pump you full of and let drip out of your pores. Could you handle that?”

You squirmed, your face full of desire. Henry felt like a man starved for your touch although he just left you not 4 hours earlier.

“Mmmmmm... I’d like that. Very, very much.”

Henry watched you throw your head back and licked his lips,trying to find the taste of you from last night.

“D’you need to be fucked again, Doctor?”

He was speaking softly, but resolutely now, his dulcet tones making you feel some kind of way.

“Ohhh, Henry… I’m still a little sore and swollen.”

Henry bit his lip. He didn’t want you to be discomforted, but the idea that he’d ruined you made him mad with need. He was panting as if he’d played a full rugby match and he was ready to burst inside his pants. 

“Are you? I should be there, to kiss that sweet little cunt. Soothe all her sore places with my tongue. D’you need that?” 

Henry stopped himself from calling you Love, but the pet name reverberated in his brain as he watched your beautiful face full of want for him.

“Yes Henry. Oh my goddd!”

You brought your hand up to your neck and Henry wished it was his.

“Lemme see those nipples, play with them for me, yeah?” 

You did as you were told and Henry watched as you filled your hands with yourself. He nearly cried at the sight. He instinctively rubbed his cock again, but he could control himself.

Couldn’t he?

With you he was not so sure, but there was no going back now, he had to see you through to your end.

“Feel that pussy for me, let her know how much I miss her already. Get in there, Love. Let me hear how much she aches for me.”

He’d let it slip. And he didn’t care. You didn't either. He could call you anything he wanted as long as he didn’t stop talking you through this need. 

“Oh… Hen-ry…”

Your mouth opened wider and your head was thrown back as your hands ventured further down your body.

“Are you circling that plucky little bud for me?”

“Y-yessssss.”

The stutter and the look on your face made him even bolder. Henry clenched his jaw and his fists to keep control.

“I’m not far from the hotel. Give me one before I get there. Be a good girl for me…you were so good last night…took my cock so well, although I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I’m not…hurt so good Henry…”

Henry kept his eyes on you as you licked your lips and keened. You had him sweating 1500 miles away. 

“I wanted to fill you up and watch it drip out of you…”

“F-f-fuck…!” 

You were panting like a wild animal, and Henry swallowed the whine that was lodged in his throat with a growl. 

“Now stuff three of your pretty little fingers in that pretty little plump cunt. Cum for me. Give me something to dream about.”

You heard his fierce whisper and your eyes rolled as you tried to catch your breath. 

“H-h-henryyyy!”

Henry experienced three things: your beautiful face as you screamed with pleasure, his cock raging hard in the confines of his jeans, and his heart beating a mile a minute in his ears. Henry cursed under his breath and reached for the cold bottle of water provided by the car service. He took a swig, then closed it and put it on his forehead. 

Henry tried to collect himself as he listened to your breathing settle and watched you open your eyes slowly and smile shyly at him.

“Such a good girl for me. You alright?”

You hummed. 

“Yes, Mr. Cavill, Sir.”

Henry grinned. Maybe he had tamed the brat a little.

“Now. No more orgasms until I return.”

Henry the Dom was in full force. How was this your life? All you could do was smile at the fortune of having one of the sexiest men in the world lavish this attention on you. You decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

“Right.”

Henry cocked his brow at you. He hoped he looked hard. Because inside….Well, inside, he was all mush for you.

“What was that?”

“I mean, No Sir.”

Henry wanted to say a lot, but he needed to get on with his day; his first interview was in less than two hours.

“We will talk later, Doctor, before I board the redeye for London..”

“Of course, Mr. Cavill. Sir.”

Henry threw you a look as you winked and ended the call. He sighed and stepped out of the car, head full of you as he headed to the penthouse.

You climbed out of the bath and fell back into bed naked, dreaming of Henry in your arms.

—--

Three days later….

The picture you’d sent made Henry wild.  

It was an innocent picture of Kal, his snout resting on your bare thigh. It was exactly where he wanted to be.

“That rake. Trying to steal my girl,” he murmured to himself as he grinned at his phone.

“What’s that Hen?”

Henry looked up at the two men who were smirking at him over their brandies. Henry looked from Corey to Jamie’s face. He hadn’t heard a word they’d said.

“What?”

“You’ve not stared down at your lap and smiled like that since Year 7.” 

Corey knew Henry better than almost anyone.

“Who is it?”

Jamie was curious what had his mate so distracted. Henry’s head was in the clouds in between press for their movie that was being released, he was working out every spare minute, and he wasn’t looking at any of the lovely ladies that threw themselves at him, not even a little. 

Henry’s face lit up.

“I don’t even know where to begin. She’s… she’s amazing…”

Henry commenced to waxing poetic about you. 

When he finally took a breath, Corey asked, “Yeah, yeah.. But how does she look, lad?”

Henry grinned and flipped through the pictures that you’d sent him on request. He found one that was relatively tame, with you sitting ensconced in his sweatshirt and nothing else. All you could see was your freshly washed face, that smile, and those legs.

Corey whistled.

“There’s a looker!” 

He passed the phone to Jamie who looked at you and then up at Henry, who was beaming.

“That’s why you’ve been hitting the gym harder than usual. Working off that tension.”

Henry grinned.

“Yeah, she’s going to get it when I get back.”

Corey was quick to catch him.

“He’s saving himself? Oh shit. This is serious. When’s the wedding?”

Henry blanched.

“What?...No… we only just…”

“Henry. Did you notice the girl with the huge rack who’s walked by our table four times?”

Henry looked around the restaurant.

“Where? No…”

“She’s right there!”

Henry looked in the direction that Corey pointed.

“Her?” Henry laughed. “She’s… passable.”

Corey looked at Jamie and shook his head.

“You’re right, James. He’s gone. Raise a glass.”

Henry shook his head as Corey and James toasted and took a mockingly somber drink, then he clinked his own.

“Here’s to My Dear Doctor.”

“If she can tie you down, then cheers to Dr. Y/N!”

Henry shared a laugh with his friends.

“Now who wants to go on a run in the morning?”

—

Later that night:

Although it was after midnight for Henry, it was only after 7 where you were. But your insecurity permeated your conversation with him that night. You went on about his dating history and he railed against online gossip mongers. Finally, you said what you were really thinking.

“I am so not your type, Henry.”

Henry sighed.

“What are you on about?”

I’m a convenience while you’re in town. And you still think you want me because we’re practically sexting every moment of the day. I bet that if we didn’t talk until you had to come back, you’d forget all about me. You’ll find some beautiful English rose…”

“How much?”

“Hunh?” You were being thrown off of your rant.

“How much do you want to bet?”

“Henry….”

“We’ve got, what, 10 more days? 100 quid.”

You couldn’t believe him.

“You’re trying to make light of this. Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset Henry.”

“So you’re chicken?”

“I am NOT!” You huffed. “What is a ‘quid’? A pound? You’re betting me a hundred pounds?”

“I forgot how poor the dollar is. I’ll take it easy on you. 100 dollars US.”

“You have a deal Mr. Cavill.”

Henry grinned on the other end of the line. Your brat side would work to his advantage this time.

“Deal. No more phone calls. Just two texts a day. Good morning and good night.”

You were quiet a long time. Then you decided, if it was going to end, you should just go ahead and end it.

“Okay. Goodbye Henry.”

“See you soon, Doctor.”

—-----

Ten days after that conversation, you were feeding the sheep when Kal started barking and going crazy at the fence. You approached it and looked down the road to see Henry running toward you at an impressive pace.

Butterflies began to flutter in your belly. The last 10 days had sent you spiraling. Two texts a day were not enough. You missed Henry horribly, and you’d imagined him diddling half of Europe since you practically told him to. Well, you only had yourself to blame. You’d ruined a good thing, even if it were temporary.

You didn’t want to face him, but you had to give him his dog. You didn’t have much time prepare yourself because Henry’s time was good. He ran up and leaned on the fence as he greeted Kal. Then he looked up at you, hypnotizing you with those eyes and that smile of his. 

Damn, you’d missed his face.

Henry was unequivocally a goner. The sight of you made him light headed, the erratic nature of his heart not a good combination with the increase from running.

“Hello, Doctor. How are you?”

Henry smiling at you made you warm. It felt like you’d never been asked that question before and you wanted to tell him your life story, but you just said, “Fine. And you Mr. Cavill?”

Henry grinned at the formalities. You were still his incorrigible brat that he’d left in bed two weeks ago. 

His?

Yes, His, he decided as he watched you unlatch the gate enabling Kal’s attack. He laughed and rolled around in the grass with his pup and you watched fondly. You could get used to these two brutes. You tried to walk around them when Kal went after you too, tripping you up and causing you to fall onto Henry, straddling him as Kal barked excitedly beside you two. 

You looked into Henry’s eyes, feeling him beneath you. It wasn’t sexual, not quite, just familiar. Henry was being calm and his hands just rested on your sides as he grinned up at you. You wanted to hug him. But instead, you made to get up.

“S-sorry.”

“No problem at all, Doctor.”

You cleared your throat and stood up, placing your hands on your hips, grimacing at Henry, who was up now himself. His hair was haloed by the early morning sunlight, and he winked at you as he brushed himself off. Damn him and his perfect features.

“D’you want some water?”

Henry regarded you, solemn and intense, when a drop of sweet traveled from his hairline into his right eye. You felt like you were drooling as you watched his biceps flex as he wiped it away.

“You’ve read my mind.”

The timbre of his voice reminded you of that night on facetime, and your pulse quickened at the thought that you had indeed read his mind. You wanted him, and here he was acting like you were just acquaintances. He really had fooled around in Europe. You could have kicked yourself.

You turned and Henry followed you into your house, taking off his shoes and washing his hands as you did. You watched Henry gulp down the water and you kept your distance. Kal seemed content to give you both your space in the kitchen as he laid in the sunlight from the window in the dining room.

“Doctor, we need to talk.”

Your heart dropped. You knew it.

“There’s nothing to talk about. We talked already. You found someone else. Or had some random hookups. Just as I told you you would.”

Henry’s blood was starting to boil. He took a deep breath, but his voice still came out menacing.

“You are the most maddening woman.You don’t get to tell me what I want, or what I did or what I should do. Like you said, we don’t know each other that well. But I thought that we had an understanding, L/N…”

Now you were angry.

“What understanding? How can we have an understanding if we’ve never really talked. We just fucked. You were horny. I was there. We. Just. Fucked. That’s it. It was good. Now it is over.”

“Oh? It’s over is it? I’ve half a mind to turn you over my knee.”

You chucked your chin up at him like you were daring him.

Henry saw the glint in your eye and he knew what had to happen. Gentlemanly thoughts were out the window. He put the glass down and advanced on you.

You moved back and opened your mouth to reply, but what came out was a squeak. You closed it quickly

“That’s right, listen good, little mouse.”

He moved again and you stayed put.

“Yes. We fucked. We fucked and it was amazing. But we fucked because I’m insanely attracted to you in a myriad ways, not just because I wanted to fuck. You were right. I know how to smash and dash, Doctor, and this is not that.”

Henry paused to look into your eyes, to make sure you understood him. 

“I’m in awe of you. You’re a skilled professional, you’re kind, and gentle, and a nerd who loves to have a good time. You soothe me. You make me think and you make me go mad every time I think about how your body seems made for mine.”

You were inches apart, but he didn’t touch you. 

“I’m entirely and utterly smitten with you. And I’m afraid of the power you have over me Doctor. I’m supposed to behave as a gentleman, but you make it impossible.”

Then, he stepped back leaned up against your counter, running his hand through his curls. It was the counter where you first kissed. You smiled at him.

Henry eyed you warily and crossed his arms, showcasing his muscles and veins. You were dangerous. but he was going to be strong.

“What?”

“You mean that you didn’t get with anyone else when you were away?”

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes.

“No. Didn’t want to.”

He stood up straighter as you advanced on him now.

“This perfect specimen of a body?”

You pointed, just shy of touching him. Henry reached back and grabbed the counter to keep from grabbing you. 

You reached out and trailed your hand down his muscle shirt, stopping shy of the waistband of his shorts.

“And you’re willing to wait even longer?”

Henry cleared his throat.

“Yes.”

Henry’s voice broke and he caught your eye. At that moment, you knew your power.

“It’s just for you, Doctor. When you’re ready.”

You scoffed at him. And leaned up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. 

“But this body is for the world, Mr. Cavill. After all, millions drool over it every day.”

Your lips brushed the shell of his ear, and Henry closed his eyes and suppressed a shiver. He gave in and reached for you, grabbing you and pulling your flush to him. He looked down, eyes sparkling.

“Maybe so, but how we feel pressed together is just between me and you.”

You looked into the softness of his eyes and you could tell he was sincere.

“But how can you know?”

“I just know that I know. I want to protect you, I want to comfort you… I want to...”

“Oh, Henry…”

You threw your arms around him and kissed him. He lay claim to your mouth again and after, he rested his forehead on yours, panting.

“I’m… I want to be a gentleman…Want to take you out. Wine…dine…”

You palmed him over his shorts and watched his eyes dilate.

“What if I take you out?”

Henry watched you lick your palm and reach into his sweats as he forgot to breathe.

“I- I …”   Henry looked down at what you were doing. “Careful…’

You looked up at him, determined now.

“I thought you were going to cum inside me and leak out of my pores.”

“Mmmmmmmmmother of god!” 

Henry clenched his jaw as he growled at you. 

“I do want to fuck you very badly, Doctor. But you deserve… to be treated….”

Henry’s voice faded away as you continued to stroke his rock hard length.

“It’s been 14 days. I deserve to be fucked. Hard. Need you ... please… Sir.”

You took his right hand and put it on your breast. He rolled your nipple through your shirt and then mirrored the gesture with his left. Henry had a brief thought that you were trying top him before his brain short circuited.

Before you knew it, you’d been spun around and your face was on the cool marble of your countertop. Henry pulled your leggings down to your ankles. You pulled one leg out and Henry hoisted it up on the counter. You leaned back and desperately grabbed at his curls.

“Please Henry, Give!”

He leaned over and whispered in your ear as his fingertips spread you wide. 

“Trust me Doctor, you will take. But first…”

Henry sank to his knees and whispered to your cunt.

“Been so long. Need to taste…mmmmmmm.”

You were pulled back onto Henry’s face as he buried his mouth into your wet crevasse. He hummed and smacked as if he were eating the best meal of his life. Henry certainly thought so. He destroyed your soul as he alternated fucking you with his tongue and licking you rudely throughout your entire crease.

After you came on his face, he took off your pants completely, and lifted you easily in his arms, walking a few feet to your couch.

Henry set you down face first before him, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re a venus, my dear Doctor.”

Henry’s thick fingers moved from your knee digging into the couch cushions up your thigh to the wetness dripping there. Four fingers found your slick and swiped, while his thumb ghosted your puckered hole.

“Mhmmmmm. Henry…”

“So responsive f’me. Want to be everywhere all at once.”

Henry enjoyed the feeling of his cock slipping in your wetness, the way you moved to try and get him inside you. He moaned knowing how much you wanted him too. His hands moved up from your hips to find your nipples under the top you were wearing and your moves became more wanton. Henry became irritated at the confines of your shirt. He reached for the hem.

“Take this off…There we go.”

He pulled you to him, your cool back against his warm torso, and he trailed his hands up and down your body.

“‘ve wanted my hands on you ever since I left…”

“Me too, Mr. Cavill.”

You’d turned your head to whisper, and Henry’s mouth captured yours in a kiss. You wiggled your ass against the pounding organ that was wedged between your cheeks, and he reached down to grab your hip to still you.

“Want my cock?”

You shook your head.

“No. Need it.”

And with that, you bent down again and looked over your shoulder at him, arching your back.

Henry gazed down at your presented ass and turned his head to the side, admiring, as that eyebrow raised and made you that much wetter.

“Yesss…” His blue eyes met yours. “I believe that you do.”

You whimpered and dropped your head, watching from below as Henry grabbed his cock at the base, his fingers splayed out against his big balls as he lined up and breached you with his rude, wide, mushroom tip. 

“Let me…”

The stretch burned deliciously, and both of you grunted as Henry eased into you, his length and girth making you question reality again. 

“…Slide into this warm…”

“Oh, Henry! Feels so-”

He cut you off.

“Shit! Love how you take it.”

“Oh god!”

You were almost sobbing at how good it felt.

“I feel you inside me.”

“D’you feel it getting bigger?”

You could hear the grin in his voice. You nodded and sobbed, the feeling indescribable.

“Stretching you out. So, so good.”

“Uh unhhh uhmmmmm. Missed you Hen...ry!”

“Me, too, Love. Me....too!”

Henry was moaning behind you as he smoothly thrust in and out of you, making it so good that your buried your head into the pillow and drooled into it between your screams of: “Oh my goddd!”

“Mmmm just like that, take it all for me.”

He delivered a sound slap to your behind and you keened.

“Love it when you take it all.”

He smacked you again.

“D’you like my cock?” he demanded.

“Mmmmyeah hmmm, I love itttt!”

Henry moved his hand around to your clit and started manipulating it.Then, he moved your hand to your sensitive nub as you whimpered.

“Now take over for me. Circle that clit. Justttt like that.”

You did as you were told, your legs shaking.

“Ohhh oh my god, Henry!”

“Just like that. Good girl.”

Henry smacked your ass yet again.

“Now keep it up.”

The stimulation was getting to be too much. This man knew how to fuck all of you, not just your body, but your mind.

“Henry…” 

Your plaintive wail was almost too much for Henry. Yet he persisted.

“M’ gonna fuck you….”

Your wetness was making what was now happening sound obscene, and served to get you closer to the orgasm he hadn’t given you permission to have yet.

“Oh god!”

You wanted to pull your hand away, but you obeyed his command.

“There…”

Henry swiveled his hips so that your insides lit up like a christmas tree as he fucked you.

“Please…”

You couldn’t breathe, and you were beginning to feel a certain pressure in your pelvis. You whimpered again as Henry made you feel every nerve ending in your body.

“…Just…. there…”

Henry’s thrusts were controlled and steady, despite feeling your cunt clenching in waves around him as you tried in vain to stave off your end.

“Oh yeah I like that.” 

He’d leaned down, hot breath in your ear.

“Oh I feel it Henry.”

“God yeah. Me too. You like that, Doctor?”

“Oh Godddddd!”

Henry pulled you upright and you struggled to keep circling your clit as your hips sped up of their own volition. You used two hands as Henry squeezed your hips, holding on as you bounced up and down on his dick. His eyes were glued to your bouncing tits. 

“Oh shit! Just there…bounce like that, yeah.” 

Henry’s mouth descended and latched on, sucking your jugular as you fucked yourself on him. His hands kneaded your bouncing breasts. He was in heaven.

“Use me, Baby. Make yourself feel good.”

“You’re so fucking big….”

Henry grinned into your neck.

“Feel it Doctor…” 

Henry was blowing in your ear as he suckled on your lobe now. He bent you back over, placing his hand between your shoulder blades so you would move your hands and deliver the arch. You were relieved yet still desperate. Henry looked down and groaned.

“Look at that cream.”

The timbre of Henry’s voice and the slapping of skin on skin was more than you could bear.

“Henry… Please! Can I cum?”

The slapping intensified as Henry sped up and got sloppy, losing control finally.

“Cum… now Doctor…”

Henry stroked into you fiercely, prolonging your orgasm until your spasming channel forced him out of you.

You both exclaimed in disappointment, and Henry in laughed as he kissed your neck and plunged back inside you, fucking you even harder now.

“Thank you for that. I was about to spill everything inside you and this would be over. Gave me a bit of a breather. Now give me that arch again.”

He bent you over again.

“Just there. Oh yeah… Looka there…that arch…yesss. Love that arch.”

He crossed his arms to hold your hips still so that he could go even harder.

“Am I fucking you properly?”

You were drooling and your eyes were rolling; you barely registered his question. Henry slapped your ass.

“Oh. Yesssss! Fuck yesss. Cock is so hard…so big.”

“Oh, shit…sssssss!”

Henry hissed as he felt his cum crawl up from his balls. 

“I….ugh… Henry!!!... I’m cuming…”

“M…Me toooo!”

—-

You were the little spoon to Henry’s big as he held you on your couch, the plaid throw covering your nakedness. You stroked Henry’s arm as he held you close.

“Did you spend the entire two weeks thinking that up?”

Henry leaned over to look at you, smiled, and kissed your nose. Then he relaxed again.

“That was entirely off the cuff. You’re an inspiration. A muse.”

“A sexual muse, hunh.”

Henry pulled you closer to him. 

“So much more than sexually. You inspire me in so many areas.”

You looked back at him quizzically. He just grinned.

“Come, lets get cleaned up and get dressed. And give me ride over to my place, would you? We have a brunch reservation in… two hours at The Orangery. I’m taking you out on the town.”

“And you can pay, because you owe me a hundred dollars.”

You realized that it was put up or shut up time as Henry grinned at you.

——

If you liked it, reblog and let me know!

[hioriri]

-date-

featured character ☆ itoshi sae

tag(s): fluff! ☆

divider @cafekitsune

apologies if this is out of character, again TT TT

༊*·˚

        It was two o'clock in the morning and you couldn't fall asleep. Sae, who was next to you, his head, nuzzling against your back, was sleeping peacefully. It was cute to see him soundlessly sleeping against you but that's not the reason why you couldn't fall asleep. You grabbed your phone from the wooden night stand next to you and started going on Instagram. You were scrolling and saw that some of your friends were posting pictures of places they were going with their partner. But of course, Sae always comes home late, either training or having a soccer tournament. What are the chances of him spending quality time with you or go on outings? Quite rare to be honest. You then go on Google to search up "Things to do for couples", the results were going to a cafe or hiking, maybe going to an expensive mall but obviously you don't need anything from expensive malls since they're all Chanel or Louis Vuitton, fancy fancy fancy brands...  You could feel Sae shift positions. The next thing you knew, he was awake, rubbing his right eye. Although your phone's brightness was on the lowest, he still somehow woke up. "Y/n? How come you're still awake?" he asks, perhaps still half awake. He then turns on the mini white ceramic lamp next to him. You turn of your phone and held it tight, "Um... The thing is, I couldn't fall asleep. Because I wanted to do something fun with you tomorrow, like a date. But I mean, you don't have to go with me and I'm aware that you don't have much time either... I was just researching places to go, nothing else." You let out a small, weak smile, in the process of battling the urge of wanting to cry a little since you barely got to spend time with Sae. Suddenly, Sae got up, walked to the nightstand next to you and kneeled down. He opened the lowest drawer and got out a folded sheet of paper, written with black ink. He then hands the piece of lined paper to you. "Here, it's a list of all the things we could do together. The front has outdoor and indoor activities and the back has things we could do at home..." Sae looked away, from slight embarrassment. His cheeks were lightly tinted with a shade of pink, and he definitely avoided eye contact with you.

        Your face instantly lights up, eyes widened completely. "When did you have time for all of this?!" "I wrote it during breaktime, since I was bored. Everyone wanted to know what I was writing..." You bursted out laughing, "What did you tell them? I'm so curious!" "I told them directly that it was for you..." your face was instantly flushed with pink. There was a long pause of awkward silence until Sae pointed at the list of activities "Go ahead, you can pick anything." you nodded, to agree. Still, it was quite shocking that he told everyone that he was dating you, etc. You looked at the sheet of paper and the following list of activities listed. You then made up your mind, wanting to go to a café with Sae. "Hey, should we go to a café and walk around after?" "Anything you'd like." Sae smiled. You jump on Sae and gave him a big hug, smiling with joy. Sae gave you a kiss on the lips, and your cheeks. The two of you continue to stay in each other's embrace. 

       "Say, when do you want to go to that café?" you ask curiously, looking up at Sae. Sae didn't answer until ten seconds later, "Today. At ten o'clock, we'll leave." "Sounds like a plan." a few minutes later, your eyelids start to feel heavy and you doze off, still embracing Sae. He gently strokes pieces of your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. "You need to regain energy first before getting all excited..." he whispered then let out a soft chuckle. 

ty for reading!! just a short drabble i wanted to write, not very long or detailed either.

-fuyuko

©fuyukohasnocreativity do not copy, repost, or translate. likes and reblogs are accepted and appreciated!

[chireikiden]

do we know whether zun writes the script for each official manga word for word, or if he gives the artists a detailed outline and they write the dialogue? i often wonder this because i feel like the writing styles of each manga can differ quite a lot, and some of them feel really different from the way zun writes dialogue in the games.

I don't think we can say for sure how he works with each individual manga. However, the largest sample we have is from this spring's Dai Touhou Project Expedition, which included some of ZUN's scripts for Lotus Eaters. As photography was banned in this section, afaik we only have the recreated text in this blog post here, in Japanese of course.

In these examples, the dialogue is the one thing that ZUN does include word-for-word, while most other descriptions are very brief. This matches how the artists clearly draw e.g. characters' reactions and general behavior very differently.

The scripts have been reframed a bit for the expo, and Mizutaki's comments are a later addition, but we can assume the contents themselves are pretty unedited (or else there'd be very little point in displaying them as a showpiece). I'm gonna go through a couple.

Here we have the script for the first few pages of Lotus Eaters chapter 4. The Japanese dialogue is word-for-word identical between the script and the finished manga, and though this could be a change made for the expo, I doubt they did that. I've borrowed Alpha Beta Kappa's translation for the dialogue, but the point is to illustrate what is and isn't in the script:

Chapters 4–5｜"The Haughty Grab Even the Red Ape" (Part 1–2) Page 95 ― ZUN's Script ――Night-time cherry blossoms at the Hakurei Shrine. Reimu, Marisa, Sakuya, Remilia, Youmu, and some other usual characters may or may not be there. Everyone's already had some drink, and the party is in full swing. Sakuya brings out a dessert on a large tray. Marisa: "What's this?" Sakuya: "I tried my hand at a dessert. In the Outside World, it's called tarte soleil, or 'tart of the sun'. Supposedly it's quite popular for it's sunlike appearance. Although as the sun hardly suits my mistress, I tried rearranging it for a night theme. I call it the tarte lune. It's not too sweet, so enjoy." Everyone's excited. Sakuya looks proud. Marisa: "Fits right in your hand!" Reimu: "This is wonderful." Everyone happily finishes dessert as well. No one's looking at the cherry blossoms at this point. Reimu: "Jeez, your cooking's so good. I'm glad we asked you for help again, Sakuya." Sakuya: "Oh, it's nothing. I merely prepared it to entertain the mistress. Perhaps this is the best the shrine could hope for, but it really is nothing praiseworthy. To think you'd be so easily pleased." Reimu and Marisa smile awkwardly. Reimu: "R-Right... Well—" Marisa: "Y-Yeah, that's right!" Mizutaki's Comments ZUN-san's script didn't really clarify what this tarte lune was supposed to look like, so I just came up with something tasty-looking based on the appearance of the real-life tarte soleil. It says that Sakuya made this for dessert for Remilia, yet Remilia doesn't actually have any lines here. Luckily she's a pretty easy character to make move on page.

Obviously this is a pretty simple, dialogue-based scene, with not much else happening plot-wise, but it shows how all the little interactions on page and even what characters are present is left to the artist's discretion. Sometimes the script for an entire page is like "Miyoi's cleaning happily, when suddenly there's some noise at the door", and sometimes the script ends up becoming a different number of pages than expected. Because the whole point is to be the script for the story, though, it can also be pure description when that's what the story is being told through:

Chapters 11-12｜"Love the Customer, Hate the Sin" (Part 1–2) Pages 106–107 ― ZUN's Script Mamizou and Komachi begin to exchange information. Mamizou keeps the existence of Sanshoku Geidontei a secret, but tells her about the fake name customer. Komachi recognizes what she's talking about! And shares what she knows. Mamizou looks like she understands everything now, and seems satisfied with herself, but her face is also a little solemn. Mizutaki's Comments This scene had no dialogue, only ZUN-san's description of Mamizou and Komachi's conversation. Figuring out how to draw stuff like this is difficult, and I feel a bit lost sometimes, but it's also fun in some ways. Since the location wasn't specified, I wanted to give the feeling that they're hiding themselves from humans but doing so right under their noses, so I chose the underside of a bridge across the river (canal) that runs through the Village. Where else would Komachi be but a "river", after all!

In general, we have Mizutaki's word for the scripts being a bit vague sometimes, but being able to discuss them with ZUN during the process:

Chapters 1–3｜"A Drunken Evening Leaves no Memories" (Part 1–3) Page 77 ― ZUN's Script Suika: "Ah, yeah. I just figured she was that sorta youkai. The kind that always appears at bars. Getting people drunk and then wasting 'em. Good sake makes for a good suima. Bad sake makes for a bad one. And an oni's sake, well..." Reimu: "Well what?" Suika drinks directly from the gourd. She laps up the last bits of the bottomless Ibuki Gourd. Looking drunk and very smug, she goes: Suika: "That makes for... the strongest kind of suima. Unmatched, and unparalleled." Mizutaki's Comments At the time that I got the script, this scene had basically no stage directions. When I tried asking ZUN at our meeting what the mood was supposed to be like, he suggested that Suika blow an alcohol-laden breath at Reimu, so the end result is what you see. (*We were usually also drinking during our meetings, and it's not like I really have any clear notes from them, so there's also a good chance that I'll misremember things. Please read with that in mind...)

We don't get to know how much of the embellished fight scene against the dream-pig that follows was in the script, and how much of it is Mizutaki's creation. But it's already easy to see that with directions like this, any scene can be drawn in many different ways.

If this is representative of the other manga too, it seems that the dialogue itself is straight from ZUN, but almost everything else we see on page is just drawn based on his very general directions. This means that even if the text is pure ZUN, it can still be greatly affected by the context, and the less dialogue there is going on, the more of the page is made up whole-cloth by the artist.

Presumably there are differences in how he works with different artists for different manga, and CDS for example has far less dialogue than most of his other manga, but I must assume that is on purpose. For example, he's said on some show or other (don't ask me to dig up the source, sorry) that he enjoys how he can just kinda tell Akimaki to stick in a fight scene and cut loose (which tells us both that it's Akimaki's doing, but also ZUN-approved).

I can't say with confidence that the dialogue in CDS or any other manga is also word-for-word from ZUN's script, but I think it's plausible and likely, and the artists just have a lot of room to put their own spin on it even without touching a word of it.

There's also other factors in the dialogue pipeline, of course, such as:

ZUN himself is writing in a very different format in the games than in the manga, and the manga generally have a lot more and lengthier dialogues.

The text is split up very differently (into small text boxes vs. across multiple bubbles and pages). And believe me, if you've never translated Japanese, the way things like periods, ellipses, commas and conjuctions are placed is half translator preference and half trying to wrestle with the way the text is split.

The game translations are generally massaged by a number of translators, while the manga are hammered out by individual translators in a couple days with maybe proofreading at most, meaning that their individual styles also affect things more directly.

[moiraimyths]

Howdy, fateful friends! Are you an artist or illustrator with an interest in visual novels?

If so: Moirai Myths, creators of the visual novel The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe), are in need of guest artists! More specifically, we're looking for up to two artists to help us with the content graphics ("CGs") for Maeve and Shae's upcoming routes. All of the details will be listed on our application form (linked below), but here is the gist:

This is paid work with 20-30 business day deadlines per piece!

Complicated revisions in the post-sketch phase are compensated!

You will be prioritized for future guest artist opportunities!

You will be featured/credited on Moirai Myths' website and in the game itself!

Sound interesting? If so, apply here:

Click under the cut for some F&Q 👇

Who are you? (I'm new here!)

Hi! We're Moirai Myths: a small, newish visual novel company based out of Canada. We're making a game inspired by mostly Irish mythology, which was funded on Kickstarter in 2023! Our game's got fairy politics, a diverse cast, a Gaeilge-to-English translation tool, and routes that can be played either romantically or platonically! Also horses. An ungodly amount of horses, really.

If that odd pitch sounded intriguing, perhaps you'd like to play our demo! It's free on Steam & Itch.io.

Why are you looking for guest artists?

When we originally launched our Kickstarter, the plan was to have our three in-house artists collaborate on the CGs in the same way our header image was. However, we quickly realized that adding CGs, even if they're done collaboratively, onto the existing duties of our artists was a tall order. Add to that the departure of our original sprite artist (who has since been replaced by our graphic designer), and we determined that having our in-house team work on CGs was simply not possible if we still wanted our first release to happen in 2024. So, rather than omitting CGs or adding them in at a later time, we came up with the idea of hiring guest artists. Overall this means our CGs will be a bit more varied in terms of art style, but we like to think of this as a positive! NDM's development will take a number of years to complete in full, so we hope our CGs will allow us to feature a lot of artists either within the VN/indie dev community already, or artists who aspire to work in gaming and are looking for entry positions.

How long will applications remain open for?

This application will be open until Sunday, March 24 at midnight (EST)! If we intend to extend past that deadline, we'll make an announcement about it.

I can't apply right now. Will you look for more CG guest artists in the future?

Definitely! As mentioned, NDM will take a while to develop in full, so this is by no means your only opportunity to apply. That being said, we suspect we're going to end up shortlisting a number of artists over the course of this application period, and we intend to keep a list of all the runners-up. So, even if you won't be able to participate this time, it might be a good idea to apply anyway just to remain in our contacts! Either way, this will not be the last time we have apps.

Will you be looking for guest artists outside of CGs?

Maybe! We already have two guest artists (Nefukurou and Madi Funk) working on sprites and CGs respectively, so it's always possible that we'll have other artistic needs later down the line. Likewise, we may also reach out to past guest artists for future work with us, whether it's on this game or something else!

You say we need to sign an NDA. What does that entail?

The non-disclosure agreement essentially means you will be legally unable to publicly disclose any confidential information you become privy to as a result of working with us. This would include personal information about the developers, as well as spoilers from the game itself. In addition do this, you will be expected to sign over the IP and copyright of any artworks you produce for us.

Can I still use my artworks in portfolios, even if I don't own the copyright?

Yes! We'd only ask, if your portfolio is a website, that you wait to do so until after your art has been made public by us, either on our social media or via the publication of the game. Our first release is anticipated to happen later this year, most likely mid-autumn.

How do you guys feel about AI? Do you intend to use it, or would you ever train an AI off of the artworks whose copyright you own?

No.

Making a game is expensive and time-consuming, but AI is no replacement for human artistry. We fundamentally believe that any advancements in AI should be used for the purpose of giving people more time to make art, not take away opportunities for it. Moirai Myths will never, ever use AI or train an AI off your work.

***

If you've got any more questions for us that we didn't think to include here, feel free to send us an ask!